"No one really knows how the game is played,
The art of the trade,
How the sausage gets made.
We just assume that it happens,
But no one else is in
The room where it happens."

It was long past normal business hours for an office such as this one. There were still a few sales techs holed away in a cube-farm on the third floor taking calls from international clients whose time-zones were at odds with this one, but besides them, some night-watchmen, and the company's CEO, the office building was void of life. The CEO was at the top of the skyscraper in his executive office, thick curtains covering the windowed wall, which was a rare event indeed. The lights were low as the clock ticked ever closer to midnight.

Gozaburo Kaiba sat back in his office chair and considered the family portrait framed on the corner of his desk. Noah was twelve when the picture was taken. That was back when his hair was still brown, before he'd dyed it that obnoxious shade of green, when Gozaburo was still his private tutor.

He missed those days, back when Noah was too weak to fight back but rebellious enough to try; back when he was pliable enough to be molded, but just starting to be set in his ways; back when he would still be collared and chained to a desk for all of his lessons and disciplined in any way his father saw fit.

Yes, he missed those days. It had been a few years since then, and his son was beyond his control. Nevermind Adina: she wasn't old enough for such strict tutoring and she wasn't bright enough to achieve what Noah had. Gozaburo would take little pleasure in treating his daughter the way he'd treated his son. No, there was something else that would bring him far more satisfaction.

A knock on the door drew his attention, and he called for the visitors to enter. The guests he'd invited to his office, the reason he was here so late at night, entered.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Gozaburo said calmly, appraising his guests with cold eyes.

"Good evening." The leader of the three of them stepped forward, a thin-haired, heavy-set, middle-aged man in robust health. "I believe you had a very specific request you wished to discuss with us."

"I do." He opened his drawer and extracted a photograph, handing it to the man across his desk. "I need you to find a teenager who looks like this. I know he lives in this city, so you have no excuses for coming up empty-handed. He should be around sixteen."

The man looked down at the picture, studying the face thoughtfully. "That's quite a task. An incredibly difficult one."

"Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible," Gozaburo scoffed.

"And what if he's not... in the business?" The man raised his eyebrows at his potential client questioningly.

"If he's not already in the market, then you'll just have to work a little harder to get him here," Mr. Kaiba answered in a low, bitter tone. "And if that is the case, as it very well may be, I want you to bring him to me directly. No breaking, no training. Otherwise, just make sure he's clean."

The man let out a low whistle as he pocketed the photo. "That's quite a request. I trust you'll make it worth our while." He crossed his arms, waiting to hear how Gozaburo planned to compensate him.

"If you can pull this off without getting caught, I'll pay you quite handsomely. I'll even give you an advance as a sign of good faith." Gozaburo lowered his voice as he continued, "And if you even think about taking this story to the media or leaking it on the internet, I'll make sure every detail of your operation is exposed to the authorities." He held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

"Sounds fair to me." They shook hands, both men looking quite pleased with themselves. "Here's the account number you can wire the money to." He jotted down the number on a post-it note and handed it back to the executive before leaving.

Now all Gozaburo had to do was wait.

"My God! In God we trust,
But we'll never really know what got discussed.
Click-boom, then it happened,
But no one else was in
The room where it happens."

"That's absurd!" Seto shouted at his employer as he was roughly dragged by his collar out of the nightclub. "You know as well as I do that he should have been thrown out for that!"

"Maybe so, but we're already going under, and he's a regular customer. We can't afford to lose his business." The man shoved Seto out onto the sidewalk, the brunette stumbling from the force of the push. "And I can't have you driving away any more customers."

"I thought you'd be better than this," Seto sneered, turning on the man in bitterness. "I didn't think you were the kind of man to let women get roughed up just for the extra bucks you get for turning a blind eye."

"It's not my place to interfere," the man answered through gritted teeth. "And it's not yours either. If you can't accept that, you can't work here anymore."

"Then I guess I'm out of a job." Seto shoved his hands into his pockets and turned away, walking quickly as his former employer watched in silence, then went back down into his establishment to get things under control.

When Seto had walked a couple blocks, he stopped and took a seat at a bus-stop. His breathing was labored, and he bent forward a bit, his ribs throbbing with pain where he'd been punched by the larger, stronger man he'd picked a fight with. He pressed a hand over the spot and hissed as the contact made his pain increase like a fire consuming his bones. He leaned back on the bench and tipped his head back to look up at the black sky as he tried to come up with a plan.

What was he going to do now? He could apply to the convenience store three blocks from his house, but the last cashier to work there had been killed in a routine armed robbery. Seto couldn't afford to die. He had a little brother to take care of. He couldn't put himself in such an overtly dangerous place to work. He'd applied to the library where he used to work, but that was three weeks ago and they'd never called him back. They probably just couldn't afford to hire someone right now, which made sense, because they'd only fired him because of reduced funding.

God, he missed working at the library. It was quiet, peaceful, data-oriented. He liked the smell of old books and the intellectual atmosphere. Even better, he could have Mokuba stay in the library doing his homework and reading books where Seto could keep an eye on him. Besides, when Seto was working at the circulation desk, he could do his homework between patrons. Even when he'd worked there, though, he couldn't work as many hours as he would have liked. The library closed early in the evening, and Seto worked full days on the weekend. But at least those hours let him sleep sufficiently each night. Now, he was exhausted, unemployed, and desperate. What else could he do with himself?

He knew that no matter how smart he was, his resume wasn't that great. Getting fired for fighting with customers didn't look good, and the only former employer he could use as a reference was the manager at the library, whom he hadn't seen in months. He needed somewhere safe to work, somewhere with decent pay and hours that he could work despite still being in high school. He could always...

No. He couldn't humble himself to the point of asking for work at his high school. The last thing he needed was for that stuck-up asshole Joey Wheeler to see him mopping the floors, and he'd never hear the end of it. He'd already checked, and the middle school Mokuba attended wouldn't hire minors. No matter how much that frustrated him, he couldn't argue with that. It was their policy, it was a reasonable policy, and there was no good reason that they should make an exception for him.

If he could avoid working at another restaurant, though, he would. After working at the library, he'd worked at an Italian restaurant as a bus-boy, which hadn't been so bad in and of itself. One night when he had stayed late to clean up, the manager had cornered him in the backroom and made a... proposition to him: he'd promote Seto in exchange for a certain favors. Seto had immediately resisted, and when the manager tried to force him, Seto had kicked him in the crotch and run away as quickly as he could. The next day he officially quit and only returned once after that to collect his last paycheck. After that experience, he was hesitant to go back into a similar situation where it might happen again.

Time to apply to Burger World, then. It wasn't ideal, but it was the best option he had right now. He knew that if he didn't stay employed at legitimate establishments, that if he sank below the line of legality, it might be impossible for him to ever get out. And what if he got caught? He'd be royally screwed.

The bus arrived at the stop then, and when it paused with its doors open, Seto hopped on. It would take him close to Ryou's house, where Mokuba was now. Nevermind that he was picking Mokuba earlier than usual and he'd have to explain why; he was tired, his body ached from his fight, and he just wanted to go home. It didn't much feel like a home, but it was the only home he had.

When he was walking Mokuba home later, Seto stopped by the grocery store near Ryou's house and bought his brother a chocolate bar—something Seto only did when he had bad news. Mokuba didn't ask about it, though, until he was halfway through his treat, and he was considering wrapping up the remains and saving it for later.

"Did you lose your job again?" he asked quietly, looking straight ahead as they walked.

"Yeah." Seto sighed and scratched his head, trying to think of something encouraging to say.

"Did something happen?"

"I got in a fight."

"Oh." The child's voice was so profoundly melancholy, riddled with disappointment, that Seto felt the need to explain himself.

"Someone was doing something wrong, I tried to stop them, and I got in trouble for it." He used simple terms, not wanting to confuse his brother or give him too many details.

"Why?"

"Because... my boss wasn't a good person."

Mokuba held out the remaining half of the chocolate bar to his brother, who shook his head.

"No, it's yours."

Mokuba was stubborn, though. He broke off a square and held it out to him. "Take it."

Seto smiled a little and accepted the offering gratefully. They walked the familiar path home in relative silence, the elder always looking over his shoulder and at his surroundings. He was suspicious by nature, and his environment and experiences had only encouraged that trait.

"No one really knows how the
Parties get to yes,
The pieces that are sacrificed in
Ev'ry game of chess.
We just assume that it happens,
But no one else was in
The room where it happens."

"We found him," one tattooed accomplice said into his phone. "I showed his picture to a few of my contacts on the streets, and Old Maggie said she knew someone just like him who lived down the block."

"And he's identical, yes? Not just similar?"

"He looks like he could be the one in the photo."

"Excellent. Watch him and tell me when—"

"I have been watching him," the grunt interrupted. "He's got a little brother we could use as leverage. I even figured out where he goes to school."

"Then we'll approach him tomorrow night. Good work. I'll make sure you get your share of the millions."

The following evening...

Seto had gone back to The Underground to pick up his last paycheck, which he cashed in there and then. Legally, he couldn't open a bank account without having a parent or guardian sign on to it as well, which angered him, because he needed a place where he could safely store his earnings and preserve them from his father's sticky fingers. He'd been going from one establishment to another, roaming the streets in search of a place where he could work respectably and in relative safety. After two hours of fruitless searching, he decided to go home and do some homework for a little while before going back to pick up Mokuba. He hadn't let Mokuba tell anyone that he lost his job, and he hadn't told anyone else either. It wasn't anybody else's business.

His cash was tucked securely into his wallet, which was deep in his pocket, as he walked home, striding quickly towards their apartment building. People were lingering on the sidewalks and in the alleys as always.

He walked quickly and purposefully, keeping his eyes open and scanning the scene before him out of paranoid habit. He noticed one man near the corner of his building who looked particularly suspicious. He looked right at Seto for a moment, the looked at something else, but his eyes were still in the teen's direction, his body angled towards him as well. Seto pulled up the collar of his jacket and aimed away from the man, but he was still going in the same direction. When the man stepped forward to block his path, Seto stiffened, ready for anything.

"Hello there."

"Hi," Seto answered, his jaw clenched. The stranger's friendly tone didn't put Seto at ease at all.

"You look like you could use some extra cash."

"Couldn't we all?" Seto snarked back. "The economy's a bust."

"I don't make this offer to just anybody, but you seem like a reasonable guy, so I'll help you. You are a very good-looking young man, and—"

"No thanks." Seto tried to push past him to get to his building, but the man grabbed him by the arm with more force than Seto anticipated and yanked the teen back into the shadow of the alley beside his building. Once he recovered from the initial shock of the assault, Seto started to fight, but two other men reached out of the darkness and grabbed him. He knew it was pointless to yell or scream or call for help, so he didn't bother with that, but he kicked and flailed until they forced him to his knees and pinned his arms behind his back to keep him from throwing his fists in their face. Again.

"You really are a little spitfire, aren't you?" the first man said in cold amusement, leaning down to look the teen in the face.

"What do you want with me?" the brunette snarled. He'd worked so had to stay away from the drug-dealers and the gangs and everyone else so that he wouldn't have to look over his shoulder and constantly anticipate encounters like these.

"You, my boy, are going to make me a millionaire." His greed was disgustingly obvious, and Seto curled his lip in a sneer.

"Whatever you want me to do, don't even bother asking, because I refuse."

The stranger laughed at him, making Seto feel nervous, although he didn't show it.

"You have a little brother, don't you?"

Seto's blood ran cold and his eyes grew wide. "You don't mean...?"

"Wouldn't you just hate it if something bad happened to him?" His mafioso threat made Seto want to claw the man's face to ribbons with his own two hands, fingers crooked like claws as his fingernails tore into the vile man's skin.

"Lay a finger on him, and I swear I'll murder you," Seto growled savagely, his eyes narrowing again.

"If you just do as I say, your brother will be fine."

"You haven't even told me what you want from me," the teen pointed out, feeling shaken and somewhat frightened, but he still fought to hide that.

"If you'd listened to the entirety of my initial offer, you would have known that I only need to borrow your body for a little while." He grinned, and Seto's mind started working in overtime, trying to figure out where, precisely, this was going, and how he was going to get out of it.

Assuming that he even could.

"The art of the compromise:
Hold your nose and close your eyes."

This can't be happening, Seto thought to himself as he rode the elevator to the top floor of the Kaiba Corporation Headquarters. This can't possibly be happening.

He could hardly believe that he'd agreed to this, to sell his body to a man old enough to be his father. It was repulsive and horrifying, let alone illegal.

He'd fought with bullies before. He'd been sexually assaulted by a former employer. He'd grappled with pick-pockets who attempted to rob him. He'd taken blows from his father.

Despite all that, Seto had never in his entire life been more terrified than he was the moment he stepped out of the elevator and approached the office of Gozaburo Kaiba. The door was open, but he hesitated as he stood in the entryway. He didn't want to go in.

"Close the door behind you, boy."

He obeyed, hands shaking with fear. He clenched his fingers into fists to hide the tremor.

"We want our leaders to save the day,
But we don't get a say in what they trade away."

"So you were able to get your old job back?" Mokuba asked as he walked home with Seto, swinging their joint hands cheerfully.

"Yeah, I got my job back." Seto smiled at Mokuba as best he could. "I told you everything would be alright, didn't I?"

"Yeah." Mokuba yawned then, and Seto pulled them to a stop. He bent down and let Mokuba climb onto his back, loosely looping his arms around his brother's neck. As Seto straightened up, he bit back a sound of pain. It wouldn't stop him from carrying his brother home, though. He was still small enough that Seto doubted he'd be able to make it home by foot, and so long as he was still a small child, Seto was going to treat him like one. Seto may have needed to grow up too quickly, but he didn't want Mokuba to be pressured to do the same.

He'd already sworn to himself that Mokuba would never suffer because of Seto's failings. If there ever came a time when the safest place for Mokuba was no longer at his brother's side, he would force himself to give him up to find somewhere better for him. It would hurt, but if that was truly best for Mokuba, he believed that he could do it.

"We dream of a brand new start,
But we dream in the dark for the most part."

Curled up in bed beside his brother that night, Seto couldn't sleep. He ached all over, and he didn't know how he would ever fall asleep like this. And how was he ever going to go back to him? Standing in front of that man stripped to the skin wearing nothing but a dog collar as he waited to be fucked into the floor was absolutely mortifying. Did he really have the stomach to go back?

He looked down at Mokuba then, affectionately smoothing down his dark hair away from his young, peaceful face. He wanted that peace to remain, and if that was going to happen, Seto needed to cooperate. In a moment of tired sentimentality, he kissed his little brother's cheek then tried to settle his mind for sleep.

He could feel the downward slide starting to begin. His life was sinking down, down, down and he could only hope that he'd get a chance to restart one day. His life needed to keep going up.

He couldn't see the stars for the streetlights in downtown Domino, but he reached for them just the same, with the blind, desperate grasp of a drowning man who sees a hand in the water and grabs hold of it, clinging for dear life because it's already starting to slipping away.

"Dark as a tomb where it happens,
I've got to be in
The room where it happens."

Seto hesitated in front of the KaibaCorp Headquarters, his breath catching in his throat. He had to swallow in order to work past the knot and breathe again, but he was still afraid. He didn't want to go inside. He didn't want to go upstairs. He didn't want to walk into that wretched office and undress before that godforsaken man ever again.

It didn't matter what he wanted, though, did it?

Seto walked inside, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach, and steeled his nerves. He would survive.

Author Notes: Lyrics were pulled from "The Room Where It Happens" from Hamilton by Lin-Manuel Miranda, because that's exactly what my YGO fanfiction needs: even more Hamilton quotes/references. If those quotes make the story confusing, then just ignore them. The last four small quotes are the most important ones, anyways.

Please review! If you liked this story, I suggest you pop over to my fanfic "Rock Bottom" for which this story was a prequel.