And the Lord God said, 'Behold, the man is become as one of us, to know good and evil: and now, lest he put forth his hand, and take also of the tree of life, and eat, and live for ever.'

– The Book of Genesis; Chapter 3, Verse 22, KJV


I

Maiami City

Leo Corporation Sublevel Three

Research & Development

15:20

Up until recently, it had been the mark of a tourist to not recognize the crystalline structure that dominated this part of Japan's coastline. Twice as tall as any other building in the region, it stood among its brethren of metal and glass like some ancient sentinel, protecting the city it was part of. Or perhaps, some might now say, the city that was part of it—for the Leo Duel School, along with the influence it wielded, was practically the lifeblood of Maiami City and the surrounding area. Some even said that the world as it was today owe itself to the existence of LDS and the conglomerate that owned it—given recent events, such a statement might not have been so far from the truth.

This conglomerate was just as ubiquitous as the school, but the bulk of its operations were nowhere to be seen—at least, not above ground. Most of the Leo Corporation's less public dealings were concentrated beneath the massive skyscraper and the surrounding area so as not to attract any more attention than they were already receiving. It was not all out of necessity—the top brass of the corporation had been very tight-lipped about the goings-on under their school even before all the city tabloids started snooping around a few weeks ago following a mysterious police investigation that had supposedly been requested by the acting chief executive herself. Nothing had come of it—but that had not stopped the odd adventurous journalist from aspiring to make a quick profit with a juicy story.

The latest of these had pretended to masquerade as an employee of the Leo Corporation barely a week ago—which meant it had been the topic of conversation ever since. Much laughter was to be had in the break room of how the unfortunate reporter's ruse had been discovered, and how he had been unceremoniously ejected from the premises.

" … I honestly thought Shirai was going to feed him to his Duel Monsters, Sakamura-kun," said one Leo Corporation technician to the other as they walked through the corridors of their company. "I've messed up on my work a dozen times since I first started here a few years ago—and let me tell you, I have never seen him so angry."

"Yeah." The second technician, Sakamura, was younger than his companion, though no less seasoned to the daily life of working inside this company. "How many yen do you want to wager that the board of directors is talking about that reporter right now, Tanaka-sensei?"

The older of the pair ignored the teasing honorific—they'd spent enough time working on their own project together that he didn't mind. "Not as much as I'd wager that the next reporter who gets caught in here without their say-so gets more than just a boot from the building and enough NDAs that he won't be able to speak our name for the rest of his life," he said. "I can't say I blame them—I catch one in here, I'm not going to get in Shirai's way next time."

Tanaka and Sakamura shared a hearty laugh as they entered the main complex of the Leo Corporation's R&D facility: a massive chamber that might have comfortably fit an entire football pitch if it wasn't currently so crowded and cluttered. A thousand different projects—some related to Dueling, others focused on other areas of research, and all in various stages of completion, littered the concrete floor in sectioned-off grids precisely ten meters square. Three different walls of the entire room were lined with see-through cubicles and offices, built into special alcoves so as to maximize floor space—the former stacked three high on opposite walls; the latter stacked two high on either side of the door the two technicians had just walked through.

The only wall that wasn't devoted to office space was lined with a half-dozen doors, spaced roughly a hundred feet apart. These led to several testing arenas, each reaching the size of an average tennis court. Larger projects were not tested here, but were otherwise taken to a secluded proving grounds away from the downtown area—where, exactly, was a secret; rumor had it that everyone who was taken there arrived and left in a bus with blackened windows. Even before last month's incursion—and the sudden influx in the scrutiny of independent journalists—the Leo Corporation still took secrecy very seriously.

The technicians' attention was distracted at that moment by a small crowd that had gathered near one of those testing bays. They chattered indistinctly among themselves while occasionally gesturing towards the door, which—according to the red light above it—was currently in use. As the two technicians drew closer, though, they could hear snippets of the conversation amidst the hustle and bustle of R&D—along with what sounded like an intermittent thumping noise from whatever was on the other side of that door.

"How long has J.D. been in there?" said one of the observers, an excited-looking woman of about twenty who looked the very definition of 'intern'.

"Going on two and a half hours," replied her older companion. "And that's assuming he took his break; I'm not sure he's left that room all day." His gaze traveled to the closed door as another thump made itself heard. "Lately, I'm beginning to wonder if the man even sleeps."

Tanaka and Sakamura exchanged knowing looks. J.D. Crowley, while far from being the newest addition to R&D, had attracted no small amount of envy from a few of the more seasoned employees of the division. For once, the fact that he was gaijin—foreign—had little to do with this sentiment; recently, Crowley had volunteered to work on a project that had been started some months ago by Akaba Reiji—the famous chief executive of the Leo Corporation himself, whose work was therefore the gold standard to everyone who worked here. Being selected to take part in ensuring that one of his pet projects saw the metaphorical light of day—in this case, worldwide mass-production—was considered a huge honor.

"I don't know why J.D. would want to stress-test now, though," remarked Sakamura, making the twenty-something intern jump a good meter in the air at the unexpected voice. "We've already started shipping units—in fact, weren't the first hundred loaded up at the city docks just yesterday?"

"He might just be making a to-patch list," remarked the intern's friend. "I heard him say before he went back in that he wanted 'to be absolutely sure before notifying quality control of any defects or bugs.' Certainly takes pride in his work, he does," he added, to nods all around.

They lingered around a few minutes longer before Tanaka glanced at his watch; it was 3:21 P.M. "Come on," he said to Sakamura. "We'd better get back to work before Shirai thinks we're with the tabloids, too."

This earned a grimace and a furtive glance backwards towards the office-lined wall. The space in the center was wider than the offices that surrounded it, and even though they could not see through the windows at this angle, they did not doubt that the unseen Shirai was watching over the entire space like a hawk.

"Good point," agreed Sakamura, and they headed back to their assigned grid space, where rested the project they'd been working on—though not without stealing a glance every so often towards the space where Crowley was continuing his work.

"The programming should have had time to calibrate while we were on break," said Tanaka, examining a computer screen that had been set up in the workspace, before finally crossing over to a tablet-like device that was lying on a workbench. "We'll set up for a sixty-second test. If J.D.'s in there right now, odds are he's in the middle of a Duel. If that's true, this should be able to pick up traces of any Summoning energy from that Duel—which should bring us one step closer to closing any gaps in LDS' sensor net. A few dozen more of these"—he gestured to the tablet—"and I'd wager the next invading force won't even be able to play a Level 1 anywhere in the prefecture without us knowing about it. I wouldn't be surprised if the LDS staff integrated this technology into their Duel Disks by this time next year."

"Let's hope we won't need it by then—I'd be happy if the war this was made for ended before we needed to use it," Sakamura said under his breath. He bit his lip, before speaking a little more loudly to his coworker. "Tanaka—do you think the Lancers are enough?"

Tanaka hesitated—he didn't need to register the lack of an honorific in the query to know that Sakamura was clearly anxious. "What do you mean?" he asked.

It was Sakamura's turn to pause. "Well … lately the wife's been worried. We've got that kid on the way, you know, so she's already anxious as all hell. Most of that's part and parcel with being pregnant, I know—hormones, right?—but last night she asked me a question: 'How do we know a bunch of kids can stop a war?'"

Tanaka was very quiet as he listened to his coworker's tale. "It kept me up all last night," Sakamura confessed. "I didn't know how to answer her. All I could do was really hold her until she went to sleep … " He sighed. "What do you think? I know what you're going to tell me—those kids proved themselves in the Maiami Championship, and they're being led by Reiji himself. But they're still kids—he's only sixteen. Is that really enough against an army from another dimension—an army whose strength we can only guess at?"

The other technician was silent for a long time—evidently he, too, was having some trouble finding a good answer to his query. "It isn't just Reiji who put the Lancers together," was his eventual reply. "Chairwoman Akaba worked with him, too. Himika's just as sharp as her son—if not more so. If anyone in this city knows how to defeat this threat for good, she does."

Sakamura, however, was undeterred. "But what if these invaders attack again, when the Lancers aren't here?" he asked. "What will we do then?"

Tanaka looked grim. "For a start," he said, "we hope that our work does what it was meant to do." He nodded downwards towards the tablet computer on the desk they shared. "If it doesn't, then we work harder until we know that it does."

That was enough for Sakamura to know the time for questions and idle chat was over. "Okay," he said, fully sobered up—now strictly business as he played an allegretto on the keyboard. "Any energy in particular we should be looking for?"

Tanaka shook his head. "Doesn't matter right now. We've still got to program parameters for Fusion, Synchro, and Xyz into the software for these things. If this test run works out, then we'll head over to Nakajima; his department can give us the parameters we need for us to start conducting more tests—tests that should hopefully give us more accurate readings."

"Got it." Sakamura tapped a few final keys, humming to himself as he studied the readouts on the screen. "Okay. Sixty-second test of Project #1523147—commencing in five … four … three … two … one."

He pressed the ENTER key; at once, the screen of the tablet in front of Tanaka lit up. A simple graph appeared on the screen, along with a single, slightly pulsing line. In the exact center of that graph, a keen eye would have seen that line spiking every few seconds.

"I think it's working," commented Tanaka as he studied the readout, tapping the screen here and there. "I'm calling up the radial imaging function … overlaying with map topography, and … Yep, just as I thought," he nodded, beckoning Sakamura to his side. "The scanner's picking up every Summon within a block of LDS—just like I programmed it to," he added with a faint note of pride. "It can't yet tell what kind of Summons they are—once we get the specifications from Nakajima, we'll be able to see more than one fluctuation in this graph here—but none of them are especially high-powered, either, else we'd be seeing bigger spikes. So every pulse we're seeing right now is a low-level, locally produced Summon of an Extra Deck Duel Monster."

Sakamura grinned. "Then we're in business, Tanaka-sensei?"

"Looks that way," Tanaka replied, pulling his coworker into a one-armed hug. "Four hundred hours we've logged between the both of us on this! When Nakajima sees the progress we've made, he's going to do backflips, I tell you!"

"Then what are we waiting for?" asked Sakamura. "Let's go see him now—it's only twenty-two minutes past three! If we do, we could probably start work on programming everything he gives us before we clock out for the day."

"Good idea," Tanaka said with an approving nod as he turned back to the computer. "Let's just shut this down here first, and—"

He broke off suddenly, and it was immediately apparent to Sakamura what had distracted him: the tablet on their desk was beginning to beep rapidly. That wasn't all, either; both technicians knew as they stared at the screen—and the rapidly growing spike that had appeared in the center.

Tanaka and Sakamura both turned towards one another at the same time—each of their faces mirroring the other's growing horror. "You don't think—!" Sakamura could only say.

Tanaka was already upon the device like a cat on its favorite toy. "I'm localizing the energy spike now," he said hurriedly. "Should be another few seconds before I can—"

But suddenly there was a deafening BANG that rendered the device quite unnecessary; indeed, it was so loud that half of R&D had gone quiet straightaway. Everyone's attention—including that of Tanaka and Sakamura—was now fixed like a laser on the only possible place that that sound could have come from.

Testing bay three.

Tanaka's face was white as a sheet. "Get Shirai-kachō," he muttered to Sakamura. "Now."


Thirty seconds earlier

On the other side of the two-foot thick partition that separated testing bay three from the rest of R&D—twelve inches of solid steel, and another twelve inches' worth of enough sensors to hear the heartbeat of a housefly—a Duel was indeed in progress.

One of the combatants—sturdy, lean, and already beginning to bald despite being in his twenties—wiped his heavily perspiring brow as he took a deep breath. True to his coworkers' mumblings, J.D. Crowley had been in here for a very long while; in fact, he had yet to take his break, even though he ought to have half an hour ago. So absorbed was he in his work that he'd barely come back from his lunch break three hours ago before diving right back into the Duel he'd interrupted—and even before that, he'd been in and out only long enough to take his morning break.

Roughly a dozen Duels later, here he was, staring down his opponent with a trio of monsters, each placed on the maroon chevron that lined his gunmetal-gray Duel Disk. Hard-light projectors inside the testing bay replicated their representations onto the field of the Duel—in the center: a ten-foot-tall flaming knight in bright white-and-red armor (Level 8: ATK 2800/DEF 2200); to its right, a smaller warrior clad in crimson armor (Level 4: ATK 1900/DEF 900), and on its left fluttered a butterfly-like creature whose wings were made of fire (Level 4: ATK 1500/DEF 1500).

Crowley took a moment to wipe his spiky brown hair free of sweat. Then: "Evoltector Chevalier! Flaming-Sprite Butterfly – Wilps!" he cried. "Attack directly!" The two flanking monsters did just, rushing straight for his opponent in twin streaks of flame. Once—twice—they connected in quick succession, causing a pair of concussive blasts to echo throughout the chamber, and the opponent's LP to drop to 600.

The researcher, satisfied, took his time to examine the state of the Duel thus far. He still had every last one of his Life Points, and a strong field to boot—while his opponent had no field whatsoever, and only a sliver of LP remaining. If his strongest monster had not already attacked this turn, this Duel would have been won by now.

But still, Crowley was not satisfied. "Turn end," he said, and the opponent promptly began his turn, drawing a card.

Seconds later, his opponent began to speak in a flat, emotionless voice: "I place—"

"Not so fast!" yelled Crowley—he'd played more than enough Duels with this opponent not to know what he was planning on doing next. "Phoenix Gearfried's effect! If my opponent activates a Spell Card, I can target a Dual monster in my Graveyard and Special Summon it! I Special Summon Hell Kaiser Dragon!"

Gearfried raised its enormous blade and whirled it this way and that, creating a dark portal in midair. Seconds later, a winged, serpentine shape shot out from that portal unfolded onto the Field, letting loose an intimidating growl at his opponent as it settled to one side of his Chevalier (Level 6: ATK 2400/DEF 1500).

"Energy output nominal," said his opponent all of a sudden. "Input projection parameters. Scale 1, Qliphort Assembler; Scale 9, Qliphort Tool."

Crowley's smile vanished as suddenly as a blown bulb. What?! He checked his Duel Disk, then the various computer screens behind him—but a single second's glance at the telemetry on each one told him the same thing.

No—not now! he thought frantically. I can't let this Summoning take place! "Emergency shutdown!" he yelled. "Authorization: Crowley-zeta-one-six!"

The voice recognition software beeped in recognition—but his opponent had been quicker by far. Two mechanical shapes, either side of him, rose into the air, hovering near the roof of the testing bay:

"Parameters accepted. Initiate resident program: Pendulum Summon."

Crowley whirled around, feeling terror course through his veins—he knew he only had seconds. "No, wait!" he cried out, to no avail. "Wait—!"


Tanaka had made it to the door of testing bay three just in time to hear a young man's voice. "Help me!" J.D. was barely heard to hear—a remarkable achievement, considering the thickness of the walls and the growing clamor outside the door. "Someone get me out of here!"

BANG. Everyone jumped as another deafening noise rattled the entire wall.

"What the devil is going on here?" Shirai—the bald, mustachioed lead programmer—had appeared out of nowhere, Sakamura at his side. Both men looked as though they'd run a race. Shirai in particular was breathing especially heavily; it was a sign of the tenseness of the situation that no one jumped at the sound of his gruff voice.

"J.D.'s in the testing chamber," Tanaka quickly said, gesticulating at the tablet in his hand. "We—Sakamura and I—just picked up a massive energy spike in there. If we're reading it right, it's trending exponentially."

Shirai bit his lip as yet another loud BANG shook the wall. "Get him out of there," he said to nobody in particular, as Crowley's pleas for help continued. "Now!"

Sakamura had produced his key card before anyone else had thought to do so. He sprang for the door, slid his card through the lock—but nothing happened.

He tried again—achieving nothing except another loud BANG. Several of the more fearful personnel were beginning to back away, as though wary the entire wall would collapse.

"Can anyone hear me?!" Crowley sounded as though he feared for his life. "Someone—get me out of here now!"

"Door's shut tight!" Sakamura cried, after a third failed attempt. "My key card isn't working!"

Shirai shunted him aside, producing his own card and slicing it through the lock—but he, too, was unsuccessful. "Crowley, can you hear me?" he called out, rapping his fist on the door. "J.D., open up!"

For a moment, all was quiet inside R&D. Then, a second noise suddenly split the silence: a grotesque sizzling noise that sounded uncannily like raw flesh on hot metal.

Moments later, everyone present gasped as a long, loud, piercing scream was heard from inside the chamber. Even Shirai stepped back from the door, clearly terrified, his impressive mustache slicked flat with his own sweat.

"Crowley!" he bellowed one last time before whipping out his radio. "Security to testing bay three—immediately!"

The sizzling noise was getting louder. "HELP ME!" Crowley was barely heard to say. "Oh, God, HELP ME!"

"We need security down here!" Shirai roared into his radio. "Now, damn it, NOW—!"

And then, there was a third noise, one that would chill the bones of Sakamura and Tanaka for years to come: a roaring, earsplitting shriek—heavily distorted, somewhere between mechanical and organic … like a half-dozen buzz saws that had been fused with a fully grown jaguar.

Then—CRASH.

Every single person in R&D ran for it, ducking for the nearest cover they could find as the entire wall shook to its foundations—Shirai in the lead, still barking into his radio for as much security as could be mustered. It sounded to Tanaka and Sakamura as though whatever was in there was tearing the entire chamber apart—assuming it hadn't been already. The flesh-on-burning metal noise was far too loud—there was no chance of hearing J.D. over the din now.

A second bestial bellow tore through the air—and then, quite suddenly, it had disappeared as quickly as it had come, along with the unknown sizzling sound. Silence settled over the facility—and then every single light in the building went dark. Screens flickered and died, LED fixtures in the ceiling shut down; within a split second, the entire large chamber had been plunged into darkness.

In any other situation, pandemonium would have set in straightaway—but no one screamed, shouted, or even burst into tears. Silence reigned, broken only by the sound of terrified, half-stifled whispers. As Tanaka thumped his chest in an attempt to calm his racing heart, he thought he might know why: everyone was keeping quiet so they could try to listen for Crowley; they were anxious to find out if he'd survived whatever had happened in there.

But after a full minute of perfect silence and near-perfect blackness, there was neither sign nor sound of the man—and Sakamura could practically hear everyone's heart sinking in their breast as the truth sank in.

"Oh, my God … " he heard the faint voice of the intern whisper from beside him. She sounded close to a nervous breakdown, and Sakamura couldn't blame her.

Tanaka, meanwhile barely saw the faint form of Shirai stumble out from behind a particularly bulky piece of machinery. Even in the inky darkness, the lead programmer appeared ghostly pale, and his hands were trembling so badly it looked as though they were about to fall off. The radio had long since fallen from his grip, it lay at his feet, forgotten.

"C-contact Nakajima," Shirai could only stammer. His next words, Sakamura later admitted, would prove to be the understatement of the year. "We … we have a situation … "


A/N: Call this a teaser—for now. Rain's Hand is still a priority for me—and work on that is still continuing; I've just had to deal with burnout and carpal tunnel of late—but I thought I'd release a little something in the meantime to arouse your curiosity.

I didn't have room to list it in the synopsis, but this story, while a direct sequel to (æ)mæth, is also an indirect sequel to my three-shot Q, Q, Q! Prior reading of it is recommended, though ultimately not required.

As before—for purposes of faithfulness to the source material—any canon cards, archetypes, and characters in this story will be referred to in their original Japanese translation (or, barring that, as close as the wiki will allow me). Additionally, it is rated T for language and thematic violence, and any fic-exclusive cards depicted here will be listed at the end of the story.

Yu-Gi-Oh! and Yu-Gi-Oh! ARC-V are © 1996 and © 2014 by Kazuki Takahashi and the Konami Corporation; all original characters and content herein are mine.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy! – K