Eyes of Blue
1: Free?
The wind whipped around him as he pushed forwards, speeding towards the curve. Here he could forget himself, he could breath easy, feel the tension in his body blow away with the howling wind. The deafening roar of his engine filled his ears. The vibrations from the bike's body beneath him felt like a racing heartbeat. So he pushed it harder.
The stands around the ractrack bled into the surroundings, blurring into the insignificant background where it belonged. There was nothing but him, his motorcycle, and the asphalt. Exactly the way it should be. Free.
This was the closest he would ever get to flying. The closest he would er get to freedom. The closest he would ever get to oblivion. The closest he would ever get to death.
He barely noticed the checkered flag wave in his peripheral vision as he sped past it. He didn't want to slow down. He didn't want to return to reality. But he had to. He still had a reason to live.
The engine slowed to a dull rumble as the motorcycle slowed down to a stop. The mechanical roar was replaced by the human roar of the crowd in the stands. They cheered for his victory, chanting his name. It gave him no joy to hear it. All it did was remind him that his name wasn't his own. It belonged to the man who owned him in all but name.
All he could do was keep racing, keep teasing the line between death and life until death finally had enough of his shit and finished the job he was too cowardly to do. He climbed off his bike and walked it to the covered pits. He refused to take off his helmet until he got there, even though he knew it was what the crowd wanted. He refused because it was what the crowd wanted.
"Nii-sama!"
Startled, he looked up through the shaded visor of the helmet. He only had a moment to comprehend a streak of black and red before small arms latched around his leg. He rested a hand on his little brother's messy hair and continued walking his motorcycle away from the screaming fans. He had no respect for them. They paid to watch people race at high speeds around and around a track, betting on who would die and who would win.
He always won because he didn't fear death. Almost every person who got involved in this sport had an unhealthy addiction to speed, danger, and adrenaline. He was no exception. It was one of the few times in his entire despicable life that he felt free and the voices were silent.
Together, he and his brother pushed his bike to its designated spot in the covered pits. Unlike the pits above ground by the racetrack which were set up for last minute adjustments and pre-race setup, the covered pits were made for the racers to rest and recover from the adrenaline rush in peace. It also allowed the racers to work on their bikes in peace, out of sight from the stands, but still within earshot.
The covered pits were situated at the end of an asphalt incline leading down below ground behind the open pits. Translucent skylights designed to look like pyramids served as the roof of the covered pits. It let in light while preventing the racers from being seen by the avid fans in the stands. It was perfect for recovery.
"Why didn't you take off your helmet?" a furious voice demanded.
He heaved a sigh of annoyance and ignored the voice. He nudged his little brother aside. "Go grab a drink, Moki," he said softly.
"Seto do not dismiss me," the voice demanded just as a strong hand gripped his shoulder and spun him around. "Take it off and face be like a man."
Seto stood still just long enough to be an insult before finally unlatching his helmet and removing it. "Only racers and crew are allowed down here," Seto said.
"I own this place Seto," Gozaboro said. "I can come and go as I please."
Seto set his helmet down on the bench and shrugged out of his racing jacket. "What do you want?" he asked.
"You didn't take off your helmet," Gozaboro insisted in frustration.
"I won," Seto said. "That should be good enough."
"I bet you would."
"And now we get to the truth of the matter." Seto turned to face the man who called himself his father. "You lost money and you blame me." He sneered. "It's really no wonder you're losing control of your company."
He felt a sick sense of satisfaction when Gozaboro's arm twitched. He was safe here. Gozaboro would never raise a hand against either pf his 'sons' in public. The bad publicity was the last thing the CEO needed. He and Mokuba were safe for now. Seto would have to make sure his little brother was scarce later on though.
He grabbed the bucket of soapy water to start cleaning his bike when Mokuba returned holding two paper cups of lemonade. "You can leave now," Seto said. "Your finances need your attention. You have debts to pay, don't you?" He shot a sly glance at his father and was gratified to see an irritated flush on the man's face before it disappeared.
"We have ann appointment at 4:30 this afternoon at the Park. You will be there," Gozaboro said in a voice that brooked no debate. Without waiting for a response, Gozaboro Kaiba, CEO of Kaiba Corporations walked off.
"Does he mean Jurassic Park?" Mokuba asked, a faint hint of excitement in his voice. He plopped down on the bench and sipped his lemonade when he noticed a spare cloth in the bucket. He set his cup down and grabbed a cloth to work on his big brother's helmet.
"Yeah," Seto sighed. He looked over his shoulder and smiled. "Make sure to get all the bug guts off the visor," he said seriously.
Mokuba gave him a glare which he matched before both of them snorted and returned to their duties with smiles on their faces.
"Hey Kaiba."
Seto looked up to see Jack Atlas. The blonde was the only Ride Ace in this race who was a decent competition, consistently scoring second place behind Seto.
"A group of us were planning on hosting a fun race for the local community," Jack said. "We were wondering if you were interested in joining us."
"We?" Seto prompted with a raised eyebrow.
"My brothers and I," Jack said. "We're all in the Junior Ride Ace League. It's just a fund raising thing for the local orphanages."
Seto saw Mokuba look up from the corner of his eye and knew he would agree to the offer. However, "Will you be racing?" he asked.
Jack smirked and gave a thumbs up. "You bet," he said. "My brothers'll be there too. So will a few newbies, twins." He winked. "You might like one of them. He's good."
Oh what the hell. "What day is it?" Seto asked, catching Mokuba's grin of victory.
"This Saturday," Jack said readily. "The whole thing starts at ten in the morning, but the race is at five in the afternoon. There'll be lots of games and stalls and food trucks and stuff. Some friendly betting for the race too, of course. But all the proceeds go to the orphanages." He pulled a flyer out from his pocket and handed it to Seto. "That's the information. Oh yeah, by the way," he added before leaving, "I'm betting on the newbie twins beating your ass."
"Whatever."
"Seto will wipe the floor with them," Mokuba chirped.
"I think you'll be surprised," Jack said. He gave a friendly wave and returned to his bike.
Seto considered the other Ride Ace's words. Jack Atlas was a good racer. He didn't give out compliments lightly. If he thought these newbies were good, then they probably were. Maybe he would have a decent race to look forward to.
The adrenaline was wearing off which meant the voices were coming back. Whispers, some distinct, others not, filtered into his mind. He had long ago learned how to block them out but sometimes they still came through, like now. Seto pushed the voices back viciously and focused on the words spoken aloud by Gozaboro Kaiba and Victor "Vic" Hoskins, head of security at Jurassic Park.
"The latest specimens will be put on display in a week," Hoskins said, gesturing to the open pen beneath them.
They were standing on one of the catwalks crisscrossing the top of the large pen. Various flora and fauna filled one side of the pen while the other side was a decently sized clearing. Thick, steel reinforced doors installed on the wall by the clearing were currently closed, cutting off the pen from the the place where the specimens were kept under control. Near the steel door was a iron grate which could be automatically lifted allowing access to the pen from a five foot deep antechamber accessed by a door in yet another reinforced iron grate which led to the outside.
"What kind of species are they?" Seto asked, eyes studying the ground below.
"If you were listening," Gozaboro began, "you'd know they're-"
"Dragons. Yes, I was listening," Seto said curtly. "But dragons are flying beasts. That's why they're kept in the aviaries." Seto turned to Hoskins. "Why are these different?"
Hoskins chuckled, impressed. "They're flightless," he said. "They have wings but, for some reason, they don't fly."
"Why not?" Seto pressed.
Hoskins shook his head. "Don't know," he said. "You should ask the geeks in the labs. They're the ones who work with the creatures, I just make sure they're kept under control."
Seto hummed. "Where are they?" he asked, turning his cold blue gaze back to the ground.
"You want to see 'em?" Hoskins asked with a grin. "Okay. Wait right there. Hey Joey!" he called, turning to one of the workers standing on the ledge by the pen wall. "Get the meat. Step on it."
A scruffy haired kid no older than eighteen scowled but left his broom leaning against the catwalk railing. A few minutes later, the boy reappeared on the ground in the antechamber between the iron grates. He was hauling a large hog behind him by a rope. The guy knelt and removed the rope loop from the pig's neck, pet the animal's back, then slipped out of the iron door. Seto rolled his eyes at the gentle treatment of the feed animal but continued watching.
When the outer grate door raised, the boy prodded the pig through the outer grate with an electrified rod so it moved into the dragons' pen. The grate dropped shut behind the pig and the human audience watched in silence. It was silent except for a soft breeze.
Seto stiffened. The voices in his head were also silent. They were always there, even when he blocked them. They were a gentle hum in the back of his mind, reassuring. But now they were quiet. Why were they quiet?
:Prey.:
The word was clear and brought with it a rush of desire the likes of which Seto had never felt before. It knocked him off balance. Thankfully, he had the presence of mind to brace himself on the railing before his knees gave out. The plants in the pen rustled then four beautiful forms sprinted out into the clearing taking Seto's breath away.
Their scales were white tinted glacial blue which glistened in the sunlight. They teeth gleamed like sharpened needles. Their wings with soft and smooth, rippling in the breeze as they clamped close to their backs. It broke something inside him he didn't know he had. They could never fly. These dragons, these gorgeous creatures would never fly. They would never be free.
:Free?:
Seto blinked, twitching at the word whispered in his mind. It was as clear as if it had been spoken directly into his ear. He felt skin prickle like someone was watching him and looked up, only to have his vision filled with four sets of opalescent blue. They were beautiful.
"Funny. They don't normally get distracted while eating."
Endless deep, breathtakingly intelligent, and-
:Free?:
"Free? What do you mean free?"
He flinched, suddenly yanked back to awareness by Gozaboro's voice. He quickly recovered his composure. "Of distraction," he said. "I assume they're normally free of distraction. They've never seen us before. We could be viewed as a threat." He glanced at the security chief. "Would you eat comfortably with someone you didn't know or trust watching you?"
The big man chuckled shaking his head. "No, not really." He shrugged. "Why don't we take this inside? We can finish our discussion there and you can look over the final plans for the public viewing enclosure," he said to Gozaboro.
"Fine. Move boy," Gozaboro said.
He pushed past Seto and led the way back off the catwalk to the waiting car. Seto hesitated, staring down at the dragons. There was something... He tilted his head in thought, and was stunned when the dragons copied his movement.
:Free?:
He shook his head and deliberately walked away, refusing to look at the creatures again. Perhaps he really was going insane.