Yeah, chapter title is crap, I know, I know. But hey, not every section has poetic meaning to it.

So, we all know that Domino City is fictional, but for the purpose of the story, I've located it in Sapporo, Hokkaido. Which is in Japan, for those who don't know. You'll find out their official address later.

Once again, I own nothing, yadda yadda yadda.

-Rin Reiko

--------------------------------

Working on bikes was about the only thing that always made sense to me, that never got too complicated to fix. And if you messed up royally, you could simply start over from scratch and the only thing you'd ever waste was time or money. It was never chaotic, or stressful, or painful to the point where you wanted to tear your own heart out and eat it.

Plus, the guys I work with are cool, so it's more fun than anything else.

I've been into bikes since I was little, living in the backward throes of Egypt. The Ishtar family was apparently a noble one, dating back to the great influences of the empire, ruling alongside kings and queens and being buried in the valley of the dead with them. My father liked to keep that legacy alive, drilling into his children their privileged roots and reminding them of their background, even though its political weight had long since died with the rest of our ancestors. He'd even gone so far as to ban us from playing with the other "common" children in our small town, forbidding us to go to the city for any reason, afraid it would taint our heritage.

Our mother had no say in it simply because she had died giving birth to me.

By the time I was 14, we (my sister, half brother, and I) became sick of our father's tyrannical approach to parenting. Once, while the eldest, Odion, kept guard during father's daily nap, Ishizu and I snuck out to take a day trip into town. She, being 16, lead the way and kept track of time, determined to have fun and still get back home before he woke up. And that's when I first saw it.

A motorcycle.

Well actually, the TV image of a motorcycle, but you get the picture. The man riding it was dressed extremely bad-ass, with rock music playing behind him and the wind blowing in his long blonde hair, and I just knew 'that was me'. I could feel the pull of the road and the rush of the wind, the purr of the motor before I even knew what one looked like. A whole new world opened up to me that day, and I've been hooked ever since. Needless to say, that day ended pretty badly when my father found out about our excursion, but the seeds of my desire had been sown, and I knew what I was born to do in this world.

"Marik-chama!" came the ever-playful cry of Joey, one of the mechanics I work with. He approached me with about a liter of transmission fluid on his person, his blonde hair slicked out at odd angles with the grease. I rolled out from under my bike to look at him, wondering what he could want now. "Have you got the needle jets for the Kawasaki carburetor?"

"Yeah, they should've come in with the last shipment," I replied, sitting up and running my fingers through my own blonde hair, streaking it with black dirt marks. "The NINJA series right?"

"Yeah. The 2007 parts."

"2007? Oh shit! We got the wrong year!" I exclaimed, standing up in a panic.

"What? Fool, what year DID you get?" asked Joey, following me over to the unfinished bike. "You know I gotta get this thing done by Monday!"

"Yeah yeah, I know," I confirmed, looking at the parts. Didn't seem to be so bad. The needles were too small for this model, but we had some others in the same size from the other bikes. I told him they would do in case the parts didn't get shipped in time. I hated to cut corners like that, but this wasn't a custom job so as long as it worked, no one would care.

"Oh c'mon Marik. We all know that swapping parts is fine for your own piece of junk, but this is a customer! What if he does notice?"

"Joey, do you think this Suzuki-san working for Domino City Bank sounds like the type of guy who would dismantle his own motorcycle carburetor just to see if we did anything wrong?" I raised my eyebrow at him as he grew silent. "Exactly."

"Ok fine fine. But it ain't my fault if a complaint comes back from this guy. I'm blaming it all on you." He stuck out his tongue.

I rolled my eyes and smirked. "And when has this store ever gotten a complaint, Joey?"

"…..Aw shuddup, man." He murmured and continued working on the bike, obviously swearing at me in his head. I laughed and went back to my own station, lying back down on the rolling board again. Joey was always good for a pick-me-up.

But then the phone rang.

Groaning, I sat up again and went into the office. I was never going to get any work done before lunch at this rate! Picking it up, I answered blandly, "Domino's Road Hoggers, Marik speaking."

"…… Give me the rod."

I blinked at that. But two seconds later, I recognized the voice, panic seeping into my heart. Not again… "Bakura?"

"Dammit, you know who this is! Now give me the rod, Marik!"

Crap. I needed to leave. I placed my hand over the speaker and called out into the shop. "Joey! Emergency!"

"Again?"

"Yeah."

"Alright. See ya later."

"Kay." Back to the phone I added. "You at the house?"

"Your house, yes," came his cold voice, chilling me through the speaker. "Why don't you drop on by?"

I sighed. "Just stay there, ok? I'm coming over to give you the rod."

"Excellent." was all he said before hanging up.