Chapter Text
He opens his eyes, a sharp noise rings in his ears, increasing in pitch before it dissipates. He blinks, his vision focusing as a form looks up at him and stands back, a thoughtful hand cradling his chin as keen eyes observed him carefully. A hum comes from his throat and his lips press into a tight line.
He’s never quite seen a human like him. Well, he never really saw much aside from his father. This one was younger, with pale, doll-like skin and somehow, even fairer hair. He was angular and tall, much different from the shorter build of his father. His father also has wear on his skin, a sign of age and hard work—this man was seemingly pristine.
“Nanika, run diagnostics,” he says with a snap of his fingers. A small voice responds, but it’s loud—but maybe that’s because he can hear it in his brain.
“Done,” a feminine voice responds, small and child-like.
The man strolls over to a large screen, keying in numbers on a dashboard, green binary scrolling up the black before showcasing the inner most workings on him in graphs and tables, algorithms and code.
“That’s a really old OS,” a voice says from the other side of the room. A young girl hops off her seat, little heels clacking against the steel floor as she nearly skipped over, pushing the silver-haired man with her shoulder so she can get a better look. “I haven’t seen this in years. It was limited—had a lot of memory issues—replaced before it really got going.”
She hums, much like the man, but more sing-song.
“Oh! He has a name!” she exclaims as she whips around, large, blue eyes glinting with excitement. “Won’t you tell me your name?”
“Gon,” he responds with a smile, and the girl reciprocates. He’s not sure why she was so excited over it, his name was clearly printed on the screen for both of them to see.
“Most droids have names, Alluka,” the man chastises, a hint of a playful tone in his words. He types something in the command line and prints what Gon assumes is a physical report. As it finishes, the man tears it from the slot it printed from, inspecting it closer as if more information would be revealed if his nose was touching the paper. “Though it’s weird, based on his hardware, this would be before they were given names. I don’t see a factory number either.”
“My dad made me,” Gon spoke up, happy to answer the man’s questions. He’d never spoke to any other human before, his brain lighting up in excitement at the chance to meet someone new. “He created that operating software, but it was just an alpha for me.”
Gon looks down and realizes he’s hooked up. Large, capillary wires spilled out of the open compartment of his chest, his artificial heart exposed, beating synthetic blood through his veins in a steady pulse. The back of his neck was also hooked, the atlas vertebrae split to reveal the motherboard.
The two humans look at each other, before the girl—Alluka—tugs on the man’s leather jacket to whisper in his ear. He gives her a look, furrowed brows but a cautious smile, Gon unable to distinguish or categorize what that feeling may be.
“But, Killua,” Alluka protests, fists balling as she stood her ground. “We need to observe him more. He’s different,”—she glances at Gon before continuing—“He’s not Zoldyck. Also… you saw it, right?”
“Yeah, I saw it,” Killua responds dryly. He clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing at Gon. This makes his heart falter in its rhythm and Gon looks down at the artificial muscle curiously—that’s never happened before. Killua’s scrutinizing gaze grew stronger as he stepped closer, Gon noticing the minute flecks of rich blue in icy eyes.
“Who’s your father?”
“Ging Freecss.”
Killua appears to know this name, brows raising in recognition. A smirk curls his lip, followed by a snort of a laugh. “Ging Freecss, huh?”
“Yes,” Gon answers. He pauses for a moment, unsure whether or not he should say more than that, but that was his gift. That’s what his father wanted him to do. “He created me for a specific purpose.”
Alluka butts in, head poking from behind Killua. “And what was that?”
“To think for myself.”
This makes Alluka grin, while Killua frowns. The polar reactions causes Gon to chuckle, which makes Alluka grin even wider. The two were probably related—they had the same nose shape, eye colour, yet their hair was like night and day—Gon remembered learning about siblings and the like. It didn’t take long understanding the concepts, his father loading dumps of historical data at a time, but there were more meanings to family from what he grasped from the explanation given by Ging. He wasn’t very good at explaining it.
“Well, that’s great,” Killua says with a huff. “I was hoping for spare parts and I somehow stumbled upon Freecss’ failed experiment. He always was a loon.”
Gon leans forward, but stops at the tension of cords. “You know my dad?”
“Everyone knows Ging. He was a quack. Helped us design our military units despite his theories on free will,” Killua says, folding his arms. “When my father gave him the boot, he took the rest of Ging’s work and used the completed software. The bastard had the gall to encrypt a worm that spread over our entire network. All servers were shut down for a good three days, all internal droids were useless.”
Gon snorts at that, but Killua continues. “Yeah, laugh it up. I’d be happier about it if I wasn’t the one that had to clean up his mess. My father did deserve it, though. Zoldyck Corp. is a real gem.”
Gon figures he must have been asleep for a long time. This lab was not Ging’s and the tech looked better, though his father’s lab was very clean nor up to date. If his father wasn’t there, something must have happened. Killua knew him, after all.
“Are we in Zoldyck Corp.?”
“Hell no,” Killua responds flippantly. “Fuck that place, you’re in my personal lab.”
“—Which is technically on the Rift, the barrier to the Wastes,” Alluka interjects to clarify. Killua shoots her a glare as a warning and she playfully shoves his arm. “Chill out, Brother. It’s okay.” Gon proverbially pats himself on the back for correctly guessing the two were siblings.
“The Wastes?” Gon asks curiously. Gon could search through rows and rows of historical data in mere seconds, and after a couple queries, it still came up blank. “What’s that?”
“It’s where I found you. Everything past the Rift is the Wastes, the result of nuclear fallout. The upper ring of Swaldani was always enclosed, the lower rings housed reactors to power the city. One day there was an uprising and Zoldyck Corp wiped everyone out. Turns out there were other means of energy—so taking out the reactors and slums was hitting two birds with one stone.” Killua’s face darkens, the end of his sentence coming out bitter and sharp.
Gon’s brow crinkles. “How am I still intact?”
“The house I assume was above you doesn’t exist anymore—I found a bunker. Iced the lock and broke in.”
“And you carried me back by yourself?”
“I have a hoverbike. I make frequent trips looking for parts. You are heavy as hell though, took me forever to lug you up the stairs.”
Gon sits on this. He couldn’t remember living in the lower ring when he was last operational. Gon knew of many things, but it was possible Ging kept some from him. He never stepped outside, not even once, so how was he to know where they really were. Was his father still alive? Why would Ging leave him behind?
How many years had he been asleep?
“How long ago was the incident?” he presses firmly, the change in tone causing Killua’s brow to raise.
“Seven years ago,” Alluka answers. “The Wastes is still incredibly toxic… environment aside, there are also creatures. It’s dangerous.” She looks at Killua as she emphasizes the danger and Killua merely shrugs.
“Killua,” he begins and Killua’s gaze snaps to his, surprised to hear his name come from Gon’s mouth. “Will you take me there? I need to see it—Ging might be alive—he might have left me something.”
Alluka starts to protest when Killua cuts her off with the raise of his hand.
“You really want to go to the Wastes?” he asks sternly. Gon replies with a curt nod. If there are any hints that his father is out there, he’d want to know. Gon hadn’t finished learning yet. He was an unfinished product, he knew this, there were so many topics they had yet to discuss.
That, and the idea of stepping outside for the very first time ignited a flash to surge through him, goosebumps populating tanned skin.
“Fine,” Killua agrees, stepping closer. Gon can feel the faintest of breath warm the tip of his nose. “Help me find some parts and I’ll take you to the bunker.” Gon smiles at this but Killua doesn’t let him revel in happiness, jabbing a gloved finger to Gon’s chest.
“Don’t mistake this for a walk in the park. I’m not doing this as a favour. I’ll have a gun trained on your core. Any funny business and I won’t hesitate to take you out, you got that?”
Gon should’ve felt fear and yet, it only added fuel to his eagerness. Gon always dreamed of stepping outside and no amount of danger was going to stop him from making that step. Something deep within his code yearned for more than what was expected of him.
“Alluka,” Killua says, backing off. “Shut him down and unhook him for me.”
“Sure,” she complies, hopping over to the dashboard and landing into the wheeled chair, veering right. She spins around and waves to Gon. “I’ll see you in a few.”
Gon shuts his eyes. It feels natural to.
***
“You won’t kill him,” Alluka says as Gon is switched unconscious. “You saw it. There’s something there, so heavily encrypted that even Nanika couldn’t break it.”
She spins around in the chair to face her brother.
“Don’t you want to know?” she asks, cupping her hands in her lap. “Ging’s secret. He always hated the company… maybe there’s something in there that can help us. That and…”
“And?”
“He’s… strangely organic,” she says quietly. “he laughed, Brother. Gon said his purpose was to ‘Think for himself’. Maybe Ging really did create sentient life, or, he was close enough to make it seem real.”
Killua couldn’t deny that. There was something bizarre about the android in their brief meeting. It was possible Ging could have had notes in the bunker, but the idea of sentience was always something his family tried to avoid. It was considered morally wrong and inefficient, their company standard was for service droids. They weren’t meant to think and feel, only to serve, please, play a part or die in the line of fire.
He was raised to fear the idea of sentient droids. The havoc it would wreak would be catastrophic.
“We’ll see,” he replies, pivoting on his heel. “I’m not making any promises.”