Maabre Nightmares and Plundered Dreams
Rating: T
Summary: Tracking down Leorio’s kidnappers leads Kurapika into the employ of the Makavoy Family. The shady business behind the Family’s wealth will force Kurapika to reconsider what’s most important to him.
Characters: Kurapika, Illumi, Alluka, Hisoka and a few original characters.
Author’s Notes: I’m hoping to wrap this up between 10-15 chapters. There’s going to be a fair amount of violence, torture, yadda yadda yadda, so if you don’t like reading about abused children, please desist from continuing any further. As always, reviews are most welcome.
Disclaimer: Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation

PROLOGUE

“Please come quickly. It’s urgent.”

The message was left on his answering machine, as he had his phone switched off during the debriefing that begun sometime after dinner and lasted well into the night. He had waited until all the men and women had filtered out of the conference room, dragging their feet, fatigued by the long hours of concentration, before he allowed himself to check for missed calls. A familiar number of was displayed, unexpected, because he had been advised a month earlier that the coming year of internship would be busy for him and he’d have hardly any time to find some sleep, let alone make a call.

Leorio’s voice was clipped and the few sparse words were delivered in caliginous tones tainted with desperation. A distress signal could not have been shouted any louder, so concerned, he held Senritsu back and proffered the cellular device to her. Her eyes were closed as she listened to the playback, and her wane smile contained none of the anxieties tormenting Kurapika’s heartbeats.

“He sounds stressed,” she remarked, casual and non-plussed for which he was deeply grateful. “Under extreme pressure even.” His frown returned. She noticed. “But there was certainly no fear. Fear does many things to one’s speech – erratic sforzandos, an accelerando in one’s breath or an altered pitch. I detected none of these things. He seems to be troubled by something aside from himself.”

If the doctor-in-training was in no immediate danger, Kurapika pondered on whether to heed the plea. Confined in a hospital for day and night, his friend may have encountered something, a patient most likely, unique and perplexing. He was touched that Leorio wanted to share his experiences with him, but his own job was equally as important. Planning, organization and execution of all security of the Nostrad family now fell to him, and sometimes, he questioned himself on his capacity to shoulder this burden.

It used to be customary for Light Nostrad to chair these debriefings himself so that he could gain a better understanding of the inner workings of the team of bodyguards who he has entrusted the lives of his family to. However, in the past eighteen months following the Yorkshin incident, Light literally abandoned his outer defences. He liquidated a number of assets, including holiday houses on prime land, mountain retreats, antique cars and a dozen priceless artworks by Scopais, froze all bank accounts and downsized roughly two thirds of his henchmen. It left Kurapika with a skeleton crew to work with, who often found themselves stretched to the limits, and rumour was starting to spread that Light was not going to be able to afford their next pay check.

The possibility of deserting a sinking ship had crossed his mind admittedly more than twice. He’d played the obsequious sycophant to the Light Family, slaughtered his dignity and self-respect at the sacrificial altar in hopes that Neon’s uncommon interest in body parts and her father’s ability to attain them would lead him to restoring his kinsmen‘s eyes. But with Neon’s nen stolen, a constant reminder that Kuroro was much alive, Light was no longer interested in his ambition. He scurried to consolidate what remained of his position and lost the foresight and wisdom to ‘think big’.

Meanwhile, in the devastating aftermath of the Ten Godafathers’ deaths, rats like Zenji clambered their way up the hierarchy, and with a nod of approval from Lady Luck, found himself being lauded by associates who, only months earlier, looked down at his dwarfed height and sniggered in secret at his achievements, or lack thereof. Petty scum like Zenji tended to have long memories, especially against those who had slighted him. A crooked nose that never set properly was all the caveat Zenji needed to keep Kurapika on top of his ‘to bring down’ list. Effectively, Kurapika found himself unemployable by any mafia boss who understood the trappings of underworld politics.

In these times where his handle on the ticket to his kinsmen’s eyes was so precarious, Kurapika was loathed to be distracted by anyone else’s problems. His own were more than enough.

“I think you should go,” Senritsu interrupted, arousing his surprise and consternation. She wasn’t psychic, that much he knew, but he was dismayed she could read him so easily. “Mr. Leorio did not leave an impression on me as the type of man to frivolously seek out his friends over trivial issues.” Really, he wanted to drawl, raising an eyebrow. Senritsu didn’t know Leorio as well as she thought, because she obviously hadn’t been subject to a four hour embellished tirade on Leorio’s amazing heckling session with a mobile phone peddler.

Then came the irrefutable punch-line. “You’re off duty tonight.”

He sighed in defeat. “Yes, I am.”

“Go on, Kurapika, it never hurts to meet old friends again.”

O-O-O-O-O-O-O-O

Leorio had sent him a letter from college around five weeks ago and the sentences almost jumped out at him with the enthusiasm that the doctor-in-training had poured into the words. He had passed the first year exams and after completing another six months’ study, he was selected by the college to undertake his internship at St. Claires Hospital in Gospen, where he remembered Kurapika and the Nostrad family were stationed.

I know you want to, but there will be no time to meet up for drinks after my shifts end – the letter went on to ramble. I will be on call and must resume my duties the moment my pager buzzes so I must ensure there is no alcohol in my system as I work. Unfortunate, yes, cruel even, but as each day passes, I keep telling myself I am one step closer to being a doctor.

A doctor!

Kurapika accordingly cued in the image of Leorio with his one fist clenched, one foot propped up on a stool, and his determined gaze staring into the future with envious clarity.

And after I gain my qualifications, these aspirations of mine, which have continued to taunt me by only existing in dreams, will finally be realized.

There had been jealousy as Kurapika set the letter down onto the flickering amber flame of the candle. He held onto the corner of the paper until the last possible moment where the remains of black and grey flakes of charred paper came to a sullen rest on his tabletop. All correspondence he received were destroyed after its contents were memorized because the pursuit of his own dreams had the potential to threaten the lives of those he cherished and loved. As he studied the ashes, he wondered: if he were to write a letter of a similar nature, would he be able to pen the first sentence, let alone imitate the passion?

Reality settled around him as he entered the hospital and made a beeline towards the free clinic where all interns and first year residents worked to treat people who did not have enough money to afford quality private physicians. Pushing aside swinging double doors that gave way at the slightest touch, the stench of disinfectant assaulted his nostrils.

Drug addicts fresh off the streets, soaked up to their eyeballs in dope, homeless men reeking of unwashed filth and impoverished parents with their malnourished children loitered around the corridors, waiting for their turn. There was a bruised and fading hope in their sullen gaze which Kurapika stoically made himself avoid. As a mafia lackey, being able to block out scenes and turn a blind eye in order to remain neutral were necessary pre-requisites. So how did Leorio fare, being tested every day by unrepentant misery and daunting dejection that could easily clasp shackles to his soul and drag him down to depths shadows could not follow.

A door to his left suddenly swung open, and it was only because Kurapika recognized the owner of the hand that he let himself be dragged in. This kind of greeting, if it could be called such, was boorish, bordering on rude. So without much pretense of friendliness, he jerked his arm back and coaxed the creases in his uniform to straighten out. Leorio must have sensed his agitation as his first words were of apology.

“I’m sorry for calling you out at such short notice.” The civil manners made Kurapika pay attention. “They’ve destroyed a lot of his belongings already, but I managed to take a few photographs for my own records.”

Whilst the sudden change in manners was welcome, Kurapika reluctantly studied the hand beckoning him to follow. Those hands were abnormally calm in contrast to the intensity in Leorio’s voice. The ability to remain still and steady under whatever mental duress was God’s way of telling Kurapika that those hands were made for surgery.

“I refuse to be led around the nose like a bull. Either drop this mystery and tell me what this is about, now, or I’m turning back and leaving.”

Those surgeon’s fingers unintentionally dug into his shoulders and hysteria flared up behind those filtered lens. “No, you can’t leave. I promise to explain, but you must see for yourself first. Quickly, there’s not much time left.”

Leorio took him down into the basement level of the hospital, which consisted of a labyrinth of unused corridors dimly lit by light bulbs swinging on fraying lengths of wire at uneven intervals. The place generated an ambience more suited to torture chambers than a hospital. As they walked, a manila folder was thrust into his hands.

“I’m breaching doctor-patient privilege to give you this, so I hope you understand how big this is.”

In Kurapika’s opinion, Leorio had never been a person for principles in the first place. But with the wretched lines that wereetched in his forehead after he compromised his professionalism and ethics as an intern, Kurapika allowed some exceptions.

Struggling to decipher the text in the dark, the patient’s report read like a standard description of rape: brutal anal tearing also showing scars of previous abuse; multiple fractures along the ribcage and cheekbones told of many beatings taking place as far as three year back. The tendons in the patient’s left leg had been deliberately severed, forcing the patient to forever drag the crippled limb behind him…

“To prevent him from running,” he concluded aloud. Sure, it was a grisly report and he was left feeling violated and coldly angry, but Leorio had turned to the wrong person if he though he was able to do something about it.

Leorio studied his stony expression and sighed disbelievingly. “Kurapika, the poor boy’s not even six years old!”

A quick check of the date of birth confirmed that this was the case. He closed the cover and made to hand the file back to his friend. “There are many poor souls in the world. I guess it’s always upsetting to find one more.” His eyes narrowed in resolution. “But I do believe that it’s neither you nor I who are responsible for seeking justice for this child.”

Leorio did not merely accept the returned file, he snatched it from Kurapika’s hands and his pace increased, forcing Kurapika to break into a light jog to keep up. “Don’t you think I would have gone to the police or informed the special victims unit or something? I would like nothing better than to do everything in my power to save this kid. But – “

Kurapika stiffened. Instinct told him the look of a hunted man on Leorio’s face was not to be lightly regarded.

The doctor-in-training continued, words nearly tripping over each other in their impatience to be heard. “There’s a cover-up of some sort. I can smell it. The kid had this necklace on him, silver, and there was a pendant that looked more like a dog tag with engravings on the back of it. The moment my supervisor saw it…”

Leorio swallowed. Behind his acrimony and impotent rage, an overwhelming terror threatened to consume him whole. It strangled his voice into a hoarse whisper, and Kurapika found himself straining his ears against the pounding silence. “My supervisor saw it and immediately took the boy away. Said not to call police or get any health agencies involved.”

“And you didn’t follow these instructions.” A statement, not a question.

“Are you kidding? A child with this kind of medical history and I’m expected to pretend it never happened?” From the inner folds of his jacket, Leorio withdrew a piece of paper that had been meticulously folded over twice. After another scan of their surroundings with cautious eyes, the older man rapidly unfurled it and near pinned it under Kurapika’s nose.

“The station sergeant took one look at this and kicked me out the front door. I remember people from the Hunter Exam who stood up to Hisoka and didn’t look nearly half as frightened.”

There was nothing unique in the print-out dangling before Kurapika’s eyes. A rather grainy photograph of the dog tag, it was still able to reveal a simple ‘M’ carved in bland Times New Roman font adorned by twisted ivy. A quick search of the Hunter Association’s databases would divulge the owner of this insignia, but of course, wherever there is a need for information, money factored into the equation, and as an intern, Kurapika suspected Leorio didn’t have much of it.

“You recognize it?”

“No, I don’t. But I could find out who it is by tomorrow morning.” Then came the most important question that stirred his anxieties. “What do you plan on doing after I tell you who owns this pendant?”

“Perhaps if you saw what I’ve seen, you won’t be needing to ask.”

He was ushered into a room, pitch black with only shreds of light escaping from the edges of a white curtain that hung from the ceiling and brushed against the floor. Leorio swept the material aside andunveiled a sterilized room behind a large sheet of sound-proofglass. Kurapika squinted, forcing his eyes to adjust to the unexpected white glare, but then immediately wished that he wasn’t audience to the spectacle before him.

Leorio had said that the boy was six years old, but he looked less than four, a limp, lifeless figure weighed down by feather-light starch white covers, and whose chest laboriously rose and fell. A collapsed lung meant that the controlled pumping of the ventilator was all that stood between the boy and an eternity of oblivion. It seemed impossible, intolerable, that such a tiny, vulnerable creature had been subject to the torrent of abuse marked down so impersonally in Leorio’s report.

His nose pressed against the glass, breath intermittently misting the unyielding surface, Kurapika made out thin, brown mousey hair matted to a sweaty forehead. The eyelids and cheeks were grey pieces of skin painstakingly stretched over the bones, and an oxygen mask dominated a good half of the small face, concealing any traces of personality that boy may have had. Kurapika was glad the covers were tucked all the way under the chin so that he couldn’t see the needles from the IV drips break and penetrate skin.

“He’s in a persistent vegetative state. They’re going to turn off the life support tonight,” Leorio remarked, his voice distant.

Poor soul. To die so young, and alone.

“Damn it, Kurapika! Can I get one reaction out of you?” Leorio snapped and rounded on him, giving him a good shake. “Does none of this mean anything to you?

His friend’s voice rebounded around the cramped confines of the observation room, and also his mind. Kurapika deliberately took his time to respond, perhaps a little ashamed that he was able to approach the patient with such indifference. “Leorio,” he began, the tone more admonishing than he had intended for it to sound. “What is it you want of me? To use my dowsing chain and find out who did this to the kid? I am not the police you turn to when the corrupt ones don’t act. I’m just a bodyguard.”

“The least you could do,” Leorio hissed, a fire of unholy anger burning brightly in his eyes, “is to use your mafia links and get me the name of that family or business or organization or god-knows-what this insignia belongs to ASAP.”

“And then?”

The intern snarled, straightening his jacket. “What do you care? This is none of your business. You’re just a bodyguard,” he mimicked scathingly.

Kurapika felt his cheeks heat and his breath quicken. “You’re going to go after them, aren’t you?” Determinedly, he reached out and jerked Leorio back to face him, stunning the man for a moment with the terrible fury that contorted his elegant features. “Are you crazy? Going after what is clearly an organized crime ring powerful and rich enough to pay off an entire police station to look the other way?”

From scathing Leorio shifted to ridicule. “That didn’t seem to slow you down any when you went after the Genei Ryodan.”

Infuriated, Kurapika bit his lip until the coppery tang of blood seeped into his mouth. What Leorio was implicitly proposing to do was the most ludicrous thing he’d heard in a long time.

“That was personal.”

“And so is this,” the older man sharply retorted. Kurapika withstood the accusatory glare, determined not to be disgraced into shying away.

“How many of these personal cases do you have to take on? Will you go out and avenge each abused child who is wheeled in through those swinging double doors? Be reasonable.” He neutered his voice of its previous chagrin. “You’ve done your best to save this child’s life. There’s not much else you can do.”

Kurapika couldn’t identify the look Leorio gave him. It wasn’t because of the reflection on the taller man’s glasses that obscured his eyes, or the way those lips were pressed into an unremarkable straight line, but he fancied it could have been a cross between incredulity and disgust.

Then came a laugh; a bitter, scornful laugh, its derisive edge keen enough to scrape flesh off bone. “Because I’m not the almighty Kurapika? Because I don’t have your brains? Or your Kuruta heritage?”

Those words stung more than Ubogin’s crushing blow to his forearm had hurt. “Because you can’t save them all!” he bellowed, hoping to drown out that taunting voice.

Leorio opened his mouth, a quick, merciless riposte on the tip of his tongue, but the slamming door at the end of the corridor made both of them jump. Kurapika reacted first, racing to the doorway and poking his head out into the hallway just to catch a glimpse of the tail of a white before it disappeared into the darkness.

“Someone was eavesdropping.”

“Shit.” Leorio barged through the doorway, glaring at either ends of the corridor. “Did you see what he looked like?

The genuine anxiety in Leorio’s strained voice provoked sympathy for the man’s vain plight. “I saw the corner of a white jacket and a shoe.”

“It’s a doctor then,” Leorio deduced, gnawing away at his thumbnail. “And what was the colour of the shoe?”

Kurapika thought hard. In the brief blink of an eye, he had caught a distinct streak of black and red, bright and ominous.

Leorio all but froze when he heard his reply, leaving his face as pale as the dying boy. “Doctor Kelborne. Shit! We’ve got to get out of here.”

Confused, Kurapika refused to budge. “Who’s Doctor Kelborne?”

“Oh,” Leorio said with ostentatiously careless airs, “no one other than the Chief Attending who gives all the orders around here, and who also happens to be the one that signed off the papers to turn off those life support machines and after tonight will have destroyed every shred of evidence that the boy existed.”

Kurapika looked at his arm, the one that had uselessly grasped onto the older man’s sleeve, tugging as if he had the strength to pull the intern away from his reckless quest for justice. His own voice sounded oddly disembodied to his own ears. “If this Kelborne heard our conversation, you’ve got to run, get out of this hospital. You are no longer safe.”

And all at once, any traces of hysteria and panic ceased as if Leorio found the strength to triumph over his fears or had prioritized his concerns. His breathing calm and his eyes too clear and steady for Kurapika’s liking, he muttered, “Just give me the name, and you can go back to being your bodyguard and forget everything that happened tonight.”