An Entry from Seto Kaiba's Journal
Wednesday July 14, 2015
I walked into Michael Rockefeller's New York City office late today. I told him I ran into some bullies I needed to teach a lesson to. He seemed pleased enough with that to continue on to more important, but boring, business – discussing the plans for America's first KaibaLand theme park.
The excuse I gave Rockefeller for being late was only partial truth. Telling him about my recently developed hyper-empathy syndrome would have been like telling him how to immobilize me while taking over my company. It just wasn't good business sense.
On my way to Rockefeller's office, while my limo was stuck in lunch-hour traffic, I saw some older boys in a nearby alley kick a young kid in the stomach.
I felt the boy's sharp pain and toppled over in my car's seat. Sight, you see, triggers my involuntary, delusional sharing of another's pain.
Somehow I managed to sit back up and order Isono, my butler, to pull over. I pulled my gun from its hip holster as I got out of the limo. I realize now I shouldn't have done this, but the scene reminded me too much of my little brother, Mokuba, getting bullied when we were younger. God, I hate bullies.
"Hey," I yelled as I walked down the alleyway.
The tallest kid turned around first. He stood in front of the others, blocking my view of their victim while the other two kids continued their pounding.
"Hey," I repeated, louder this time.
The other two turned around.
"I see you're not deaf after all," I said.
All three saw my gun, and ran off, forcing me to get a better look at their prey – a young boy not much older than 8.
I withered to the ground with his pain, pain that, delusional or not, hurts like hell.
I tried to close my eyes. I tried to look away, anything, but the faux pain held my body captive.
The boy coughed up blood.
Am I going to die? I wondered.
Then darkness.
I awoke in my limo some moments later a block away from Rockefeller's office, nauseous and 30 minutes late for our meeting. All thanks to my bastard of a stepfather's experiments.
Damn you, Gozaboro! I will find a cure for what you've done to me.
Author's Note: I may adapt this for use in a later chapter of And So We Meet Again