Author's Notes: All right, so here's the second chapter. The story's still finding its footing, so bear with me and indulge me as I bring you more tales of Kyle McCraine's sordid life. Not a whole lot of YGO material here; that will change very soon.

Kudos and comments go to the reviewers!

Yoshimi: Thanks for saying Kyle's not a Mary-Sue. I was trying hard to avoid that with him. I hate Mary-Sues. No point in telling their story if they're already the best, right? No crying! I'm continuing, see?

Wolf: The radio bit doesn't sink in here, but it will in time. Duck? Where?

Penny: Kyle's "bad" in several ways, it's up to the reader to decide which qualities they like in Kyle the least.

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Kyle had his license. He just didn't usually take hold of the opportunity to use it. If he wanted to get away, he walked. It was his escape. He didn't walk because it was more healthy for him or other people; he walked because it was much easier to get himself lost for a long period of time.

Though for once, that wasn't why he was walking today. He had a destination: the stop sign across the street. That was where the smokers gathered – Cancer Corner, some people called it, and after that grueling session in Phys. Ed., he desperately needed the relaxant qualities of a cigarette.

Just thinking about it made his blood burn even hotter for one, and his lungs were feeling more raw by the second. He hustled quickly across the street – in the face of oncoming traffic from both directions – to meet with the smokers... one, in particular, who he could always count on. The man was always and invariably short on cash, so he found it advantageous to get a little boost from Kyle's wallet.

Most likely, of course, he just ended up using the money to feed his habit further, but Kyle didn't consider that his problem. Let the man deal with it the way he wants to and lemme have my damned smokes.

The man – who really couldn't be called a man, but he certainly didn't fall into the "boy" category and Kyle had never learned his name – barely glanced at the newcomer as he took a lighter to the end of his cigarette. There was no preamble and no wasting time or breath. "How many?"

"Three." Kyle held out three crumpled bills. The man accepted them without question and pulled three cigarettes from his box, then handed them over.

"Need a light?"

"Yeah."

The man offered his lighter's flame to Kyle. The end lit, and Kyle took a long drag. "Ugh. God, I've needed that all damned day."

"Good for you," the man sneered, before taking a particularly long drag of his own that turned nearly half of his cancer stick into smoldering ash.

Kyle didn't care for the man's attitude. It too closely resembled his own, and he'd worked hard to tailor the "I hate everyone" style to his own unique specifications. But then again, the man was the only one present who'd even give a thought to letting Kyle buy his cigarettes, though obviously not cheaply. So Kyle tolerated him just as long as it took to get what he wanted. As for the other smokers, well, screw them. They didn't care for Kyle at all, and a couple of them had voiced disapproval – believe it or not – for allowing a minor like him to smoke. Luckily for Kyle, the man had ignored their disapproval. His reasoning: it's money in the pocket, and if he wants to get himself poisoned with the stuff, well, hey, that's his business.

Kyle continued to puff on his cigarette. Dad's probably coming to get me by now. Bleh, I don't feel like going home right now. I'll take a walk... it'll make me happy and piss him off at the same time. Yay me. Unbeatable combination. Take that, you hypocritical asshole.

Without salutation, Kyle walked off and made his way up the street, towards the gas station. Legally, he couldn't smoke for another two months, but he'd been doing it since he was sixteen. At that time, though, he hadn't smoked as much as now, but even now, he didn't smoke nearly as much as others at that corner did – only one or two per day, maybe three if he was overwhelmingly stressed out – yet he was fighting a constant battle against the urge to buy more per day. Soon enough, I'll be able to buy my own damned cigarettes. Wave a little flag and have a party, yay. That asshole charges too damned much, anyway.

His brooding was rudely interrupted by the blare of a car horn almost directly behind him. He jumped, his shoulders instantly tensing at the sudden noise, which stopped as abruptly as it had started and gave way to peals of laughter.

Kyle spun around to see who had decided to get a laugh at his expense, although he already had a good idea of who it might be, considering the tonal qualities of one of the multiple laughing voices. His suspicions were confirmed an instant later as he set his eyes upon the driver of the offending car.

Monica Zocallos. Damn it, I do NOT want to deal with her today...

Monica was behind the wheel of a candy-apple red, new-model convertible whose seating capacity was maxed out by four other girls. It was moving exactly as slowly as he was walking, which it could afford to do since there were no other cars around. The petite brunette's face – which bore a light sprinkling of freckles and very little makeup, a surprising trait for a high school senior – was contorted into an expression of twisted satisfaction. "Gotcha, asshole!"

Kyle grunted and dismissively gave Monica the finger, then turned around to continue his brooding walk. He ignored the round of "ooohs" that erupted from the posse upon sight of that gesture.

But he couldn't ignore the horn, which blared again. And again, and again. He glanced over his shoulder in annoyance; Monica was grinning as she happily pounded the horn. Then her eyes sparkled with inspiration and she began to tap out the cadence for "Jingle Bells".

Kyle rolled his eyes and tried his best to block out the noise, at least until she was finished. No doubt she knows that "Jingle Bells" is singularly THE most goddamned annoying song on Earth...

When she hit the last "note", she and her friends burst into another round of mocking laughter. He rolled his eyes again and turned back to face them. "Don't you wenches have anything else you'd rather be doing? Y'know, like losing your virginity to greasy models?" Then, before any of them could answer, he held up his hand, as if having discovered the answer himself. "Oh, wait. I forgot. That question's about eight years too late, isn't it?"

"Yeah, screw off, asshole," Monica jeered. "At least I have the chance to lose my virginity to somebody. You can't say the same because non-humans don't count."

Kyle shook his head disappointedly. "Not a very good comeback, De-Monica."

She glared. That was a nickname kids had constantly used behind her back in grade school; hardly anyone used it now, since they found curse words to be more interesting and hard-hitting.

He raised his cigarette to his lips and took another drag, which prompted her to smirk again. "How about I put it like this: those filter-bearing, nasty gray lips of yours won't be feeling love from anything but the fire ants that'll eat them, along with the rest of you, when you keel over in some alley, heaving toxic waste from the one lung you'll have left. And even the fire ants would be reluctant to eat your filthy corpse."

Kyle rolled his eyes back into his head. Why me? Then he glanced back at the girls, who were giggling at Monica's disgusting – but admittedly vivid – description. The giggling was not so much for the description, of course, so much as for the apparently entertaining thought of Kyle dying a horrible death.

"I'll bet you've only got a few months left, anyway," Monica declared. "You probably won't even make it to the legal smoking age. Which is good, since pretty much the entire school's impatient to get out to the cemetery and piss on your grave."

Kyle glanced at his cigarette, which had burned down to the last quarter of its length. He took the filter between thumb and forefinger and held it up in front of his face, as if contemplating it. Then he looked back at the girls, who were nodding in mindless agreement with Monica.

He finally shrugged. "All right, then I guess I'll just have to toss this."

And he did.

Into her car.

The girls collectively screeched in indignation as the cigarette landed on Monica's lap. Ashes fell across her legs and the seat, and she batted at it, desperately trying to put it out. She let out a stream of curses that made Kyle laugh. He aimed both fingers at her this time and then went on his way.

She didn't follow.

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That bitch is damned stupid. I don't care how good she claims to be at that card game – which is also damned stupid, come to think of it; I mean, come on, the best name they could come up with was "Duel Monsters"? What a load – that doesn't mean a damned thing. She's stupid. If she'd just left me alone, her car's upholstery would be safe and I could be smoking in peace right now.

Kyle fingered the other two cigarettes in his pocket. Maybe I should think about buying a lighter. Then that asshole wouldn't need to waste his fuel, his breath, or his time, and I can be out of his company that much more quickly. Best of both worlds.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his long, stringy, unnaturally black hair. Dad's probably on the search, and with the bitch shooting her damned mouth off, it won't be long before Mr. Hypocrisy comes rolling along and orders me into the car. Probably yell his damned head off at me about that "doctor" bull. He chewed the inside of his cheek, the one and only nervous habit he'd ever developed. No one else could see it, so it was acceptable to him. He would have hit something to relieve his tension, except that there was nothing around that could be hit that wouldn't cause him to break a few of his knuckles along the way.

The squeal of car tires resounded up the block, emanating from a source behind him. He glanced over his shoulder in mild curiosity.

It was Monica's car.

He rolled his eyes. The bitch again? Can't that dumb girl think of anything better to do than constantly harass me? Damn it, she should have learned her lesson by now...

Her car swerved sharply into the wrong lane, towards the sidewalk Kyle was treading, almost as if she meant to drive up onto it and run him over.

He scoffed and turned back to the sidewalk. She won't hit me. We may hate each other, but she doesn't have that kind of courage. And even if she did, at this point, death is preferable to life with the hypocrite. So, c'mon, damn it, run me over if you're gonna–

He felt something pelt his back.

He frowned and glanced up at the car, which was screeching by at this point. Unsurprisingly, he saw the posse – brainless wenches – aiming eight identical rude gestures in his direction. And even though it didn't surprise him, he still rolled his eyes back into his head and kept them in that position until the car was out of earshot.

Once they were gone, Kyle turned and glanced down at the ground in search of the item that had hit him. His eyes caught it a moment later, and he chuckled with bemusement before reaching down to pick up the cigarette butt he'd tossed into Monica's lap. The end was out, but there was still enough on the end of the filter for a couple more decent puffs. Decent of her. She's still a histrionic bitch, but decent of her. Now I won't have wasted a quarter after all.

"Kyle!"

Damn. Kyle quickly stuck the butt in his pocket and straightened up. He knew the voice, of course. He sighed and turned to face his father.

The man, to say the least, had a consternated expression. "Kyle, I've been looking for you for half an hour."

"Really? I'd been hoping it was longer."

Mr. McCraine sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though dealing with a migraine. A migraine that happened to be his son. "Kyle... please, just get in the car and let's go home."

Kyle sighed heavily and made a show of trudging around the car and getting into the passenger seat. He loudly slammed the door shut and took his time in buckling himself in. "Okay, I'm in. Happy?"

Mr. McCraine shook his head sadly. "Whatever happened to you, Kyle? You used to have at least some sense in you..."

"Aww, what, you don't like my 'rebellious nature'?" Kyle sneered. "I think it started when I found out I can actually have a choice as to the career I'd want. Not like you ever let me think I had a damned choice. Thanks a lot."

Mr. McCraine rolled his eyes, not unlike his son. "Kyle, I doubt if you understand it now – from all your complaining, it's pretty plain that you don't – but I'm doing this for your own good. And for the good of other people, as well. Medicine is a noble profession; why would you possibly want to turn it down?"

"Because that's not the damned course I want!" Kyle virtually shouted. "And you never listen when I tell you that!"

"Kyle!" Mr. McCraine's voice was one of annoyance and exasperation. "I'll tell you who's not listening... it's you. No matter how much I try to drive this into you, you're always rejecting it. I don't know where this desire to fight me and your mother came from, but I have dealt with it for a very long time now, and I, for one, am completely and utterly sick of it!"

"You're not the only one," Kyle mumbled.

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When they got home, they didn't look at each other. It was a rare occasion when any member of Kyle's family looked another in the eye. Idly, he wondered if this was because his father was a lawyer and his work was too shifty to allow it.

They had supper. Kyle never complained about the food, didn't even so much as make a face at it. His mother was one of the greatest cooks he'd ever known, and where the cafeteria lunch ladies were seriously lacking, his mother made up for it a million times over. The food was one of the few things he made a point of appreciating in this household.

The rest was pretty much a blur. He had chores he'd been assigned. He shirked them until the absolute last minute and then dragged his feet when finally doing them. As usual. Then he shut himself up in his room and did his homework. Strangely enough, he found the orderliness of homework (even as horrendous as he felt the stuff was) to be a haven in the midst of the chaos raging in his own mind, and outside of it.

But it's damned stupid. Like everything else.

When he finished his homework, it was about 11:30 p.m. By this time, even he would acknowledge that it was time to hit the sack if he had any hope of being awake at all in the morning. Not that he would want to be... I wonder if Mom will think twice about barging in tomorrow. "He'll drop his boxers again," she might think. Damn straight.

He turned out the lights and plunged himself into darkness before settling under the covers of his bed.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he hoped that tomorrow wouldn't be just a repeat of today.

But the rest of his mind knew better.

And he couldn't think of a way to stop it... not even to save his life.

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Okay, so now we know about Kyle's usual days. Next chapter will have good, solid YGO material in it, promise! But in the meantime, please review? What did you like/hate? What can be improved? I'm eager to know!