The Past; In Censors
"Tastu," Kaiba barked, rising from his desk to put the full force of his impending command on the ten year-old playing by the door. "Grab your bag. It's time for school." A remarkably Kaiba-esque mask of contempt slid onto the girl's face. Her action figures stilled. "Now." Tatsu rolled her eyes, dramatically dropped the toys, and trudged out of the study.
Kaiba tossed his laptop and some papers into a metal briefcase, slid his studded white trench coat on, and followed his daughter out. They met at the base of the mansion's front steps where a white sports car waited, keys already in the ignition. Kaiba slid into the driver's seat and tossed his briefcase beside him. Tatsu climbed in the back and crossed her arms, squishing her Baby Dragon backpack between herself and the seat. Kaiba eyed her through the rear-view mirror.
"Seatbelt."
Tatsu yanked the buckle across her lap and shoved it into the lock. Kaiba turned the key in the ignition. The engine hummed to life, and he drove down the driveway onto Domino City's streets.
He parked in front of Domino's smallest public elementary school and waited. Tatsu did not budge.
"You're going to be late," Kaiba growled, failing to hide his impatience. Again, Tatsu did not move. Turning back and reaching across her lap, Kaiba popped her door open. She scooted as far away from it as her seatbelt would allow. Her father pinned her with a firm stare. "What's wrong?"
Tatsu blinked at her brown loafers. "I don't want to go."
"You have to."
She glanced up. "Are you going to pick me up?"
"I have to work late today."
"Okay…" She still did not move. Kaiba ran a hand over his face and let out a slow breath.
"Do you have your homework?"
Tatsu nodded. "For the whole week."
"No one is giving you trouble?"
She shook her head.
"Then why are you being obstinate?"
"I'm not," Tatsu muttered. Kaiba narrowed his eyes, nostrils flaring.
"Why won't you go?" he asked slowly. Tatsu's eyes shifted to stare out the window.
"Why don't I have a mom?"
"I've answered that," he snapped.
"Yeah, but-"
"Get out and you'll get an ice cream float tonight." It stung to stoop to bribery after years of managing without, but this car trip had been full of old stings by now. At that moment, all Kaiba cared about was that it worked. Tatsu, her expression turned slightly sour, crawled from the car and stamped towards the building, her backpack staring at Kaiba with its irritating smirk as it bounced. Climbing out to slam the back door shut, Kaiba glanced at the sky and spat, "You owe me in hell." A half-wilted cherry blossom floated past his nose. He recoiled, retreated back into the car, and sped away. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
Ɣ
Late that night, Kaiba arrived home to a single maid. Everyone else had retired, including Tatsu, despite the crumpled blanket on the small faux-fur sofa just off the foyer.
"Mr. Kaiba, would you like anything to eat?" the maid asked, helping him shrug off his billowing coat.
"No." He would be going almost immediately to bed. There was one stop first.
Kaiba cracked open Tatsu's door and peered inside. One bedside lamp was on, casting a yellow wash of light over a clump of blanket. Kaiba strode over and gently lifted the open laptop by Tatsu's head off the bed. He slid a finger across the touch pad. The screen lit up and he froze. Staring at back at him was a ghost.
The woman in the image that dominated the decade old news article grinned at the camera, one hand holding her windswept brown hair out of her face. Her green eyes twinkled with mischief. The edge of a white coat billowed at the corner of the picture.
Kaiba scrolled through the article. There were no other images, but the horror it described was in great detail. He checked the browser history. It had logged more than a dozen articles on the same incident. He clicked on the next one down. A graphic content warning loaded ahead of the article. His grip on the laptop tightened. After accepting it, the page redirected.
Kaiba sunk against the wall. The photograph at the top of the article was one he had hoped Tatsu would never see. It captured a body, nailed to a warehouse wall by the hands. Egyptian hieroglyphs drawn in blood framed it and more blood pooled on the floor beneath. Kaiba's eyes fixed on the stylized eye tattooed on the victim's lower back—her lower back. He glanced at the caption. The picture had been miscredited. This one was taken by a Domino reporter that had snuck onto the scene. It wasn't in as sharp focus as the police department's image, and had a slight yellow cast to it.
With measured breaths, Kaiba closed the laptop and turned off the lamp. Silently he left the room, taking the laptop with him. He would be putting censors on it before going to bed.