Disclaimer/Note: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh!, or any of the characters in this story. Except for the random bit people, they're mine. Everyone else is the property of Kazuki Takahashi, and who ever he sold his soul to. I am not making any money off this story; it is being written solely for my own amusement, and the amusement of others who read this crap. This story, and all original concepts within it are original (duh) and therefore belong to me. If you steal anything, I will sacrifice you to ancient Shadow Gods. I had a lot of help on this story, so I would like to thank my friends Sarah, Lindsey, Chris, Elsi, Kay, Kit, Ali, Delle and Mango for all of their ideas. This story was written as an entry for the birthday-fic contest going on at the SetoxMoku group on DA

Happy Birthday, You're Crazy

The clocked ticked by slowly upon the wall, the near silence broken by its twitching pass across the timekeeper's face. Another sound -- that of thin cardstock being shuffled together -- soon joined it, though it was brief. A draw, and the young man seated in the chair below the clock didn't even bother to look at it before it was flicked forward. 'Throwing' would have sounded better -- hell, would have looked better -- but the card was hardly 'thrown'. No, it was correctly flicked, and the edged corner caught in the wall. Embedded itself in a picture on the wall, actually. The door opened then, just as another card was drawn, flicked, and found its way into the picture again. Orbs of cobalt blue turned their attention to the door as the young man readied his gun below the desk.

"Big brother?" the title was said cautiously as a mess of dark hair peered around the corner of the door, glancing around the room. Pools of a deep grey-blue paused on the picture -- a small duelist with too much hair, his face now bisected by the Blue-Eyes White Dragons -- and then continued onward to rest on the young man. The new arrival smiled, rubbing the underside of his nose once with one hand before he made his way over to the desk. "Are you ready to go yet?"

"What?" Seto growled, hand relaxing from its gun-like position. He began shuffling his deck again. "What are you talking about, Mokuba? Go where?"

"Huh? You don't remember?" the boy asked incredulously, putting his hands down on the surface of the desk, fingers splayed. "But. . .but. . .but you promised that when I turned eighteen, you'd take me clubbing--"

"Fuck!" Seto jerked back in his seat, cards falling to the floor. He gripped his right hand with his left, the pads of his fingers bleeding profusely, and cursed again.

"Big brother! Are you all right?"

"Yes, yes; I'm fine. . ." he waved it all off as if it were nothing, reaching for the box of tissues on the corner of his desk.

"Well, I guess that's what you get for sticking razor-wire on the edges of all your cards. . ."

"Be quiet, Mokuba," he looked up from his hand, azure eyes trailing over his younger brother's attire. A huge pair of cargo jeans, the kind that could comfortably fit three other people in each leg, held onto that slim waist by a studded leather belt, graced his brother's person; a long-sleeve fishnet shirt under an open black vest; what looked to be some kind dog collar, possibly a half-inch pressure collar, around his neck; and enough assorted chains and jewelry to start a hardware store. ". . .all right. But you're not going anywhere looking like that. . ."

An hour and a half later found Seto conveniently missing his shirt, much to the delight of the female -- and a portion of the male -- populace of Domino, and Mokuba making friends of some sort out on the dance floor of a club in the red-light district. The younger of the Kaiba brothers had not changed, though Seto had persuaded him to lose the pressure collar. He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, eyes squeezing shut.

The music was hideously blaring, loud to the point of simply being noise; words slurring until only screams remained. Lights flashed outside his closed lids, strobed across the dance floor to catch on jewelry, playful reflections in a drug-induced haze. Smoke shifted with the air currents, parted around the moving bodies like poisoned water. A voice rose up from the depths of the decaying mist, painfully familiar and all too close:

"The fate of the world depends on this. In order to become a true duelist, we must succeed. But don't worry; as long as we have our friends behind us, supporting us, we cannot lose. We must believe in the heart of cards and the power of friendship! As--"

"Aww, shut up, Yami; yer just tryin' to get phone numbers, okay?"

"Hey! Yami, Yuugi, Jounouchi!" Mokuba bounced over to them, grinning and swaying slightly on his feet. It was probably just the party fumes that made them all so amiable, Seto thought while watching Jou sling an arm around his younger brother. "What are you guys doing here?"

A laugh, and the petit duelist rubbed at the back of his neck sheepishly. "Well, you see--"

"Someone thought that going out for the evening would be fun," Yami sounded annoyed as he crossed his arms over his leather-bound chest. He was the only one who hadn't changed out of his everyday wear and he still managed to look appropriate for this new setting. Mokuba wasn't sure if he should be impressed or frightened. "What are you doing here?"

"Me? It's my birthday, remember?"

"Right! Hey, why didn't you remind us earlier, Mokuba?" the tri-colored hair duelist whined, placing his small hands on his hips. Him and Yami were wearing identical bondage get-ups (though Yami had more jewelry on), but they would have looked better in some leather bar as opposed to this rave. Jounouchi's arm dropped from Mokuba's shoulder back to his side, the blond's attention being drawn somewhere off to the left.

"Sorry, I guess I thought I already did or some--"

"That's Mai," Jounouchi said, almost completely out of the blue. The other three (two really, because a light half and a dark half equal a grey whole) looked over to their left, eyes following their friend's gaze.

"Huh? Where? I don't see her. . .are you sure?"

"I could recognize the tops of those boobs anywhere! That's Mai!" Jounouchi bounced this time, pointing now to a woman in a tight corset. The other two tilted their head to one side (that's three heads on three separate bodies, mind you), examining the woman -- it would later turn out, when they allowed themselves to look higher than her chest, that she was also blonde -- closely.

". . .Yeah," they agreed, nodding slightly. "Yeah, that's definitely Mai. . ."

"Hey, guys; what are you all staring at?" a stranger came up to them now, short brown hair spiked forward.

"Aah! Who the hell are you!?" Jounouchi shrieked, jumping to hide behind Mokuba, who defiantly stood his ground. Yuugi clung to himself.

. . .meaning Yami. He. Clung. To Yami.

"What are you talking about? Don't you guys remember me?" the stranger -- a boy their age who looked frightfully familiar to all of them -- asked, looking about as hurt as he sounded. "I mean, after all we went through. . .Duelist Kingdom, Battle City, the Virtual World and Noa, Alkatraz. . .you don't remember any of it?"

"Well, come to think of it. . ." Mokuba said thoughtfully, weighing the possibilities. "Didn't you guys have another friend that was around for all that?"

"Yeah. . .I think so," Yami detached himself from. . .well, from himself, and brushed the blond locks of his hair back from his face (a tremendous feat, one which took both hands). "But it's all so fuzzy. . .and. . .distant."

The four of them (five, whatever) stared at one another for a moment longer, brows furrowed and lips curving down into identical frowns. Seto finally stood from his seat at the table, walking over to stand behind his brother; an impressive monument of pale skin and frigid disposition, towering above everyone else in the club. No one spoke for a long time, and then the nameless stranger sighed.

". . .Does the name 'Honda' ring any bells?"

"Oh yeah! Right, you're Honda. Well, that sure explains an awful lot," Jounouchi beamed, having moved next to one of the Yuugis (he assumed it was the original, because the hair looked smaller) when Seto showed up.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Try not to take it too personally, Honda," Yuugi said, trying to comfort him. "It's not that we wanted to forget you, it's just that God hates you."

"What do you mean?" Mokuba asked, ignoring Seto's mutterings of "nonsense" and playing with his chain belt. Yami bowed his head solemnly, clasping his hands together with steepled fingers. His hair fell forward, threatening to topple him with its sheer weight, but he managed to stay on his feet. The strobe light from the dance floor began to die out, plunging the club into darkness. Someone screamed (maybe Jounouchi), and a single, lone spotlight found its way over to their tiny congregation. Seto snorted softly through his nose, emerald eyes narrowing as the gamemaster began to speak in a low, serious tone:

"In our world, there are many things that cannot be explained. Earthquakes, tornadoes; life and death. 'God' is a loose term, a vague definition of the unknown. We use that description to justify the cause of such phenomena. But, in truth, there are many 'gods' housed within the pantheon of our universe. Jesus, Buddha, Odin, Zeus, Re and Ra, Quetzalcoatl, Amlodhi, Iaseruma--"

"Kazuki Takahashi, Jewel-of-Egypt, yuugi and mai fan, the Batpig-Sexgod, and every other weirdo on and DeviantArt. Are you done yet?"

"Thanks for your input, Kaiba."

Seto shrugged, smirked as he placed a hand on his little brother's shoulder protectively. "I do try hard to be so productive."

"Yeah," Yami retorted scathingly, coupled his comeback with a glare of daggers (which, unfortunately, missed the tall young man he was aiming for, and accidentally killed the innocent bit character off to one side). "It really shows."

"Oh. Okay," Mokuba turned, jerking his thumb in the direction of the bar. "I'm gonna get something to drink, anyone else interested?"

"Nothing alcoholic, remember?" Seto warned, his comment greeted by a series of 'Aww's and 'Damnit's (the latter mostly from the young Kaiba). But the raven-haired boy left with a bounce in his step and a swagger in his hips, nonetheless. He didn't make it far, however, as he was grabbed by the wrist and pulled into the darkness only a few feet away from the group. No one was paying attention though, because just then Yami had started screaming and pulling at his hair, which had grown to cover his entire head and neck.

"Oh no! Yami!" Yuugi cried, running to his side as he fell to the floor, twitching. "No, Yami!"

"What the hell is going on?" Seto asked while taking a step back.

"It's his hair-cancer! It's growing out of control and trying to consume him!"

Yami twitched again, emitting a low, gurgling sound from his throat.

"Hair-cancer? What kind of idiot came up with that shit?"

"The guys in charge of DOOM," Jounouchi replied flatly, looking down at his friend on the floor. Honda had mysteriously vanished now that the author was done using him as a space filler.

"Oh." Seto also looked down to the petit duelist and his other half (whose hair was, indeed, growing at an impossible speed, now covering all his upper torso and trailing out along the floor like deadly vines). "I. . .didn't watch the DOOM-arc."

"But you were in DOOM. You had yer soul stolen, and. . .stuff."

"Oh, that? No, puppy-breath, that was my stunt-double."

"Whaddya call me, ya bastard?!"

Seto chuckled, amethyst eyes taking in the blond's fighting stance in a glance. He started to say something, opened his mouth to provoke the other boy and instigate a a fight, but Yuugi's wailing cut him off before he could even start.

"No, Yami, you can't die! I. . .I love you!"

". . .isn't that narcissism?" Seto asked Jounouchi, an odd look on both their faces. The blond shrugged.

"Screw that. Yami's been dead for three thousand years; isn't that necrophilia?"

They were silent for several moments, processing that information, before they both same to the same conclusion:

"Ew."

Those feelings were short lived, as they were soon banished for the sake of moving the plot onward. A shout erupted from where Mokuba had disappeared to, and the two young men whirled on the sound, Jounouchi gasping at the sight that awaited. There was Mokuba, laying limply over the shoulder of Random Thug #6578, who grinned at such an introduction, making a broad gesture as he began talking.

"Kaiba! As you can see, I've kidnapped your brother--"

"What else is new? Y'know, I thought that something was missing. How long has it been since the last kidnapping?" Jounouchi asked, oblivious to the figure approaching him from behind. Seto tensed, fists clenching at his side. Random Thug #6578 shot a dirty look at Jounouchi, knocking the blond flat with that single glare.

"Ahem, as I was saying. . .Kaiba! If you don't do as I say, bad things will happen to your precious little brother! Ahahahahaha!" he cackled maniacally. Seto and Jounouchi exchanged dubious looks. An exasperated sigh escaped the older of the Kaiba brothers, and he reached into the pocket of his jacket, black eyes narrowing dangerously as he readied his gun.

"I have no patience with worthless idiots like you," he snarled, whipping his hand out of his pocket, pointing dramatically at Random Thug #6578. Everyone gave Seto a funny look, edging away. Except for Random Thug, that is. He just stood there, staring at the CEO's finger.

"And. . .you were planning to do what with that?"

"Heh," Seto lifted his head defiantly, a nasty smile playing on his lips. "You have no idea what kind of power resides in my hands, do you? That mistake will be your last, fool! BANG!"

His hand jerked back as if from recoil, Random Thug dropping Mokuba to clutch at the hole that had suddenly appeared in the center of his chest. He gave a final grunt, blood spilling out over his meshed fingers to drip onto the wooden floor, before he fell to his knees, then slumping face-forward. Seto shook his hand out of its gun-like position, the level of apparent smugness deafening.

"That's the problem with these American dubs. You see, I can't hold the gun, but that doesn't mean I can't shoot you. Sucker!" now it was Seto's turn to cackle maniacally, but (thankfully) his original voice-actor appeared just long enough to fill in for that part before being violently attacked by bloodsucking fangirls who proceeded to steal his underwear and shave his head.

"Not so fast, Kaiba!" came the voice, horribly tainted with a fake British accent which the author was too lazy to write out. Jounouchi gasped again for dramatic effect. There, beneath the black light, stood Ryou Bakura, but he would simply be referred to by his last name so that there was no confusion between the light half and the dark duelist. "I challenge you to a DUEL!"

". . .I thought you wanted to defeat Yami."

"Bugger off; his friggin' head is bein' eaten by his hair! What kinda duel would that be?" he asked, stomping his foot in frustration. Mokuba sat up on the floor, rubbing his head where he'd bumped it. "No, you'll just have to do."

"Hmph. You can't handle me, Bakura. I'm too sexy."

"Watch it, Kaiba; you get all high and mighty with me, and I'll banish your soul to the Shadow Realm!"

"The hell you will! You don't have that kind of power!"

"Ha! Shows how much you know," Bakura retorted, flipping his glowing hair over his shoulder (his hair is white, and he was under a black light, after all). "Behold! My secret Millennial Item: . . .the Millennial Toaster! With it, I can send any soul to the Shadow Realm by making them eat Shadow Toast!"

Seto smacked the palm of his hand into his forehead and groaned, head tilted back to regard the ceiling (it was a very nice ceiling, after all). "Why me. . .?"

"Prepare yourself, Kaiba!" he shouted, brandishing his golden toaster with one hand. From its two slots of Darkness popped up toast, and the tall young man looked back to his newfound enemy, eyes flaring red as--

"Wait a minute! Everybody stop!" Someone, another random person, hollered, waving their hands in the air. "Your eyes are red now?"

"Yes," Seto said sadly, casting his funny-colored gaze downward. "I have a horrible, though very common, disease. It's called 'FanDUMB'."

"Oh. Okay, just making sure. You can continue now."

Thank you. Now then, let's try that again. . .

--back to his newfound enemy, eyes flaring red as he reached into the vast depths of one of his pockets.

"Ha! You think you are the only one with a new Millennial Item? Fool! For I, too, have acquired one! It is. . ." and here Seto pulled it out, brandishing the mighty--"Millenial Frypan! I can defeat all of my enemies by either smacking them to death with it, or utilizing its ability to make Shadow Burritos!"

"Burritos?"

"It's a tribute to Eggz," he answered defensively, clutching the golden frying pan. "Don't knock it, yo."

"Hmph. Even your Shadow Burritos are no match for my. . .Millennial Stewpot!"

This went on for some time, Mokuba sitting on the ground between as they took turns pulling out new and ever more ridiculous Millennial Items from their respective hammerspaces. Just as things were really starting to get out of hand (meaning that Seto was struggling to pull a golden dishwasher out of his jacket to combat Bakura's stove), Yami stood. His hair now covered him completely, trailing out onto the floor in long snakey tendrils. All in all, he looked like the punk relative of cousin It.

"That's it! I've had it! You asked for it!" Yellow-gold light surrounded him as he screamed, his hair making an interesting 'foosh'ing sound while being swept upward. It brushed the high ceiling of the club. He glowed, totally blond, as he charged for his super-attack. "Kame. . ."

"Hey, do you know why we have a random DBZ reference, Mokuba?" his brother asked, confused as he watched Yami prepare to blow them away. The raven-haired boy looked up to Seto and shrugged.

"Dunno, but this is definitely going nowhere. What happened to celebrating my birthday?" Seto cringed at that question, immediately apologizing and swearing to Mokuba that they'd go right home and eat cake and play games, all in honor of his eighteenth birthday. Just as soon as he defeated both of these losers.

Two hours later. . .

". . .GameStoreSpecial!" Yami finally finished, and something deadly appeared in his hands. It was--

"Oh no!"

"Yes, that's right!" he cackled, the weight of his hair crushing his brain and making him go insanely evil. "I have the All-powerful. Indestructible. Invincible. . .Millennial MuffinTin! Now witness the absolute awesomeness of my super attack! Yami no Muffin!"

Blueberry muffins rained down on them, but Seto brought out his briefcase to shelter him and Mokuba, and so they were saved. Bakura, on the other hand, was pummeled to death. . .err, sent to the Shadow Realm (this being dubbed, and therefore meaning that no one can die). Yami stared, mouth agape.

"How. . .how did you block my Yami no Muffin attack?"

"Simple. . .with this Millennial Briefcase, I can control all elements of the Shadow Realm! And carefully hidden within this ordinary-looking Item is the ULTIMATE power. . .The Dark Master: Zorc!"

"But. . .you own him now, don't you, big brother?"

"That's right."

"So doesn't that make you the new Dark Master and supreme ruler of the Shadow Realm?"

Everything went silent, that spotlight swiveling over to rest on Seto, who wiped an imaginary tear from his sea-green eyes.

"Alas, Mokuba; I had never wanted you to know of this, my darkest and most-guarded of secrets. I know now that you'll never see me the same way, can never feel the same knowing now, as you do. You must hate me for this. . ." he babbled on for quite some time in this manner, giving Mokuba the time to stand and dust himself off before finally pausing.

"Don't worry, big brother," he reassured his sibling with a friendly wink. "If I hated you it would only be to get in your pants. Let's go home." And with that, he headed for the door, leaving Seto standing there with a strange look on his face.

"Hey, wait a minute. . ."