'This place has heated floors.' The estate agent – a small, hunched man, with greasy skin and teeth, one of Takeda's contacts – stood aside to let Jounouchi enter the apartment. This one was a new build, decked in glittering floor-to-ceiling windows, sparse, minimalist. No ornament save a stark white concrete pillar. A gleaming kitchenette occupied one corner and the rest was open plan, the bedroom separated from the capacious living area by only a couple of steps. There was no door. When Jounouchi was young, privacy had been a luxury. Sharing a room with his dad meant more often than not he ended up on the couch, which was a cramped relic that made his neck sore and smelt of tobacco and sick. He had burned with envy for the comfort of four private walls, those precious indulgences enjoyed by Honda and Yuugi. But the rich had decided that privacy was no longer in vogue, so now excess was marked by space and doorless walls and windows from which you could exhibit yourself. This was the new picture of wealth.

Jounouchi strolled through the two rooms and the bathroom (which did, thankfully, have a door), where he caught his reflection in a massive mirror and jolted slightly. He looked like he belonged here, with his shiny snakesin jacket, his shimmering silk blend shirt, his jet black jeans, his smoothly shaven side cut. He looked rich. He didn't recognise himself, and he liked it.

He wandered back, pretending to inspect outlets, light fittings, hinges. He knew nothing about apartment-hunting. He had moved from couch to futon to mattress across the tides of Craiglist ever since he moved out of his dad's place. They had already been overdue on the rent when the old man kicked it. The landlord had given Jounouchi three days to pack after the death, out of sympathy. He had never even signed a lease. He wasn't even sure what a lease was – how was it different from a contract? Were they the same thing?

'And this place is how much?' He affected a casual tone.

'Four hundred thousand per calendar month,' said the agent. Jounouchi nodded in consideration, as though these figures meant anything to him. Money had become a foreign language over the past four months. He had once understood ten thousand yen as enough to comfortably live on for a few weeks, enough for ramen and subway rides and the occasional movie or fast food takeout. He now thought nothing of spending that much in an evening on food and alcohol. No matter how much he spent, the money kept coming. He had a million yen in cash in a duffel bag in his closet right now and that was just what he hadn't been bothered to carry to his safety deposit box. Was four hundred thousand a lot? It must be, surely? All he knew is that this was one of the more expensive apartments he had been shown.

Jounouchi meandered right up to the huge glass windows and looked out across Domino. This was an entertainment district, full of restaurants and bars and clubs. The streets were full of young, good-looking people in fashionable clothes. There wasn't a 7-11 in sight. His eyes tracked one woman, tall in a lilac minidress, her hair beautiful, her skin shimmering. He watched her pass by and felt the ghost of arousal kick inside him. His eyes moved away, up over the skyline – and there was KaibaCorp. It rose above the skyscrapers around it like a haughty sunflower. He had never been able to see it from any other place he'd stayed, even those of his friends. It was too expensive to look on.

He had not thought about Kaiba since he left him in that club, six months ago. He had not needed to. He studied the curved tip of the tower, its lights, the ugly boastfulness of it. He raised his hand in a finger gun and took aim, then clicked his imaginary trigger. Maybe he would buy a gun. Why not? Just for the novelty of it.

'I'll take it,' he said. It came furnished, which wasn't saying much: suede sofas, a massive bed, a glass coffee table, the biggest TV he had ever seen, and little else. A blank slate, a stranger's home. And now it was his. He could burn the place down if he wanted to.

The greasy man scratched his nose and examined whatever got caught under his nail. 'Great. You pay month by month. You got the cash on you now?'

Jounouchi patted his pockets. He pulled out a couple of stacks, one hundred thousand each, then rooted around in his jeans. He found another fifty there.

'I only got two fifty on me. I'll have to swing by my place to pick up the rest.'

The agent nodded understandingly. 'I know you're good for it. You can move in right now.' The man licked his yellow teeth. 'Is there anything else I can get you? Obviously I can hook you up with whatever chemicals you want. Or if you're looking for fun I can send you up a girl.'

Jounouchi blinked. 'You can do that?'

The greasy man peeled his lips back in a leer. 'Sure! Give me a couple hours and I can get you whatever kind of girl you want.'

It took a moment to click for Jounouchi and then he felt a weird nauseous excitement inside him. Prostitutes. He could have them delivered to him, like food. He didn't know what to think about that, but he knew he felt excited.

'What kind of girls you into?' asked the agent, sensing his interest. It was a miserable question. The last one had been Kaiba's secretary, and before that, Mai... Jounouchi missed her smell. The press of her skin. Her perfect thighs.

'Got any blondes?' he said, almost joking but mostly not.

'Course we got blondes! Got a few blue-eyed European girls. You like them demure or aggressive?'

Jounouchi pictured the fleet of harpy ladies. Their long nails. Mai's fierce eyes.

'Aggressive.'

The agent laughed loudly, slapping his thighs, as though Jounouchi had uttered some very clever joke. Jounouchi grinned back. Money made them treat you like a man. It was so easy to get them to like you. Make a crack about fucking some broad and all the men thought you were a god, especially if you bought them a drink.

'I'll send one up for you. On the house.'

Jounouchi cracked a smile. He felt a bit terrified. 'Nice. Great. Thanks.'

The greasy man clapped his hands together. 'Well, I'll leave you to it. I'll swing by on Saturday to pick up the rest of the month's rent and drop off the lease, and I'll have your name put on the post box downstairs. There's a gym on I think the fourth floor if you want to use it.' He dropped the keys on the counter. They rang like a peppering gun shot. 'Congrats on your new place. If you need anything, you have my number.'

And that was it. Jounouchi wondered how many laws he might have just broken. It could have been none at all, and he wouldn't know. The agent left, and Jounouchi was alone again. He could hear the rumble of the people below, distant and incomprehensible. And there was KaibaCorp., blinking at him, and maybe Kaiba was in there right now.

Jounouchi took out his phone. It was a brand new model and cost more than he used to spend in half a year. He took a snap of his new view and uploaded it, captioning it simply new digs. He didn't bother to refresh the app anxiously the way he used to; he had accumulated all kinds of fans since he started filling his feed with photos of strip clubs and cars and beautiful food.

He sat in the lounge for a while, experimenting with positions on the couch. He tried sitting on the floor like he used to do so often at his dad's place, but the shiny tiles made his ass ache. He washed his face and genitals in the bathroom and then lay on the bed, watching the city, watching the early noon sun drift downwards, wondering what sort of person lived in this kind of apartment. Who was he going to become?

The doorbell went: a soft electronic purr. He felt anxious, and then he didn't. What did he have to be anxious about any more?

The woman at the door was only pretty, not beautiful, and she had a smile exactly like the one Jounouchi had practised in front of the mirror for Takeda. But she felt good, and she fucked good, and it was a way to pass the time.

Jounouchi lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling while the sunlight bathed his naked body. The woman had left. She had only been paid for an hour. He thought of how good Mai had felt against him, and then tried not to think about that. He tilted his head to the huge glass windows and looked out across the beautiful shining city. He could see Kaiba Corporation blinking back at him, the sun glancing off the glass, and he wondered if there was anyone in there looking back at him.

He doubted it.

He groped for his phone and put it to his face, scanning through his messages. A party invitation. A lead about some rave happening on a boat. The last picture he posted had garnered several dozen likes. He scrolled idly to the older photos, remembering the night before, looking at an image of a slightly younger version of himself. Beside him stood a sort of famous singer that had been attending one of Tanner's parties. Both of them were grinning, drinks in their hands, and the picture did not show how hot and uncomfortable the room had been or the horrible things that had been said.

Jounouchi scrolled down. And there was Yuugi, taking a selfie on a plane, winking and his fingers raised in a V. Heading back to Japan! it was captioned.

Jounouchi only considered for the briefest of moments. He flipped to his messages and found Yuugi's number, then typed out a brief missive. Saw you're coming back home. Want to grab lunch?

He hit send. He didn't think about it. It didn't fill him with anxiety the way it used to. It didn't fill him with much of anything.

He lay on the bed for several long seconds, and he didn't think about Yuugi or Kaiba or Mai. He didn't think about anything at all. He had one last task to do today and then he could sleep, and tomorrow? Tomorrow the world was his.

It took him nearly an hour on the subway to reach Takeda's part of town. The roads were wet, some with rain, some with other things. Jounouchi picked his way carefully down the slender alleys, sidestepping piles of rot and sleeping drunks, but his white sneakers still came away flecked with brown stains. He kept on his guard, waiting to be jumped, knowing he looked too rich to be in this neighbourhood. But nobody bothered him. He attracted only the occasional curious eye, but even these only lingered on him briefly. It was as though they knew he was no interloper. His fine clothes were just a disguise. He belonged here.

The address was hard to find. Few blocks had numbers and there was little light between the tottering buildings, even though the sun had not yet set. Jounouchi had to backtrack several times before he found the right door. Little paint remained on it. Set besides the frame was a series of worn bell buttons with names beside them, written in faded ink, protected behind cracked plastic. Several insects had crawled inside somehow and died there, stuck between the plastic and the ancient names of tenants. Jounouchi read the names with some difficulty but eventually made out the two familiar characters: 武田.

He rang Takeda's bell. It took two more rings before something deep in the bowels of the entry system shifted and a raucous electronic buzz rang out – something that sounded squashed and stretched like it reached him across decades of time and decay – and the door unlocked.

Inside was an apartment door to his right and then a tiny, steep, narrow staircase reaching upwards. Jounouchi climbed carefully. Takeda was on the third floor. On his climb he passed broken bottles, cigarette butts, newspapers, leaves, dirt, and – once – a rusted razor. This place had not been cleaned in decades. The incline wasn't easy and he hated to think how difficult it would be for a man of Takeda's age and condition to make this trip regularly.

Jounouchi was quite out of breath by the time he reached the third floor and he took a moment to compose himself. Takeda's door was decorated with a sun bleached sheet of paper on which was written 'no soliciting' in simplified, incorrect katakana.

Jounouchi knocked.

He heard something papery move inside the apartment and the creak of several floorboards. Then very soft, slow footsteps, and then the click of the latch. The door fell open a few inches and the footsteps receded. Jounouchi waited for a moment and then pushed the door open fully.

'You'll have to stand if you don't want to sit on the bed,' came Takeda's voice, thin and dry and hollow like straw.

Jounouchi stepped over the threshold. There was little space to move. His vision was immediately taken up with some clothes and underwear hanging damp from the ceiling that threatened to brush Jounouchi's face if he leaned too close to the right. On the left was a camp bed, the yellowed sheets bunched up, an ashtray fat with butts on the blanket. The mattress was concave and stained, sheetless, repugnant. A kettle, rice cooker, and hot plate occupied the only countertop, under which a tiny yellowed fridge hummed threateningly. There was one lounge chair and Takeda lowered himself into it. Stacks of newspapers took up what little floor space remained. Jounouchi's eyes drifted to the underside of the bed. Empty bottles, trash, and pornographic magazines filled the space.

'You came all the way to see your uncle Takeda. Such a dedicated boy.'

Takeda did not look better. If he had had the quality of a worn carpet before, now he was its rough, threadbare skeleton. His skin both sagged and clutched at his bones. When he raised his hand to light a cigarette, the flesh wobbled as his hand trembled. He sucked in smoke through lips that were oddly unwrinkled against the paper texture of his face. They were brown pink and shiny, like sausage skin that strained around its contents.

'I wanted to thank you for helping me find a new place.' A lie; he didn't want to thank Takeda for anything. 'Plus, I had one last drop off. A favour.' Jounouchi withdrew the small sachet of cocaine he had kept all day in his breast pocket and tossed it across the room. Takeda caught it with gristly fingers. 'A goodbye gift.'

Takeda rotated the plastic packet around and around in his fingertips. 'Who ever would have thought it, eh? My little Katsuya-chan all grown up. Love the jacket.'

'Thanks.'

Takeda smoked steadily. Jounouchi breathed in and out and felt the tobacco tickle his insides. 'You're aware my Macau deal fell through, I take it.'

'I heard.'

Takeda breathed in thin and slow. 'That's it for me, then. My last big gamble. My little empire has fallen.' He mimed with his other hand a falling building. 'But no matter. Docs say I've got about three months left, if I'm lucky. And I have enough in savings to make my last days memorable ones.'

Jounouchi let this news pass through him without feeling. 'I'm sorry,' he said, not sorry at all. Of course Takeda was dying. The real perversion was that he was not dead already.

'You've sucked my youth out of me, Katsuya-chan!' He barked a laugh. 'Well, the boys will fall in line behind you soon enough. You'll be in charge of my corner of the operation as soon as I've shuffled off this mortal coil. Are you excited?'

This was not an eventuality that Jounouchi had ever considered. 'What, you mean I'll be in charge of your crew?'

'All seven of them.' Takeda grinned his nicotine skull smile. 'Not a big group, sure, but we made good out of it. And with you in charge, angel cakes? Why, I know you'll take them places.'

'I don't... I mean, I hadn't thought that you'd put me in charge.'

'It's a promotion! Don't look so miserable.' The last word was disrupted as Takeda gave in to a coughing fit, the sound of phlegm rattling in his throat. Jounouchi waited for him to finish, his eyes politely averted. He tried not to look at the cover of the most visible pornographic magazine under the bed. Wrecked Whores read the title. 'Anyway,' managed Takeda, recovering. 'I wouldn't trust anyone else. You're going to be a distributor. Exciting, huh?'

'But I don't even know how to do that,' Jounouchi said stupidly. 'I don't know where to get the stuff or who to contact or...'

He watched in dumb shock as Takeda leaned over and pulled out from the deep, dirty recesses of the underside of the bed a huge heavy bag of pure white snow. He weighed it playfully in his hands.

'Thanks for the dime bag, Katsuya, but I do have a direct line. When I drop, I'll have them get word to you. This kilo will tide you over until you need another batch. My rolodex has all the details you need.' Takeda tossed the cocaine back under the bed like it were an unwanted doll. 'My God, Katsuya! How far you've come! Come here and give your uncle Takeda a goodbye hug.'

Takeda stretched his arms and twitched his fingers in welcome. Jounouchi felt like he'd rather throw himself down a manhole than accept that embrace. He had never been able to translate Takeda's affection for him. Was it fatherly? Sexual? Something else, or both?

At least he'll be dead soon and I won't have to think about it.

He lowered himself into Takeda's arms and let the thin, shaking limbs envelop him, like he was a fat fly being welcomed into sticky death. He held the hug for the three seconds that he counted silently and then pulled away. He could not read the emotion in Takeda's face.

'See ya, kid,' Takeda said. Perhaps there was sadness in those eyes. It didn't matter. Jounouchi nodded a goodbye, turned, and then ran down the stairs as quickly as he dared and fled out into the streets, putting as much distance between him and that hole as he could, racing for something better, the sunset blinding his eyes.

Back at the apartment, Jounouchi lay on the cool sheets of his gleaming new bed and felt the air and the space shift around him. He couldn't rid himself of thoughts of Takeda's little coffin of an apartment, of the stale smell, of the dirty dishes, of the pornography, of the weight of death. He wondered again if Takeda were capable of masturbation anymore, or if he just liked to look at the pictures. Was there a point when you were fucking a woman and you knew it was the last time? Was there a point when you tried to coax an erection out of yourself while poring over some disgusting sticky magazine and had to concede defeat? Was there a time you knew that sex was over for you?

Wrecked Whores, read the magazine. Jounouchi thought about the beautiful sex worker and her soft, perfect skin. Were there men who treated her the way the women were treated in that magazine? Of course there were. He didn't know why, but he was lazily, comfortably hard.

Jounouchi's gaze drifted out of the window and he saw there once more Kaiba Corp., high and glittering, the perfect height of wealth and power. Once again, he aimed his fingers like a gun, took aim, and shot.

'I'm catching up to you, Kaiba,' he murmured. He would see Kaiba sink down to his level one day, and then he would kick him down even further. He would be the one again with Mai on his arm – no, on just one arm, and another woman on the other, that cool brunette who had looked at him with such disgust at that party where he and Kaiba had met. He would find Kaiba alone and miserable in one of those parties. Kaiba would look so wretched. So low. Jounouchi would feel the press of Mai's breasts against his chest and that other woman's fingers on his thigh.

Jounouchi's hand went to his fly and he eased the button out of its eye. He stared out at the glittering building far away and pictured Mai's lips on his neck, that other woman who probably smelled like bitter cocoa kissing his cock. He was going to win. He was going to be the victor, in the end. He would make Kaiba fall so low that he could grind him out under his feet.

'Please, Jounouchi-sama, can I have a gram?' He pictured the shame in Kaiba's features, the blush on his face. 'I have some money and – look, here – take these cards. You know I don't need them any more.'

Jounouchi's fantasy warped. The party fell away. Now he sat atop Kaiba Corp., his duel disk in hand, Mai's perfume filling his senses.

'Please, I just want to duel you once,' pleaded Kaiba, wearing that school uniform that had once been so familiar. 'You can have anything if you win. My whole deck. My cars. The house. It's yours. Just give me a chance.'

Jounouchi worked his erection hot and greedy in his hand. He wanted Kaiba to feel every humiliating thing that he had felt, and more. He wanted to push Kaiba to lower places than he had ever been. Kaiba had to know what it was like out there. He had to be punished for his wealth. He had to know what it was like to be born in the gutter where you couldn't see the stars for the smog.

Mai's lips on his cock. Her beautiful eyes. The glitter of her hair. Kaiba on the floor, his hands clasped in supplication.

'Please, Jounouchi, I've lost everything. KaibaCorp. has collapsed. I've sold everything. I have nothing. I have nowhere to live. Please help me.' Kaiba pleaded, and the fantasy shifted them into Takeda's apartment.

'The rent's paid up for the next three months,' said Takeda. 'And I'll have dropped by then, so it's all yours after that, Seto-chan, as long as you don't mind rooming with a corpse!'

'Thank you for finding me this place, Jounouchi-sama.' Kaiba's eyes shimmered with gratitude. 'I was going to be out on the street.'

'Don't worry, Katsuya. I'll make sure he earns his keep.' Takeda's hand falling heavy on Kaiba's shoulder. That dead insect weight of his fingers. Kaiba's eyes on the floor, ashamed and accepting, grateful just to not have to rough it like Jounouchi once had had to do. Like that time Jounouchi had had nowhere to go for the third night running, and Honda was out of town, and he'd slept on the couch of an old gambling friend of his dad's who had come in during the night and started touching Jounouchi's thighs, his pants around his ankles, and Jounouchi had smacked the guy so hard in the face that he sprained his wrist. He slept on that couch for two more days.

'We'll get you back on your feet in no time,' Jounouchi told the imaginary Kaiba. 'Maybe I can find you a job working for me. I've got seven employees, I might have an opening for you.'

'Thank you so much. Thank you.' Kaiba's pleading voice. Takeda smiling at Katsuya, an accomplice, bitter grinning rotten teeth. Mai's perfume. Her cherry lips. Takeda's smoke. His dry mouth.

'You work for me now, Seto-chan.' Takeda's hand moving up onto Kaiba's neck. The acceptance in Kaiba's eyes. Kaiba knowing his new place. Kaiba getting onto his knees in front of Takeda like that woman at the club with Tanner. Jounouchi's hand working his erection with more fervency.

'Thank you for finding me a place to stay, Jounouchi. I'm so grateful.' Kaiba removing this shriveled, dead thing from Takeda's fly that twitched when handled. This weird, crusted corpse of a cock. A mushroom left so long it had slimed. Kaiba taking it into his mouth. 'I'm so grateful.' His voice muffled now as he bobbed his mouth around Takeda's cock. The soft slapping rhythm of balls on his chin. 'Thank you, Jounouchi. I'm so grateful.' Now just wet syllables as he repeated the mantra. Kaiba fucking his throat on the swollen slug of Takeda's cock. Takeda's cock oozing thick, yellow rot onto Kaiba's tongue. Kaiba swallowing. More and more thick, gritty pus dropping into Kaiba's open, eager mouth. Kaiba gulping it down, moaning.

'Let death inside you,' Takeda crooned. His body melted and putrefied, the skin slid from his face, his eyeballs dripped down and all flowed into that creamy yellow filth that Kaiba was gorging himself on. 'Let death inside you. Let death inside you. Let death inside you.'

Jounouchi came harder than he could ever remember, his whole body convulsing, his eyelids white, and he lay there on the bed shaking for a long minute once the pulsing had subsided. The vision of Takeda's apartment began to recede. Jounouchi breathed hard, his fingers wet, and disgust seeped into him like petrol.

'What the fuck,' he said to himself. He hauled himself to the bathroom and immediately began to clean himself, scrubbing his hands and his softening dick with lavender handwash, feeling like he was going to be sick. What was wrong with him? Where did that come from?

He stared at his reflection, shivering, and saw there a man, his head close-shaven, his jaw hard, his clothes finely cut, his eyes a little dark and a little empty. He looked like his dad. Everything was different now. Who was he becoming? Was he going to be like Takeda one day? Was this how it started? Was the infection already inside him? Was it too late?

Jounouchi jumped when his phone rang.

He pulled it out of his jeans and glanced at the screen. The number suggested it was a burner. Takeda maybe, or one of his cronies.

'What?' he snapped into it, unsure why he felt angry with the stranger on the other end.

'Hey, Jounouchi-san? Sorry to call out of the blue. This is real sudden – we thought it would be at least a month more, but – well – they found him tonight, when we were going to pick up. The boss, I mean. He's dead. Takeda-sama is dead.' There was a long, static-filled silence. Jounouchi noted that the bathroom lights cast a dim, expensive shade of lilac over the room. The air smelled of sweet herbs and purple and, faintly, semen and death. 'Uh, Jounouchi-san?' said the voice on the phone. 'What do we do now?'