Notes: This takes place in a separate storyline from the show. The timeline will become clearer as the story progresses, but one important thing to know is that Seto was kidnapped before he had the chance to take over KaibaCorp.
Chapter One:
Mokuba sat at his desk, staring blankly at the sheets spread out before him. They all looked the same as all the others he had set in front of him daily. The numbers printed on the smooth white sheets discussed something far beyond his knowledge. He worked on unknown formulas and projects, never bothering to ask what the purpose was.
He was aware of the seconds on the clock ticking down to his deadline. Gozaburo had chosen to center a massive clock over his desk so that it always leered down while he tried to understand the calculations assigned to him. Every second that went by was another moment that Mokuba let his assignments slide. It was another second that separated him from his brother. It was another second wasted.
He had lost his motivation to succeed. After four years of rigorous training, finding reasons to continue often proved more challenging than the assignments he was forced to go through. The numbers and designs were meaningless. He cared nothing for war. His brother hadn't cared, so why should he?
In a quick motion, Mokuba ran his arm across the desk and scattered the assignments. They fell gently to litter the floor around his desk. As the last one landed, Mokuba let his head fall too, though it landed on the now-bare desk. His black hair settled into a position that covered his face, but he was too lazy to brush it away. He had thought that with his shorter hair, it wouldn't cover anything, but the view of the clock disappeared. Maybe for just that moment, he might be able to forget about its existence.
The door to his room opened, but Mokuba didn't look up. Whether he was punished for the papers being on the floor or taking a break from working didn't matter. The result would be the same.
"Sit up," came the stern command.
Mokuba's body automatically responded by straightening his back. He rolled his eyes at the reflexes his muscles had developed under his adopted father's hand.
"Why is your homework on the floor?"
Mokuba turned to glance at Gozaburo, the man he had been ordered to refer to as his father. Gozaburo was angry, but that was typical of most days. He crossed his arms as he stood over his son, glaring down just as the clock continued to do.
"I got tired of looking at them," Mokuba answerered.
"Were they too difficult for you to comprehend?"
"No sir."
"Then why are you not working on them?"
"I didn't want to."
Mokuba gave the slap to the back of his head little attention. He flinched, but more as an instinctive response than a physical. A slap was hardly the largest of his concerns.
"That is no excuse."
"It wasn't supposed to be," Mokuba said, earning another slap.
"Pick them up and finish them. You are seventeen years old. Your brother could complete these within an hour when he was twelve."
Mokuba's eyes narrowed as he looked up to glare at Gozaburo. It was the second reference of the day to his intellectual failures. The comparison didn't offend Mokuba as much as the lack of regard to how the words would hurt.
"Well I'm not Seto."
"Such a shame that is."
Mokuba shifted his gaze downward to avoid the expression of disgust on his Gozaburo's face. The accusation was unfair. After so long, Gozaburo couldn't expect Mokuba to be Seto. Mokuba's brother had been born with a natural talent for learning; Mokuba had not. He never claimed to possess even a portion of his brother's gift for learning. Claiming such would detract from his brother's memory.
The doorbell rang, cutting through the silence that had taken over the room. It went ignored by both Kaibas until a minute later, it rang a second time.
"Hobson! Answer the door!" Gozaburo shouted. No sooner had he finished his command than he said to Mokuba, "Pick up them up."
Not wanting to push Gozaburo's patience any longer, Mokuba slid out of his chair and got on his knees. Doing so put him directly beside Gozaburo's feet, a fact which Mokuba attempted to push out of his mind. He picked up the papers carefully, making every attempt not to wrinkle any of them any more.
"Mr. Kaiba," Hobson said through the intercom. "The detectives are here to see both you and the young Mr. Kaiba."
Mokuba froze in his place. It had been over a year since the police had contacted the Kaibas. That visit had been short. It lasted only long enough for a detective to explain that Seto's case had hit a dead end. There were no more leads to follow, no suspects remained. The case had run cold.
They left with the parting words, "We will contact you if anything turns up," a phrase which Mokuba heard as , "When we find his body, we will let you know."
Mokuba had held onto the hope that as long as he didn't hear from the police, his brother was still alive. But with their arrival, he feared the worst.
Even Gozaburo seemed a bit shaken. As he walked to the intercom to respond, his steps lacked their arrogant air. Mokuba assumed that he too had held some hope that his prodigy still lived, that his less capable son would not remain his only heir.
"We will be down in a moment," Gozaburo answered.
He stared down at Mokuba, who still knelt on the floor, and said, "Let's go."
It took every ounce of force Mokuba possessed to get to his feet. Each step that he took toward the officers took time away in which his brother was still alive. The longer he delayed, the longer he could believe that.
Gozaburo walked through the door leading to the sitting room, but Mokuba hesitated outside. He took his time composing himself, to prepare his mind for the inevitable news. He would not break down in the room. He would keep a straight face with whatever the officers had to say. After all, he knew it was coming. He had always known.
Stepping inside, Mokuba noted that the men were actually some of the detectives that had worked on Seto's case. Their faces were familiar, but their names escaped him. Though at that point in time, he could not see how it made a difference. Whoever they were, they carried the news that Mokuba had been waiting to hear for the past several years. They had information about Seto.
"Please sit down," one of them said, as if it was his home, his couch to invite Mokuba to sit. He gestured to the couch where Gozaburo was already sitting, and Mokuba walked over in silence.
As he took his seat, Mokuba folded his hands in his lap in an attempt to appear calm. But he dug a fingernail into his palm to distract himself from feeling any emotions.
"I'm Detective Corwin and this is my partner Detective Granlil. We worked Seto's case, as I am sure you recall."
Corwin waited as if expecting a response. When none came from either Kaiba, he continued. "As you are aware, his case has been considered cold for the past year, although a small team was still assigned. There had not been any real leads, just a few small things that turned up empty."
Mokuba's foot began to tap involuntarily. The detective was dragging out the news and Mokuba wasn't sure how much longer he could sit still.
"That changed yesterday."
A deep breath filled Mokuba's lungs, making him realize that he had not been breathing. His nail dug further into his palm as he waited to hear what had turned up.
Corwin could clearly see Mokuba's anxiety. "We were contacted yesterday by a rental home landlord over in uptown. One of his renters had failed to pay for the past several months, so he entered the house. When he did so, he found it empty. But as he went through, he discovered a notebook filled with letters. All of these letters are entitled, 'Dear Mokuba.'"
When Corwin stopped speaking there, his partner spoke up, "It wasn't only that, but the first series of letters were signed, 'Seto Kaiba.'"
Mokuba couldn't breathe once more. The hands that had been in his lap moved to cover his mouth in an attempt to keep from gasping in shock. But the question rose to his lips and he had to voice it. "You mean he has been in this city the entire time?"
Both detectives nodded.
"If he was in the city, how could you not find him?" Gozaburo questioned.
"There were no ties to the case."
"And this is a lead you can actually pursue?" Gozaburo asked.
"Yes sir. Although the name associated with the house was a dead end, likely a fake, we are currently going through searching for DNA that will link us to a new suspect. It is a fairly large house and we are certain that something inside will lead us in the right direction," Granlil said.
"So is he alive?" Mokuba whispered.
"As far as we know, he is."
He couldn't stop the quiet sobs that took over his body. Mokuba buried his face in his hands as he began to cry tears of relief. He had been expecting to hear the worst news upon entering the room. But to hear that Seto was still alive? He had not expected that.
Corwin went on. "None of his letters are dated. One of the notes toward the middle said that it had been two years, and he wrote many more after that."
"Did any of his letters say who kidnapped him?" Gozaburo asked.
"He gave no details to help lead us to his location or the man who took him."
"But you know it is a man?" Gozaburo pressed.
"Yes sir," Granlil said. "Seto often refers to the man, but he simply calls him, 'he.'"
Mokuba had gotten himself calm enough that he felt comfortable pulling his hands away from his face. He met Corwin's eyes and asked, "If they are addressed to me, can I read them?"
"The original copies are in evidence, but we made a copy for each of you. If you can read through them and see if there is anything we missed, it would be appreciated."
After speaking, Corwin reached to pick up a briefcase that Mokuba had failed to notice before. It opened with a click, and Corwin pulled out two bound stacks of paper. He leaned forward and handed one to each Kaiba.
Mokuba took his copy and immediately opened it to the first page. Ignoring the two detectives in the room, he began to read the first letter.
Dear Mokuba,
He walked into the room today and proudly presented me this notebook. He claimed it to be a gift of some sort, as though I had been good enough to deserve one. It seems as though I have fallen into a depressed state. He must have assumed that giving me this notebook will make up for taking my life away. And it is one of the only forms of semi-entertainment that does not involve electricity.
He swore that he would not read anything I write in here. I don't give him much credibility. The man kidnapped me. Reading what I write down does not compare.
But whether or not he reads it does not matter. It is not as though he is blind to my anger or my desperation to get away from him. Nothing I write down is a secret. I either speak my mind or write it down; either way he knows.
I tried to escape. Although he never mentioned it to me, I know that he knows it happened. The chain on my ankle is a sign of that. A bit medieval, but effective at keeping me in place. Aside from the chain, it is as though my escape attempt never happened. Even I have almost forgotten.
I miss you, kid. Every time I wake up, I wonder what you are doing. I try to imagine your daily routine and how you spend your time. I think about how you are handling things. I try not to think about what he was been doing to you. Right now, I cannot handle that thought.
I don't know what I hope to accomplish by writing you these letters that will go unread. It is such an irrational concept. But then, so is my being kidnapped. There is nothing about this situation that is normal. In fact, everything about this situation is quite irrational. I am not kidnapped for ransom or to force Gozaburo's hand. And I know how abnormal that is.
So why not write to you, little brother? Why not say the things to you that I so badly need to say? But I know that I am writing to no one.
-Seto Kaiba
Mokuba's hands shook as he read over his brother's signature. There was no mistaking the perfectly formed letters as Seto's handwriting. Just seeing the name nearly brought Mokuba back to tears.
Gozaburo's body was stiff next to Mokuba. He had finished the first letter long before Mokuba and continued on, so Mokuba was unsure as to what could have put him so on edge. But if Seto's comment from the first letter was any sign, he spoke poorly of Gozaburo often. Had he mentioned the abuse Gozaburo put him through? And if so, what position would that put Gozaburo in?
Mokuba started to turn the page, but was cut off by Detective Granlil. "As I am sure you can see, we did discover some interesting things in his letters. Trust us, Mr. Kaiba, we will be sure to investigate thoroughly."
Gozaburo got to his feet, followed by Corwin and Granlil. "We will let you know if we catch anything in his letters," he said sharply, dismissing the men.
The detectives nodded their understanding and prepared to leave. But before doing so, Corwin stopped to hand Mokuba his business card. "Be sure to call me if you need anything."
Mokuba stared at the card. In a conversation of double meanings, he knew what point the detective was trying to get across.
But Gozaburo still stood over Mokuba. His eyes burned down with an unspoken threat.
Mokuba took the card, but set it on the coffee table without hesitation. "Yes sir," he said politely, and then like the other men, got to his feet.
Hobson appeared in the doorway to walk the men to the front door. Both Gozaburo and Mokuba were silent as they left the room. But the moment they were out of sight, Gozaburo reached down to pick up Corwin's card, which he promptly shredded.
"Even when he is missing your brother is a nusiance," he muttered.
As the pieces of the card drifted to the floor, Mokuba pulled the copies of his brother's letters close to his chest. All of his questions might soon be answered, some of which by Seto himself. No matter what Gozaburo's reaction to the news might be, Mokuba stood relieved with the knowledge that Seto was alive.
This will probably be one of the longer chapters, which isn't that long to begin with. I'll be updating within the week.
9/26/15: Slight updates.
