Hunter X Hunter Fan Fiction ❯ Perdure ❯ Zero Hour Resolution ( Prologue )

Keiji: Recent information that has come to my attention has made me very sad. What news could I be referring too? Why I'm talking about the official announcement that the manga 'Hunter X Hunter' is on equally official hiatus.
Kiraa: Not like it had been updated in the last year.
Keiji: Well now that the manga seems to have 'ended' in some senses of the term, I'm taking it upon myself to finish up the story...post chimera ant arc.
Kiraa: Meaning she can't come up with the battle scenarios that would happen on the last day, only the outcome. And the story'll be starting from there. And I'm in charge of pairings, wh00t. Some of you might know what that means, other will be pleasantly (or unpleasantly) surprised.
Keiji: Anyway, now you know our reasoning behind this so lets get on with the story telling!

Disclaimer: Hunter X Hunter belongs to Yoshihiro Togashi, Shonen Jump, VIZ Media, Fuji Television, and Odex. This is a work of fanfiction by Miashin and is not intended for monetary use.

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Far better it is to dare mighty things, to win glorious triumphs even though checkered by failure, than to rank with those poor spirits who neither enjoy nor suffer much because they live in the gray twilight that knows neither victory nor defeat.
Theodore Roosevelt (1858 - 1919)

Prologue
Zero Hour Resolution

Killua stared up at the empty hospital ceiling...or at least he wished it were empty. These underground hospitals had all kinds of spots and stains that a thousand tons of bleach probably couldn't wash away. He didn't want to know how some of the darker stains had made it all the way up to the ceiling either.

Actually, it was hard to know or comprehend much of anything. He knew they had drugged him with the intent of keeping him out for at least another couple days. And honestly, he really wouldn't have minded much, his body wasn't the most pleasant place to be right now. But curse his training and immunity, even though he was sedated enough to be completely unable to move or think clearly, he did have enough consciousness to feel pain.

And to be worried. His last few memories were desperate, filled with more blood then he had seen in recent times, and downright disturbing. He wanted to at least be able to sit up, look around, check if Gon was in the hospital bed beside him (underground hospitals like these usually kept patients that came in as a group together), but couldn't do any of those.

It must have been the middle of the night too, cause the few attendants that did bustle through, only made sure that everybody was still breathing and went about their business as quietly as possible. He pretended to be asleep when they passed him. Mostly because he'd already tried talking, or making any kind of noise, and found it beyond his capabilities.

With nothing else to do, he waited. As minutes dragged into hours, the anesthetics had less and less of a hold on him. But his quick healing kept pace with the retreating drug. Not enough to stop the pain, he wished, but enough for him to decide that as soon as he had control of his limbs, that yes, he would be able to move.

It was early early morning when he final was able to sit up. The last time he'd been held at the underground hospital, he'd been in a common area. Now, it seemed, they had a special small room for themselves. 'They' designated him, Gon, Knuckle, Shoot, and Ikarugo.

He took stock of himself as he slid his feet out from under the covers and moved to stand. Back, chest, legs, right foot, and the back of his head, all were in pain. But it was his arms that concerned him the most. They were the most thickly bandaged of his limbs, he couldn't even move his fingers, but at the same time he couldn't feel any pain from them at all. He shuddered at his last few recollections of the damage done. It would heal, he knew it would, for now he was going to be thankful he couldn't feel those injuries.

Killua walked the short distance from his corner bed to the one right beside it, too look down on Gon. There wasn't much to see though, between the bandages and various tubes, Gon could've cosplayed as a mummy from space. Next to Knuckle's, Gon's bed was the one most attended too by various machines and mechanisms. Killua was no doctor, but he could guess the importance of some of the equipment, and the thin line of difference that they made between a living and a very dead Gon.

This was easily the worst part of the whole fiasco. He had no idea what losses they had suffered, and if they had been successful in their ultimate goal of defeating the king. His thinking was still sluggish, but not so much so that he couldn't process the implications. He knew, for a sad fact, that Meleoron was dead, but he had no way of knowing who, beyond the other occupants in the room, was still alive.

The corner opposite his was sectioned off by a curtained area. He made his way towards it, and slid aside the heavy draper carefully. Just enough to look inside. Palm, lay in a bed there, surprisingly well for wear all things considered. The curtains were probably there only to keep her separate from the males of the group instead of hiding some horrid injury. Stepping away, and letting the curtain fall back into place, he returned to his own bed and sat on its edge.

Alright, that brought the 'survivor' count up by one. Killua gave the room another once over, it left him with a strange disconcerting feeling that Morau wasn't among the people being hospitalized. Of course, that could be explained away by the fact that Morau had been an experienced hunter and might not have gotten injured as badly as the rest of them.

Killua's instinct, so attuned to death and the quick and fleeting nature of life, told him not to bother being so optimistic. Six survivors out of eight though wasn't a bad outcome, all things considered. Still he couldn't help feeling like they had ultimately lost. Perhaps not in a physical sense, but in some personal battles they had been beaten badly. Gon lying there before him like a rag doll was proof enough of that.

Outside of the room, the hospital activity was quite audibly starting to pick up. His internal clock told him it was somewhere between five or seven in the morning, though it was hard to tell in the dim electrically lit room. He lay back down on his bed but this time turned so that he could observe Gon, and the various machines attending the other boy, in favor of the stained ceiling. His arms were starting to ache, reminding him how far he had stretched the outermost limits of his ability.

He really wished they had given him a higher dosage. He hated lying there, watching his injured companions, and feeling the weight of his already decided upon course of action pressing down on him.

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“You think you can do something with them?”

Netero, president of the Hunter committee and arguably the most powerful nen user on the planet, had obviously seen better days. Although an initial glance might show only a slightly injured old man, anybody that been within the presidents presence before would have noted the change immediately. Ever had the old man been strong and proud, but now he looked the exact opposite. His back was bent, and, although it looked like he was only lightly bandaged, the fact that his nen presence was barely existent was testimony to the amount of energy the old professional had lost in the last battle. Netero had won against the King, but ultimately the damage done in the fight had permanently sealed his fate. The next couple years would more then likely be the old man's last.

The knowledge of this, and the obvious acceptance of the outcome by Netero, was an odd thing to Gin. In all his time abroad and in the wilds, between all the people heed met, known, befriended, and studied, he'd become quite used to death. Not in a resigned fashion, but in a way of acknowledging it as the natural order of things. Yet even to this experienced hunter there had been some things that had seemed eternal, even if logicly he knew they weren't. The mountains were eternal, as were the oceans, stars, plains, winds. Netero had also seemed eternal. The dispelling of this illusion came too easily. It wasn't anything Gin hadn't known, but the reminder was sobering.

Then, of course, there was the matter of the new mission he was being 'offered.' He knew he could turn it down, when a hunter made it to his high standing this was always an option, but a professional hunter didn't just turn down president Netero, especially if this was easily the last, and most important, mission the president would ever give to this hunter.

Gin looked away from the president, back the way they had come, to the charges (as Netero had called them) he would have to care for. He could say no, it'd be easier on him if he did. He could, but both he and Netero knew that he wouldn't. They knew that there were few others in the world that could fulfill the task now being placed before Gin. They knew the answer before he spoke it.

“Well, it'd be one hell of challenge, but I think I'll manage. Been looking for some excitement.”

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Published on: June 28, 2007