Trouble came slinking in at night. Outside in the rain the oil-pitch black was lit with city lights, orange and red dimly seeping through the boy's window.
Maybe it was the rain that kept Mokuba awake, though the water made barely any sound through the bullet proof windows of the multi-million dollar flat. The entire apartment was virtually indestructible, which Mokuba didn't find to be superfluous with the kind of military corporations and crazy magic-card-game players Seto had on his bad side. The rain was running down his bedroom windows, warping the light coming in and coating the bare walls with droplet shaped shadows. As he lay restlessly in his bed the boy found his thoughts wandering down a familiar, unpleasant track.
Their entire life seemed to be an unpleasant affair. Mokuba couldn't remember the faces of their parents, before they died in the car crash. Seto was older so he could, he said Mokuba looked like their mother. Life at the orphanage at the time seemed bad, just waiting to be adopted by a couple of strangers and quite possibly getting separated in the process. Looking back at it that seemed like the best part of their lives. Gozaburo was much, much worse than the orphanage.
He really shouldn't think of that time, years later the memories still made him shiver.
"Setooo" I stare at him accusingly.
"What?"
"You cheated."
"I did not."
"Did too."
"Did not"
"I saw you."
"Mokuba,"
"You cheated."
"So? We finally got out, didn't we?"
"But cheating's bad."
"I was going to lose if I didn't."
"You could've won."
"You were watching. You know I couldn't."
"… cheating's still wrong."
Seto turned to look straight at me. "Look. I'm sorry, okay?"
I swivel and glare out the one way window in the black expensive-looking limo,staring at Domino city as it goes by while we slink through traffic to our new home. Silence descends. Seto's sitting next to me, obviously upset by my reaction to getting out of the orphanage. I don't care that he's upset because he cheated and cheating's bad and I can't do anything except get mad at Seto for it because if I tell anyone else Gazi-whoever will get mad and send us back to the orphanage.
After awhile when I cool down Seto speaks up again.
"Sorry Mokuba, but this was the best chance we could've asked for. I mean, look where we're going!" I still want to be angry at Seto, so I don't turn away from the window. Big brother goes on.
"We were just adopted by Kaiba Gozabura!" I can hear the smile in his voice without looking at his face.. "That makes us heir to Kaiba Corp. The Kaiba Corp..! We're millionaires! Billionaires! We just went from poor orphans to rich kids!"
I hadn't thought of that. An idea sparks in my mind, and I forget for a moment that I'm angry at Seto and turn around long enough to ask, "Rich enough to get ice cream for breakfast?"
"Rich enough to buy a fleet of ice cream trucks." Seto answers with a grin.
"Really?" I turn to sit facing him.
"Really."
For a moment I ponder the possibilities of a fleet of ice cream trucks, sweeping through the city just so I could get ice cream whenever I wanted.
"Wow."
"We're gonna live in a giant house, full of servants and stuff. And we'll never have to worry about anything ever again."
"Wow."
Seto's smile faded slowly, though I was too overwhelmed by the possibilities of being unbelievably rich to notice. Maybe he worried about Gozabura, thinking that something wasn't right in the way the man's eyes watched him during the chess game. If Seto felt suspicious he ignored it as paranoia.
Mokuba shivers in his bed. Bringing up the past only to torment himself is stupid and unnecessary, as far as any Kaiba is concerned. The boy blames the sour turn of his thoughts on the creepy shadows dripping across his room thanks to the rain and city lights outside his window, and turns out of bed to walk over and close the curtains lining the sides of his room's glass wall. The curtains are hotel style because Seto didn't do much refurbishing on the décor when Kaiba Corp. bought and converted the five star hotel into a virtually indestructible building for apartments. Mokuba would change them himself, if the Kaibas bothered to spend more than a week in this particular accommodation annually.
As he slides the first curtain across his window lightning flashes in the storm like a sudden spotlight, illuminating the sunken face just inches outside the glass.
A yell is overshadowed by the buliding's alarm and the sound of glass capable of withstanding small missiles shattering like crystal, wind and rain howling through the room.