Impact

"Homework?" Seto mouthed, covering the mouthpiece of the phone to his ear although he hadn't spoken.

Mokuba paused and reached a hand back, as if touching his backpack would remind him whether he had stuffed in the mountain of homework after finishing up in Seto's office. "Yes," he whispered, slowly, like he might correct himself, but then with more confidence, "Yeah, yeah I got it."

Seto nodded once and continued to the front doors of KaibaCorp. The glass wall at his entrance showed through to a large crowd loitering on the other side, faces turned to the sky or the top of the building, and Seto wandered out to follow their gazes. Was the helicopter taking off? Would that make foot traffic come to a standstill?

Seto ended his call without a word, phone falling limply in his hand to rest at his side when he, like all the rest, locked his focus above. The others in the gathering mob would have called the police already. They had enough presence of mind to leave a wide semi-circle for when the man—woman?—on the roof collided with the ground. Seto took a few steps back out of KaibaCorp's shadow for a better angle on him, as if watching would keep him in place until help arrived. If Seto didn't blink, didn't let his attention falter, how could the man jump?

"He isn't actually going to fall, right Niisama?" It wasn't a question so much as a demand for Seto to confirm, but all Seto could do was continue to stare, trying to make any sense of what was before him. Why would anyone choose to jump off KaibaCorp? Who would want to follow after Gozaburo?

Cars blared at the people blocking the street, like the drivers were too obtuse to notice the raised chins and hysterical expressions. A street performer might have been juggling for all the respect given by everyone who couldn't see the lonely figure thirteen floors up.

Seto wanted to know why people stopped, and not just stopped, but flocked to watch this man prepare to plummet to his own death. What did they get out of watching? He was too high up to hear the desperate cries of "Please come down!" or "Don't do it!" What did anyone get out of standing by as a spectator to this man's death?

Seto's own feet had melded with the ground.

Was the man swaying or was it the wind? Was the movement a trick of his eyes misreading the distance? Was it the man about to fall to his death quivering at the magnitude of what he was about to do? Or was it only Mokuba shaking at his side?

"Should we call someone?" Mokuba asked. "Someone could go get him down."

All at once, the crowd hushed, leaving only the continuing traffic, which faded into the distant recesses of their thoughts. Even from thirteen floors away, the tension in the air shifted. Seto knew along with the rest of them watching for the inevitable, it was time.

Don't move.

Don't breathe.

A single motion felt like it would send the man on the roof down to the ground. A burst of wind or an idle thought and the man would fall. But he must have wanted to die, because why else would he have been standing on the edge of a roof at a height too high to survive? The thought wouldn't be idle, but fatal.

The wind picked up and brought the echo of sirens with it. They were too far.

Seto couldn't see the man's face, but he squinted up, gaze unwavering, while the man started to move. The collective gasp snapped Seto back into the reality of the situation. This man was about to die a gruesome death, and Mokuba would have everything burned into his memory forever.

If there were any final words, they were lost to the wind and the pavement, and the fire hydrant that didn't break his fall as much as it broke him.

People moved, scattered, ran. Some stayed put, staring, just staring, at the mess on the pavement, a finger there, a leg a few feet down. The two types both fought for control of Seto, run, no, stay. The abstract splatter caught Seto's gaze and refused to let go. Seto hated his first thought – We'll have to get someone to clean the windows.

If Seto had been in the right state of mind, he might have through to cover Mokuba's terrified eyes. Mokuba. Mokuba never should have been second in his thoughts, but he had almost forgotten his brother at his side, frozen same as him, staring at the same calamity. He shouldn't have seen it. He was still seeing it.

Get Mokuba away from here.

Much, much too late, Seto woke up and covered Mokuba's eyes, although the damage had been done. The man left only pieces behind for someone to scrape up. Seto couldn't change that but he could get Mokuba away from the scene, growing more frantic every moment. To get Mokuba back inside, they would have to walk by the splatter and spray, through the screaming and frantic crowd, but it was that or walk the other way, call for a car and leave all this behind them although it was Seto's building and likely his employee.

Mokuba drifted alongside Seto, allowing himself to be scooped up mid-step when he wasn't moving fast enough, and let Seto keep a hand on the back of his head to stop him from seeing more than he had. Mokuba was hardly old enough to grasp the concept of death, but in an instant, it had just consumed his world. Even the lobby was covered in death since the walls and doors were glass, leaving the blood to cling to the windows and cast a shadow on the floor. The conference room at the far end was Seto's goal, and he sat Mokuba down the first moment he could.

A hand on either side of Mokuba's face couldn't draw his attention up from some invisible spot in the air.

"Mokuba," Seto said, trying to keep his voice even. "Look at me, Mokuba." Seto got no response, so he tried again, a little louder and more firmly. "Mokuba."

"He's dead," Mokuba whispered. Seto didn't hear him so much as he felt the movement of his jaw underneath his hands and read the motion of his lips. But the words came again with a rush of tears. "He died and we just stood there. A whole man is gone."

But he wouldn't look at Seto.

"You couldn't have done anything," Seto said. He pressed his hands more tightly, searching for Mokuba's attention and trust, but Seto found no focus in his brother's eyes. He wondered how many times Mokuba had watched the man hit the ground, replaying it over and again in his mind.

"Come on, kid. Look at me. You couldn't have stopped him."

"He was on our roof, so one of our employees. What if he felt mistreated? What if we caused this?"

"We didn't cause this," Seto said, because even if it wasn't true, Mokuba needed to hear it. "Can you hear me? This isn't on you."

"He…he just fell," Mokuba said. "He's dead."

"He is."

Mokuba's eyes welled over and he covered his face to stop it. Although every instinct Seto had said to pull him close, hold him until the crying stopped, he stayed where he was to give Mokuba a moment to himself. He couldn't keep his hands on Mokuba's face, but moved them to Mokuba's knees, a reminder that he hadn't gone anywhere.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Mokuba asked.

The actual answer would only crush Mokuba further.

We keep going.

Part Two to follow on Saturday, August 26th.