HxH: Ryomen... Satoru?

"Boring. I'm starting to regret this," Cyr muttered as he walked along the narrow paths of District 13, not even bothering to use Cursed Technique to move faster. Instead, he deliberately measured each step, as if taking stock of every inch of the district.

Pampas had named this little escapade the "Ghost Catching Game." All Cyr had to do was find the "ghost" to win.

Given that most of the missing children came from District 13, Cyr decided to focus his investigation there.

To blend in, he dressed differently, covering his tattoos with a long-sleeved shirt—something only girls typically wore. His facial markings were concealed by makeup.

He looked just like any other ordinary, vulnerable child ripe for the picking.

To complete the act, he scavenged through garbage piles like the other District 13 kids, searching for anything salvageable to exchange for supplies near the local chapel.

The adult residents and priests of District 13 didn't interfere. There was simply too much trash. Every day brought new heaps of garbage, far beyond what the church members alone could handle.

Thus, scavengers were a necessary part of Meteor City's ecosystem.

For three days, Cyr played the role of a diligent scavenger. But aside from the occasional Scavenger Vulture patrol, he encountered nothing suspicious.

Not a single lead.

He felt a growing irritation at having abandoned his training only to waste time on this.

"Stupid game," he muttered, just as his foot sank into emptiness. His balance gave way, and he plummeted downward.

"Oh? Finally getting interesting?" he mused, spreading his arms wide as he fell. A grin spread across his face as the dark, endless tunnel enveloped him.

With a solid thud, he landed on his feet, striking a confident pose.

As soon as he landed, Six Eyes activated, scanning his surroundings in an instant.

It was an empty room, save for one exit. The tunnel that had brought him here was now gone.

Before he could analyze further, a heavy drowsiness overtook him as he smelled something.

Cyr's thoughts slowed. Recognizing the scent, he gave in without resistance and collapsed.

A metallic door creaked open, and a shadowy figure entered, dragging a chain behind them. They grabbed Cyr and hauled him away.

When Cyr next awoke, he found himself confined in a cage. Similar cages surrounded him, each holding an unconscious child.

Their hands and feet were shackled, collars fastened around their necks. Duct tape sealed their mouths, preventing any cries for help.

Even as Cyr stirred, none of the other children showed signs of waking.

The same dose of the substance affected everyone differently. For Cyr, it had only knocked him out for ten minutes. But for these children, it could keep them unconscious for an entire night.

"Well, that makes things easier," Cyr murmured.

With a small flex of his arms, he snapped the chains binding his wrists. He then tore off the collar and peeled away the duct tape from his mouth.

Touching the sticky residue around his lips, his expression darkened.

Displeased, he gripped two bars of his cage. With minimal effort, he bent them outward, creating a gap just wide enough for him to squeeze through.

Glancing at the faint blue glow of the overhead lights, Cyr turned toward the room's heavy stone door.

He placed a hand against it, and with a simple push, the door creaked open. After stepping through, he casually closed it behind him.

"Now," he whispered to himself, "the real ghost-hunting begins."

"Who's human? Who's the ghost?"

His quiet laughter echoed through the empty corridor, adding an eerie undertone to the already unsettling atmosphere.

---

At the end of one passage, two men stood guard, rifles slung across their backs. Beside them lay plastic bags brimming with trash and a few empty liquor bottles.

"How much do you think we'll make this time?" one of the men asked, his cheeks flushed with the telltale signs of drunkenness. Despite his state, his eyes sparkled with greed.

"More than last time for sure. We've got way more goods this time," the second man replied, a smug grin spreading across his face.

"Yeah, enough to enjoy ourselves in the pleasure district for quite a while…" The first man's grin turned lecherous, his tone dripping with anticipation.

"All your money wasted on booze and women," his companion teased, laughing.

Just then, the overhead lights flickered ominously before cutting out entirely.

"What the hell?!" Both men raised their guns, scanning their surroundings in panic.

They waited in tense silence, but nothing happened. Gradually, their anxiety subsided, and they let out relieved sighs.

"I told you these lights needed fixing ages ago. Damn cheap setup. Guess they've finally had it," one of the men grumbled.

He realized his companion hadn't spoken since the lights went out.

"Hey, why so quiet?" he asked, raising his gun again.

In the pitch black, a pale, ghost-like figure darted past.

Before he could react, a cold sensation brushed against his cheek, and his body suddenly felt unnaturally heavy. White threads dangled in front of his eyes.

The sound of snapping bones shattered the silence.

The man's vision tilted, and he watched in horror as his head hit the ground. Blood-filled eyes stared at his now headless body, still standing for a brief moment before collapsing with a heavy thud.

Darkness claimed him entirely, and the last thing he heard was the sound of approaching footsteps.

"Number eight," Cyr muttered, stepping over the lifeless head as he sought his next target.

He had sabotaged the building's power supply, plunging it into complete darkness. But with his Six Eyes, Cyr navigated the black void with ease, as if it were broad daylight.

The entire facility had become his personal playground, and he was thoroughly enjoying the game.

---

"Matt? Matt? Are you there? Respond." Another man spoke into his radio, attempting to contact the guards stationed throughout the building.

There were 200 security personnel assigned to the facility, each squad led by someone proficient in Nen. Every guard carried firearms.

Yet, in the aftermath of the blackout, 57 of them had mysteriously vanished without a trace.

"Another one's gone silent."

"That makes fifty-seven since the lights went out."

Voices filled the room, heavy with unease.

No gunfire, no cries for help—just an oppressive silence that swallowed every sound.

"Zzz…zzz…" Static crackled through one of the radios, breaking the tension. Someone was trying to reach them.

"This is Squad Fan! Report your status!" the man holding the radio shouted eagerly.

"Zzz…run…zzz…" A distorted, barely audible voice responded.

"What? Speak up!" Fan demanded, his grip tightening on the device.

"Zzz…get out!! Ahhh—!"

A bloodcurdling scream cut through the static, then silence.

The line went dead.

°°°

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