A/N: Allrighty, so, here's the third chapter. More foul-mouth-edness from Kyle, so be warned. Hope you're enjoying!

Skraku: Well, I suppose he could be worse...

Wolf: Duck!

Yoshimi: *gets out a handkerchief* Here ya go, wipe away those tears 'cause you've got a brand-new chapter sitting right in front of you! What could be better, hm?

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October – Two Days Later

--

When Kyle awakened, he did so much earlier than he had expected. He glanced at his clock; it read 5:42.

He groaned and let himself slump out of his bed. All right, all right, so I'll get up now. Grab some breakfast, get dressed, and be out of here before they even notice. That'd be damned great. Wonder why I didn't think about that before... idiot that I am.

He went through his dresser with deliberation and settled on a pair of – what else? – black pants. It was the pair that had, arguably, the most zippers on them. Every single zipper and tooth gleamed silver. He liked this pair; if the zippers were open, the teeth would inevitably get caught on someone else's clothing, possibly tear it. Especially the baggy clothes that his classmates enjoyed wearing. Of course, they'd accuse Kyle of being an asshole – as they so often would – but hey, it was their fault for wearing those damned baggy clothes. Never mind that I'm wearing 'em, too... I'm gonna make 'em unpopular. He grinned with anticipation of achieving that goal.

He chose a black muscle shirt to wear underneath a black silk shirt adorned with a silvery dragon. Japanese may make damned stupid card games, but they know how to make cool shirts, too. He let out a sigh, then dragged his fingers through his dyed hair and made his way out to the kitchen.

He didn't eat much for breakfast, as a general rule. Kept him thinner that way. He didn't like seeing men sitting around, gaining weight because they did nothing but sit and eat all day.

So today he ate a bowl of cereal and drank a small glass of orange juice. He didn't care if either item was actually nutritious or not; they just happened to taste good, and so he ate them. I'll end up burning the calories off in the gym anyway, so what the hell's the point in worrying about what I eat?

After eating, Kyle got himself a quick shower. If being dirty didn't bother him, he probably wouldn't shower; it would be a great opportunity to find something else to make his classmates hate him for.

What did he have against his classmates? Admittedly, not much. Except that some of them had treated him like dirt ever since they arrived at middle school age, the age where kids learn the most about socializing. There had been the bullies, oh yes, and there had been the snot-nosed brats who were just all of a sudden too good for Kyle.

And all the while, there were his parents, drilling into him the bit about becoming a doctor.

Ever since birth, it seemed, he had been trained to accept that lifestyle. His parents always treated the medical profession with reverence, though lately he'd come to wonder if it wasn't just some elaborate act on their part to goad him into it. Probably. Wouldn't doubt it.

But then he started hearing about kids wanting to go into jobs their parents disapproved of. He'd thought this an alien concept, thought that it was only natural that he should become a doctor and help people... and make a lot of money, besides. But here were his classmates, saying they wanted to be something their parents didn't want them to be.

It made him question what he really wanted.

The question had whirled about in his mind ever since.

That had been the start of his little rebellion against his parents. It was no big thing, at least not at first. Honestly, back then, his father had scared him to death. The man was completely overbearing and overwhelming. Kyle had tried to approach him as delicately as possible: "Hey Dad... I was wondering... what if the medical area... um... what if it isn't for me?"

"Not for you? Kyle, how could medicine possibly be not for you? Who's been telling you these things, hm? A classmate? A teacher?"

"N-No, Dad... I-I was just wondering..."

"Think no more on it, son. You're perfect for the medical profession. There's no one better. No one. And that's exactly where you're going! Just think about it; you'll be helping all those people and making all that money! You'll be even more well-off than your mother and me!"

"A-Are you sure? I mean..."

"I'm completely sure, Kyle. This is the best possible choice for you."

Kyle clenched his eyes shut at the memories. His father truly had no idea.

For that, Kyle was both thankful and annoyed.

He looked out the window. It was still dark outside; the winter season was well on the way. Guess I'll have to take one of the cars instead of the bike. Better that way anyway; heaters are good. I like it when it's as hot as all hell.

He grabbed a set of spare keys off a hook hanging on the refrigerator, exited through the garage, and climbed into the driver's seat of an electric blue Ford Taurus. May as well put my license to good use.

He opened the garage door with the click of a button, then pulled the car out.

It was 6:21.

School started at 8:30.

He had absolutely no idea what he was going to do with that time.

But at least I'm getting away from the house of horrors.

That was all he was truly worried about.

--

He parked in his designated parking spot on the school's lot, then turned off the engine. No sense in wasting the fuel. Then he pulled a lever on the left side of the seat and laid back in a more comfortable position... though comfort in a car tends to be relative, no matter what position one takes inside one. Particularly the driver's seat.

He turned the radio dial until he found a station he liked, and tried to roll onto his side in order to get more comfortable. There was a loud heavy metal song playing. Cool. Maybe I can get less fitful sleep here.

He drifted into a light sleep for a while, despite – or maybe because of – the volume of the music. He couldn't hear anything else, didn't want to hear anything else. He rather enjoyed falling asleep to music like this, but his parents hated it when he had his boombox on any station but a classical one. The only way he could get away from that was by putting on headphones (which he hated) or by getting out of the house (which was inconvenient, but preferable when it came to choosing between being outside and being inside with them).

He was awakened, though, by the sound of a slightly nasal voice announcing a news break. He groaned and shifted around in his seat. He'd been lying there long enough that a cramp had developed in the small of his back, and he busied himself with relieving it – and cracking a few of his vertebrae in the process.

The nasal voice droned. "Now the world's foremost gaming technology producer is confirming that there was a break-in at the main R&D facility of Kaiba Corporation three days ago. Seto Kaiba, president and CEO of KaibaCorp, issued a statement late Monday morning announcing the break-in, as well as theft of prototype technology and three Duel Monsters cards that were, until that time, in his possession: specifically, his collection of the rarest cards in the world, the Blue-Eyes White Dragon cards. The theft occurred during a testing period during which Kaiba's Duel Monsters deck – which contained those cards – were in use by a computer program. Allegedly, a man dressed as one of the staff took the cards and equipment by claiming he was performing maintenance on the duel computer. He has not yet been identified. Kaiba's statement included a suspicion that these world-renowned cards had likely reached the black market by now. He says he is willing to pay upwards of one million dollars for each.

"While KaibaCorp officials are uncertain as to how such a breach of security could have occurred–"

Kyle snorted in annoyance and twisted the volume dial to the left, thus cutting off the report. I don't care, you freaking moron. I don't give a damn what happens where that stupid card game is concerned. It's just a game, for Godsakes. Print three new ones, stick 'em in your deck, and quit your bitching. Don't pay out the ass to get three pieces of card paper back from thieves.

He sighed. He'd love to say that to Kaiba's face, to knock some sense into the idiot boy billionaire... but he knew he would never get the chance to meet Kaiba, much less get into a conversation about Duel Monsters with him.

I'm closer to heaven than I am to Kaiba...

His eyes flitted to the clock. It was 8:03 now, and more students were parking in the lot and filling it up quite quickly. I'd better get out of here before some sorry idiot takes a picture of me sleeping.

He stretched, righted the back of the seat, and got out of the car, taking his stuffed backpack with him.

--

Kyle preferred to walk the hallways of his school with his eyes closed. Two things resulted from that as usual phenomena: 1) he bumped into more people (who subsequently called him an asshole), and 2) people who saw him do it were quick to clear a path for him. Of course, he enjoyed causing these phenomena. He was an asshole, and he was quick to make sure everyone knew it.

He knew the school like the back of his hand. By all rights, I damned well ought to... I've spent more detention time here than most of the teachers! He knew exactly how many steps he needed to take to each class, even if he couldn't tell you the number off the top of his head. So when he walked the school with his eyes closed, there was no hesitation and no fear of crashing into a wall or pillar. He knew exactly where he was going. Even scaling the stairs gave him no fear or doubt at all. If anything, the stairs were the most dependable territory of the school, where walking blind was concerned. They didn't depend on the length of your stride; they had a set length and width of their own, and pretty much forced you to follow their pattern, no matter how many steps at a time you chose to take.

Today was one such day when he chose to close his eyes as he prowled the hallways between classes. He heard mumbling around him, things ranging from "Uh-oh, he's at it again" to "That asshole doesn't even know where the hell he's going!"

He suppressed a smile. He loved hearing their reactions. Some he didn't much care for, but that went with the territory, of course. And there was nothing they could do about it, anyway. What're they gonna do, rip my damned eyelids off? First they'd have to touch me... and they all know what happens when some sorry bastard makes that mistake.

But when he began to scale the stairs, he heard something that made his eyelids snap open instantly: a sharp squeal coming from a voice he recognized all too well. The histrionic bitch. Sounds like she's being pained somehow. Oh, I've gotta see this!

As it turned out, Monica was on the platform junction between floors, and Kyle opened his eyes just in time to see her drop to the deck, scrambling madly for something or another. She was muttering an unintelligible string of words, and Kyle was pretty sure she was cursing. That only made him grin even more. What's she scrambling for, anyway? I've never seen Monica get down on the ground for anything... surprising, since I'm pretty sure that's what she does in her spare time... but still... that suddenly? Freaking amazing.

She glared at some poor freshman who was just standing over her, looking chagrined and stupid, and she hissed a louder stream of foul insults. The kid turned red and rushed up the stairs without looking back. Kyle chuckled. Nice, very nice... what the hell's up there, though? By this time, Monica's posse had also gotten to the floor and were scrambling madly for items that he still had yet to see.

Ah, screw it, I don't care if she's a bitch or not, I want to see. He pushed his way through the backed-up throng on the stairs (the posse had also deterred people approaching from both directions from moving any further), and very nearly tripped when his foot slipped on something. He frowned and looked at the offending item--

It was a Duel Monsters card.

He rolled his eyes. Oh, this shit. Nevertheless, he leaned down and picked it up.

The card had been lying face-down on the step, and despite the usual dirty state of school floors, the card seemed to repel the grit. Its picture was that of a slim, shining white dragon with a long, golden beak and massive wings. The picture glimmered at him; it was holographic, and Kyle supposed that indicated how rare it was. The name was also embossed in gold.

He frowned. "Hyozanryu?" Hell of a weird name. Japanese, maybe? The picture's... kinda pretty, actually. "A dragon created from a massive diamond that sparkles with blinding light." That's a bad-ass dragon. His eyes flitted over the numbers at the bottom right. ATK / 2100, DEF / 2800. Doesn't mean anything to me, but I sure hope that means it's strong. If there's gonna be a dragon this awesome--

"Give me that!"

Before Kyle could react, he found the card being violently swiped out of his hand, and its position in front of his face was replaced with Monica's glaring countenance. "You keep your grimy, oily fingers off my Duel Monsters cards, asshole!"

His quick wit kicked in. "What, you don't like fingerprints all over your cards? I'd never have guessed."

"Kiss my ass," she hissed.

And then she walked off.

He blinked. Well, that goes to show she cares about more than just herself. Go figure. Bitch.

Then he frowned and began up the stairs again. It's a shame, though... that card's kinda cool. The game's still damned stupid, but that card...

He finally shook his head as he trudged into his next class. Nah. It's all damned stupid... that's all there is to it.

--

When he came home, he ignored his mother – which worked out well, since she didn't seem interested in paying attention to him, either; she was in the midst of balancing her checkbook. He marched into his room without a word being exchanged.

She probably has no idea just how "well-off" I am right now. And if not, good; she doesn't need to know, and neither does HE. Most especially not him.

If there was one thing Kyle knew, it was how to manage his money. He might go on a spending spree every once in a while, but he watched himself carefully as he did so. He saw no point in being sloppy and wasteful with that which he would end up needing later on. He had a checking account and a credit card, and he prided himself on being responsible with them and being a good manager of his money.

And come next summer, that money's gonna be put to the test when I get out of this hellhole. It'll be about time, too.

He brooded in his room for some time, not really sure of what he felt like doing – other than sitting in his room and brooding. The smell of food wafting through the hallway, and eventually into his room, alerted him that it was getting close to suppertime.

He left his room and entered the living room, which was adjacent to the kitchen. There, his father had made himself comfortable in a plush recliner in front of their big-screen television. He was channel-surfing and reading the newspaper at the same time, a very annoying habit that Kyle wished his father would break.

"Pops, you really ought to think about focusing on one or the other," he muttered, as he plunked himself onto the couch.

Mr. McCraine frowned at his son over the upper edge of the paper. "What business is it of yours?"

"It's not, but it damn well ought to be yours," Kyle scoffed. "If you're reading the paper, you're wasting energy with the TV, and if you're watching the TV, then you're hogging the paper... which I might actually like to read, believe it or not."

Mr. McCraine rolled his eyes, as if his son was putting a massively inconvenient decision before him. Then he riffled through the pages of the paper and pulled one out, tossing it to Kyle once it was free.

Kyle snatched it from midair and pulled it down to eye level, wondering what the man had already gone over and if there were any significant happenings in the world – besides some whining card player bemoaning his lost cards.

But he couldn't find any such news. Because he'd been given the comics section.

He scowled. "On second thought, keep your goddamned paper." And with that, he hurled the paper right back at his father.

Mr. McCraine looked over the top edge of the paper in annoyance after the flying object crashed into the business section. "Knock it off, Kyle." Like Kyle had been the one to do something wrong.

Kyle wanted to scream at the man, to just ream him out for not being able to comprehend his son, for never having been able to comprehend his son, no matter how many times Kyle had tried to hammer it into him. I'm not a goddamned little boy anymore! I'm growing up, beyond your control, beyond your ability to manipulate! You can't give me some damned credit for once in your damned life?!

But as he was firing himself up for it, his mother came out of the kitchen. "Dinnertime, gentlemen."

He let out an irritated sigh. He wasn't getting good vibes from either of them today. No surprise, since most of the time he didn't get good ones from them anyway.

But tonight... tonight really felt "not good."

They sat down at the dinner table in silence, ate their food in silence. For more than five minutes, nothing was said, and the only thing that Kyle could hear was himself, chewing his food. He found this preferable to hearing his parents expound on the advantages of being a doctor. That's about the last thing I need right now.

His father was the first one to break the silence. "Kyle, I think we should discuss–"

"No," Kyle said shortly. "No discussing. I don't need any damned discussions tonight. I just want to eat my food and get my ass back in my room."

"You didn't let me finish my sentence," Mr. McCraine glowered, "therefore you have no idea what I was planning to discuss with you."

"It doesn't matter. It's the same shit over and over again. Would you stop telling me how to live my life? It is my life, you know. My life."

"And who gave you your life?" his mother asked, using a lulling, reasonable voice. "Your father and I did, of course. You wouldn't be here if not for us. Shouldn't it behoove you to at least let him finish?"

"There's nothing to discuss," said Kyle.

"I disagree," said his father. "Kyle, I'm worried about you. I know you've taken to deliberately harming yourself, your body, and your mind. You think I can't smell the cigarette smoke all over your clothing? It permeates you. You're not of a legal age to be smoking, and you know that."

"Yeah, well, what're you going to do about it? Put me in jail? It'd be a hell of a lot better than here. I'm already in prison," Kyle groused.

"Kyle!" his mother barked. "Honestly! You think you're so bad off? Look at your classmates, those who have so little compared to what you have. You've got the opportunity, the intelligence, and the resources to make yourself one of the greatest men the world has ever seen, and you think you're in prison when you're at home?"

Kyle sank down into his seat and crossed his arms. "I don't want to talk about this shit."

"Perhaps not to us," his father remarked, disregarding the profanity, "but you need to talk about your issues. That much is clear."

"My only issue is that you won't keep your goddamned noses out of my goddamned life!" Kyle shouted. "Get it through those damned thick-ass heads of yours!"

Mrs. McCraine scoffed. "Well, there's a start, I suppose. But if you won't talk to us… who will you talk to?"

"I don't need to talk to anyone," he mumbled. "They don't need to hear about this shit either."

"Kyle… you have problems. Serious problems. And there's nothing we can do to help you," said Mr. McCraine. "So we're going to find someone who can do what we can't."

"What, care about my opinions?"

"Exactly that."

Kyle looked up at his mother and scowled at her. "Finally the truth comes out. I've only been waiting seventeen years and eleven months for it."

She reddened. "That wasn't what I--"

"Yes, it was," he responded. "It was exactly what you meant."

"Kyle, that's enough." His father glared at his son. "The bottom line is that you're going to get counseling."

"Counseling?!"

"Yes, counseling. It's the only choice you've left us with. Two hours per week. We lined up a counselor for you this afternoon, after noticing that you'd left with one of the cars far too early in the morning."

"And what, you don't think I was being responsible and going to school on time, for once in my damned life?"

"How are we supposed to know?"

"Ask, damn it!"

"Kyle, the car isn't the only reason, by any means. We know you wanted to get away from us before we got up. We're not stupid. That is not so much a bad thing in itself… but your attitude has become so warped… you buy tattoo after obscene tattoo, you dye your hair, you buy all of that insane clothing, you take pride in making others mad at you, you smoke, you curse unremittingly and pointlessly… it's all built up. This is the way it's going to be."

"Damn it, you won't even let me have a say in how I spend my time?"

"You're spending it poorly enough as it is. The counseling will only be once per week, so it won't cut down too terribly much on your precious pouting time." His father looked seriously into Kyle's eyes. "Kyle, please try to understand that we're doing this for your own good. We're trying to help you."

"I don't need any help from you or any goddamned counselor on the face of this goddamned planet!" Kyle shouted, pounding his fist on the table for every emphasis.

He got up and stormed to his room.

I don't. I don't need anyone or anything. Why the hell can't they just all leave me alone?! Why do they persist? Why do they intrude? When did I lose my right to make my own decisions?! Did I even HAVE that right around here?!

…

That counselor… better have shit in his office that doesn't break easily.

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Angst galore. Obviously the focus is still quite generic, but more and more YGO material is seeping into it. Cool, huh? Next up, our anti-hero has a couple bad memories and watches a holo-duel. Review please! I enjoy writing this, so I'll keep writing no matter how many reviews I get... but the more reviews I get, the faster I'll write!