Author's Note: Originally posted 1 December 2007. 5 August 2008 – revised version. I've only bulked up and edited some passages of description and general spelling and grammar mistakes and continuity errors to make for a better and more mature piece. If you've read this before and are reading it again you probably won't notice any differences.

Disclaimer: I disclaim

Warnings: Swearing.

Summary: For years Seto has been paying men to die for him. It is not until he lies half dead in the road that he begins to realise this and what it actually means to him.

Chapter One

Enter

A foul stench bunged Seto's nostrils, crusting around the edges and oozing slowly from any place where the congealed blood had cracked. The taste was thick in his mouth, the copper tang everyone knew well but most were unused to. A guttural choke bubbled from his clogged lips.

'Help…'

His please was pathetic. Even though he had mustered every ounce of energy to make it a bone-shattering scream all he had heard was a wretched murmur. He whimpered and squeezed his eyes tightly shut, trying desperately to block out the midnight chill of the wet tarmac under his crooked back and the buttercup glow of the fat, low moon. He felt strange that its light shone so happily on a night which had brought him nothing but terror and doubt.

Seto could hear the sounds of the tall grass up either side of the road rustling and ancient camphor trees creaking. The occasional nocturnal creature skittered loudly, making him jump and to his side he saw a tousled tanuki scurry across the road nearby, a fat salamander hanging from its mouth. He was temporarily absorbed by the sight until the chirp of a nearby cricket brought him back to his senses. The sound was enough to drown the listless thud of his heavy, breaking heart. He shuddered sporadically, twisted arms curled over his weeping chest, fingers too weak to stem the blood flow coming from the puncture in his stomach.

The tanuki stared at him before stooping in the road to devour its meal. Seto moaned louder, tears slipping from his weary eyes.

No one will come, he thought miserably. I'm going to die in the middle of nowhere on a cold road with only a tanuki, a cricket and a streetlamp for company. No one will come.

A noise came from the distance. Seto held his breath for a moment, trying to identify what it was. A low rumbling, pitching up to a throbbing hum as it drew closer. Lights flared to Seto's right, heading up the road towards him at a steady rate. His head lolled over to watch it coming, some blood dribbling from his ear into his damp, straggly hair. The headlights were an eye-stabbing bright blue, coming closer and closer. The tanuki bolted.

The sleek car was going slowly now and Seto managed to raise his bent arm towards it, fingers strumming the frozen air as if he were trying to catch hold of the blue lights. It rolled to a stop before him; a few more inches and Seto could have laid a finger on the number plate: K4IBA1

A car door slammed dully. Wet footsteps hurried around the vehicle towards him, sending up clouds of mist. A pair of shiny black shoes obstructed Seto's vision. He looked skyward and saw a bloodied face leaning over him, half cast in the bright limo lights and half pitched in darkness. The man was wearing a broken pair of shades; both lenses had been cracked and spilt. Seto spluttered thickly, breathing suddenly seemed more challenging. The man's mint green eyes revealed a piercing look of worry and shock. Seto felt another tear escape, this time a tear of relief.

'Roland…'

Seto and four of his men stood under the Romanesque portico of the address they had been given. Seto, with his steel suitcase in his hand, was fully prepared to shoot down the new competition that had arranged for the two of them to meet for a discussion over dinner at 'his place'. Seto didn't like the sound of it, and insisted that the dinner and discussion was to be had in the vicinity of Domino at least, but the man had chuckled and asked if Seto was afraid of a little trip to the countryside. Infuriated by this insolence Seto had agreed to the proposition, and here he was, waiting for a butler or guard to welcome them into the large, ivy-clad country manor.

No one had come to the door. Seto was flanked by faithful Roland and a newer guard called Campion, Roland's so called 'protégé'. The other two, whose names Seto couldn't remember, stood shoulder to shoulder before him, blocking him from the door, just in case a crazy assassin were to burst through. Roland leant over to murmur something in his ear. Seto inclined his head to hear him better.

'Sir, I don't like the look of this…'

Seto merely inclined his head a little. The windows were all dark, the large pond in the vast front lawn was stagnant and choked with slimy reeds and there wasn't a sign of any vehicles having been parked here recently apart from the K4IBA1 limo. Campion suggested they should investigate and even suggested that this could be a trap to which Seto snorted. Roland looked a little embarrassed.

'You picked a padawan with a ripe imagination I see,' he commented snidely. Roland bowed his head abashedly, while Campion frowned behind his shades and Seto inwardly kicked himself for the Star Wars reference, cheeks pinking slightly. One of his men who he referred to as Suit Number One turned to him, his thick eyebrows clearly frowning even behind his shades.

'Sir, I agree with Campion, this is definitely not right.'

Seto gazed at him, blinking. For Suit Number One this was nothing short of outspoken. Perhaps something really was crooked about the situation. Suit Number Two, the one with funny sideburns, also voiced that he thought they should investigate. Seto squared his shoulders, calculating the circumstances. The manor seemed abandoned; he couldn't understand why his guards thought they should investigate. Then again, it was their job to protect him and deal with these sorts of things.

'Very well, you two head on in and take a look.'

Suits Number One and Two nodded in unison, removed their shades, drew their firearms and prepared to enter the manor. Suit One, the bulkier of the two, smartly kicked the door down with one fell strike. Seto braced himself for security alarms, but none sounded. Edging carefully, Suits One and Two entered the inner gloom.

Seto watched them and then stepped over the threshold, peering around. He felt a hand on his shoulder and he whirled around.

Roland drew back as though licked by white fire. Seto glared at him.

'Perhaps we should wait by the limo, sir?'

Seto nodded, his lips pursed in restraint. His guards should never touch him. He swept elegantly down the stone steps and crunched over the gravel towards his limo, which had been parked around the side of the manor. Roland and Campion followed closely. Upon reaching the vehicle Seto got inside, his legs hooked over the edge of the open door, elbows leaning on the steel suitcase in his lap.

'This is so fucking pointless,' he muttered agitatedly.

Fifteen minutes passed. Seto was slouching as he gazed absentmindedly at Campion's smart, polished shoes. This new guard was fairly young, probably only a few years older than himself and still had a lot of creases which needed ironing out. He was sure Roland would take care of that, but right now the man's incessant pacing over the noisy gravel was beginning to grate on his brain.

'Campion!' he snarled. 'Stand still!'

'But sir,' Campion started. 'A quarter of an hour has passed, they've not yet returned…'

'Well it's a pretty big fucking house isn't it, you idiot.'

Roland stepped forward. 'Sir I agree with Campion, they really should not be taking this long.'

Seto sighed, noticeably vexed. What was wrong with his men today?

'Fine!' he barked. 'We'll head back to the manor and get them to come out – god, everyone's being so fucking difficult today…'

Campion and Roland exchanged glances as their boss marched back to the portico before falling into a synchronised step behind him.

A light drizzle began to float down through the darkness, stinging Seto's gritty eyes. Roland leant in closer, his large, veined hand brushing delicately over his master's bruised and bleeding face.

'Mr Kaiba… sir…'

Roland's voice was a sandpaper rasp. He coughed a little and spat a mouthful of blood onto the road beside him. He turned back, now fully slumped on his knees beside Seto, not caring that his trousers became sodden. They were already caked with dirt and blood. He leant over his master again, taking in everything that he could. Seto raised his hand, fingers strumming the nothingness once more in an obvious request for something.

Seto found that lifting his arm was a strenuous effort, but when he let it drop it didn't hit the ground. Roland had grasped his fingers, squeezing them gently. Seto stared, groggy and bemused. He had never noticed that Roland had bigger hands than him. After all, why would he? He gazed dumbly at the older hand encased around his own, with all its weathered, knobbly knuckles and protruding network of bluish veins, sliding over pronounced tendons. He then gazed at his own hand and how different it was, how it still had that boyish smoothness to it, how the fingers curled like the legs of a horrific, white spider. There seemed to be no strength, only brittle grace.

Seto sighed and parted his lips, wishing the drizzle would become a heavy rain and wash the filth from his face and body away. Roland wrapped his other hand around Seto's fingers and bowed his head, his breath washing over his knees in great, misty gusts. Seto sniffed and grimaced, arching as a fresh wave of pain scraped its jagged razor blade all over his broken body. Roland looked up, catching the blue glint of his master's eye.

'Wha–what happened to C-C-' Seto faltered and cried out; the frosty night had stripped his pain threshold to the bone. The new heavier raindrops did not come as the cleansing blessing that he'd previously craved but instead as a torrent of tiny bullets, falling ruthlessly all over him.

Finally he managed to compose himself a little, panting as though he'd just completed an uphill marathon. He hacked violently; thick, slimy blood seeped from his mouth. Roland quickly hooked an arm around his neck, sitting him up against his chest. Seto spat some filth over himself and found his voice once more. He rolled his eyes up to his faithful guard's face.

'What happened to Campion?'

Roland's lip quivered. He turned away.

Seto hopped up the grey stone steps with ease and determination. It was evident now that the whole of today's enterprise had been a complete waste of time and he wanted Suits One and Two to get back to the limousine immediately so they could return to Headquarters.

Seto didn't wait for Roland and Campion to cover him. He strode into the dark manor boldly, calling out.

'We're leaving! I don't care if you've found anything interesting, I want to get back to my damned office and do something damned useful before the whole damn day is wasted! I'm going t–'

Once again there was a hand on his shoulder, stronger and pushier this time. Seto threw a deadly glare behind him. It was Roland.

'Roland! You know I hate it when people grab me!'

'Sir–' Seto frowned and cocked his head; Roland's tone was stern. 'I think you should wait outside, down the steps.'

Seto felt himself concede, almost against his own will. He snarled at Roland's back. He detested the strange, barely discernible power the man held over him, like he was a reluctantly accepted uncle. Roland was one of the few people that Seto could not stand to be made or act a fool in front of. He trotted down the flight of stone steps, hissing all the way and kicked childishly at the gravel as he trudged over to an upturned flower urn of stone and propped himself upon it. He huffed dramatically.

'Roland can be such a cunt sometimes,' he mused venomously.

He sat on his temporary throne as proudly as though it was made of gold, even though it was anything but a kingly seat; the large urn was severely moss stained and cracked and the flowers from within were spilt and long dead. Nonetheless he crossed his legs, sat with a smart rigid spine and folded his long arms across his chest as though he was at a meeting, surveying his newest batch of victims. He gazed disdainfully as Campion, now shade-less and gun-bearing, heading around the side of the building with exaggerated stealth.

'Maybe he's looking for booby-traps and ninja assassins,' Seto thought nastily. 'Well, being my bodyguard certainly is one of the best jobs anyone could hope to land, but it certainly isn't that exciting…'

'Roland? What happened to him?'

Seto could feel something pulling at his insides relentlessly. It wasn't a physical thing, it wasn't the stab wound in his stomach but instead a strange, ghastly feeling. He grimaced. He was feeling something that he recognised as a weakness. He only ever felt or showed this thing around the one person who he didn't have to be a steel-edged businessman for, the one person who wouldn't lose respect for him or see an overthrow opportunity in his lesser shown demeanors. Mokuba's little pointed face flashed across his mind. He was feeling that feeling when Mokuba cried or when he had unintentionally hurt or offended him. The thing was nibbling away at his already frayed innards like a monstrous feral rat, watching him with its beady eyes as it slowly devoured.

Seto's eyes widened as his chest constricted.

I feel… guilty.

'P-please Roland!' he nearly begged, choking on a globule of thick blood. 'Where is Campion?'

'Sir –' Roland turned back to look at him. The brief bout of heavy rain had washed the blood off his face which was now glowing eerily in the blue lights of the limo. 'I did find him but… by the time I got to him…' He did not continue. Seto's chin trembled.

'He's not… Roland he's not – dead is he?' he whispered, horrified.

'No! Sir, no he's not dead.' Roland spun his head round, glancing at K4IBA1 as though to make sure it was still there. 'He's in the limo now sir, but I'm not sure he'll make it through the night.' Roland's voice shuddered as he drew breath. 'Mr Kaiba sir, he was so eager. He was just trying to please…' Roland trailed off again, staring at a point on the wet tarmac by his shoe. Seto could only gawk at him. The Guilt Rat had just taken a sizeable chunk out of his entrails and he could hear it chewing loudly and sloppily. Suddenly Roland seemed to wake from his trance. 'I'm afraid he bled all over the limo seats sir… I know you especially ordered the K4IBA1 with blue leather. It's okay, I'll organise for it to be gutted and refurbished when we get back…'

Seto snorted, but not before flinching Roland's choice of words and rolled his matted head back against Roland's chest.

'Scrap K4IBA1 when we get back Roland – I'll never be able to travel in it again after tonight. I'll get a whole new one, and I'll give it a better name.' He saw the ghost of a smile flicker across faithful Roland's face, and decided to amuse him some more. 'We'll call the new limo Randy Spendlove.'

Roland gaped at him from above. 'Are you planning to use the new limo for something more than just getting to and from meetings, Mr Kaiba sir?'

Seto chuckled, only to curl up in agony, coughing violently. His hands were shaking madly as they grasped at his cracked ribs and punctured belly in an attempt to claw the pain away. Roland kept his firm arm around Seto's shoulders, distress clear in the harsh lines of his face.

'I want to get in the limo now, Roland.'

'Of course, sir! I've laid Campion across one of the back seats, you can go opposite–'

'No!' choked Seto. 'No, I want to sit in the front with you.'

'But Mr Kaiba sir, you are seriously injured, you must lay flat…'

'Roland just because I'm in a weakened, pathetic state right now and I'm covered in blood and you obviously want to do all you can to look after me doesn't mean you can start disobeying me.'

The sea-green haired man looked aghast, if not a little hurt by this bluntness. But Seto was fighting a smirk; the corners of his cracked and bloodied lips were quivering in a sly smile. Roland grinned in relief.

'I really do want to sit in the front with you though.'

Roland made an exasperated noise and rolled his eyes. None other than him and Mokuba could get away with rolling their eyes at the great Seto Kaiba.

'Fine, sir. But I'm going to check and dress your injuries first, and I'll do that in the back where you can lay flat.'

Seto huffed but made no attempt to go against the suggestion. Roland gingerly unbent his master's arm from where it was curled across his thin chest. For this he received a torrent of hisses but he was not deterred. He could easily feel that the bones in this arm weren't all where they were meant to be. Grimacing as he heard things click and pop under the pale skin he gently returned the limb to its former position, deciding that to hook it around his neck in order to lift Seto was a bad idea. Instead he leant over, scooped one arm under Seto's neck, the other under his knees, and gently lifted him.

Seto gasped at the cracking of his kinked vertebrae, wriggling slightly as Roland shifted his weight.

'You seem to making things more complex than they have to be' he grumbled.

Roland merely shushed him like a cross mother hen before awkwardly bending to open the rear door of K4IBA1. Seto soon found himself lying flat on the long seat in the back of his once beloved limousine. His nose was already stuffed with his own congealed blood but he felt the stench inside the car nearly drown him. Groaning with pain he twisted his head sideways to glance over at Campion who lay unconscious opposite him and nearly gagged.

Seto had made it a skill of his to 'zone out' to the degree when he couldn't feel time passing anymore. It helped him get through all those terribly boring days in the office. When he was on top form he could make a whole hour feel like five minutes. By now he had been sitting on the urn for nearly thirty minutes and had barely realised it. He blinked at his watch and frowned. This was starting to get ridiculous. Did all his employees have a bet on today to see how much they could annoy him? Sighing dramatically he left his seat and strolled towards the portico steps.

Seto was a man of the city, he owned and worked in the tallest building in Domino and lived on the largest estate. Bustle was inevitably a part of his life, a terrible din was the natural soundtrack to his existence. Out here in the country he could not help but feel awfully exposed. A niggling hint of agoraphobia was taking him in this place where usually only the animals pierced the silent void, but Seto couldn't hear a single bird or insect. Further unnerved he strained his ears. In this dreary grey portion of the day he could only hear the leaves and boughs of trees conversing and the sound of himself trudging over gravel. He listened for any other sound that he would recognise but he heard none.

He had reached the door. He barely remembered walking up the stone flight of stairs. If something had gone terribly wrong, if this really was a trap, would it be wise to call out for his men? Was it prudent to even stand on the doorsill of potential danger?

It was too much for him; he was smart but still green horned.

'Roland?'

He did his best to keep the panic from his shout.

'Where the hell have you all got to? You answer to your boss when he calls you! I'll fire the lot of you!'

He stood there waiting, fully expecting and wholly wishing for the sound of four pairs of feet thundering to his side, a steady stream of gruff apologies rolling over him. But they did not come. His threat of firing had not worked and now he wasn't sure what to do. Was not the concept of having ones life ruined by Seto Kaiba enough to shift oneself into gear?

Apparently not today, which meant that something had gone awfully wrong.

Steeling himself for the unknown Seto entered the darkness of the manor.

Author's Note: Please review! I looooooove feedback :)