Disclaimer: I don't own Yugioh. I do own the characters and cards I created.

Note: Sorry for not updating for some time, I just came back from a break. The names in this story popped in my head and is no way related to real life.

My special thanks to those who took the trouble to review.


Jetson sighed happily as he sipped his morning coffee. The 38 year old detective had taken the day off from his tiring job today just to relax and planned to do so. Flipping the newspaper, he read through the daily news when suddenly his mobile phone rang. Picking it up, he frowned as he saw his partner's number on it. He pressed the receive button.

"Jetson here," he spoke into the phone.

"Jet, we've got a problem," his partner's voice came cutting through niceties. "There's been a murder at Serk. I need your help here. I'll give you the details when you get here."

"Lucian, today's my day off," he said irritably. "Can't you get Ron to help you?"

"No can do. He's on another case near Hugh," the voice that came through was tinged with regret. "I know you wanted to rest and relax buddy but this case is quite serious. There's a mutilated body here and it's not pretty. And from what we can tell, there's two more on our murderer's list."

Jetson held the phone away from his ears and muttered some swear words. Pulling the phone back, he said, "Alright. I'll be there in 30 minutes. Anything else?" His tone was a bit testy.

"Just my thanks man. See you in 30 minutes." And he hung up.

Pulling his coat on, he began wondering why he wanted to be a detective in the first place. Oh right, it was either that or join the military. Grabbing his keys, he got out of the house and slammed the door. All while wondering if he took the wrong road down the path of life.


After a half an hour drive, Jetson pulled his car to a stop near Serk's local café. Seeing a large crowd near the local inn, he instantly knew that was the crime scene. He couldn't help but roll his eyes.

Typical. One dead body in a small town and the whole bloody place knows.

Because of the large crowd, he had to push his way through, sometimes shoving people aside- which earned him several curses from the more blunt people. Ducking under the yellow tape which marked the crime scene, he saw his partner Lucian and went to him.

"What have we got?" he asked Lucian, cutting across pleasantries.

"A female dead body. By the local's identification and her own ID, she's Tracy McAdam, forty, a waitress at the local café," he replied as he brought him to the dead body.

Jetson had seen many corpses in his life, but none was quite as ghastly as the one in front of him. Her limbs were twisted and bent at very peculiar angles, informing him that they were broken. They were each pinned to the ground by knives. There were many wounds on her back. Some of them were curved; forming unusual symbols which chilled him to the core. He squatted and forced himself to examine at her.

"Cause and time of death?" he asked Lucian.

"From what the forensics suspect, she died either of blood loss or poisoning. They are going to send it for autopsy as soon as we're done. They're still working on the time though."

Jetson nodded. "That would explain why the blood isn't congealing. There's something wrong, however."

"What?"

"There are too many wounds on her body. You can't tell me that after stabbing her so many times, our murderer missed all her vital spots."

Lucian shrugged. "She got lucky- or rather unlucky- I guess."

"Or maybe he-assuming it's a man- just wants her to suffer. Were there any peculiar marks on her?"

Lucian nodded. "Help me turn her over."

They removed the knives pinning her down and a chill went down Jetson's spine. Carved on Tracy's forehead was a very clear message: One down. Two to go. Jetson examined it.

"That's it," he suddenly said. "We're definitely dealing with a trained assassin here."

"How did you arrive at that conclusion?"

"I could be wrong, but I don't think I am. I am very sure the depth of the wounds is more or less equal. Add the fact that he wrote the message in continuous writing with such precision, we're definitely dealing with a trained assassin." He concluded. "Anything else?"

"She was holding a key to a room in the inn. The innkeeper already confirmed it belonged to him, though how she got it is still unknown."

"And the room occupant?"

"Right there." He pointed at a dark-haired girl standing at the sidelines. "We already questioned her. Again, blank. She didn't hear or see anything. What do you think is the motive of the killer?"

"I'm not quite sure yet. He does have a purpose though, one that's not done yet."

"Maybe he was interrupted in the middle of his work? A mis-kill maybe?

Jetson shook his head. "No. Even if he was interrupted, he could have finished the job. Plus she was hacked and mutilated so badly, that act was deliberate. Our assassin was definitely after Miss McAdam." He rose. "Let's not continue with this line of thought. More importantly, we have to find out who the other two our assassin is after."

"We already have headway on that. We checked her house, turned out Miss Tracy McAdam was once a part of the group 'Delta Force'. There were two others with her, Ostwell Jones and Jack Othello. They are residing in Tholand and Georgia respectively. The funny thing is," Lucian told him, "the group was disbanded under mysterious circumstances. Nobody knew why."

"Interesting. Why don't we go have a chat with Mr. Jones? Tholand is about an hour's drive from here."

"Very well."


Lyn has seen many things in life, aye, even death. When she was but six, she had found a dead man in the depth of the forest near the house. The man had a knife jutting from his throat and blood was pouring freely from the wound. His clothes were soaked in blood. At first she didn't think he was dead but merely performing a trick- the same trick she had seen at a circus where the performer pushed a knife into his mouth, down his throat and pulled it out again. So she just sat there and waited for the man to pull the knife out. Hours passed, and soon her mother came looking for her. When she came upon them, she was shocked and her face had paled. She had quickly pulled Lyn away and called the police. After they had done with the questioning, Lyn's mother had brought her into her room where she broke down and sobbed uncontrollably. Little Lyn didn't understand why. All that was going in her head was one question: Why did the police take away the red man? After hours of crying her mother calmed down and told her the truth-the whole truth- and Lyn made a shocking discovery that night: The man was her father.

Truth to be told, Lyn didn't know anything about her father, not even his name. He never came home, wrote any letters or anything at all. But like all children she had looked up upon him, believing him to be a figure worthy of respect. After all he was her father, and mother had always spoken well of him. And she too wept.

Now, as she looked upon the dead body of Tracy McAdam, she couldn't help but think of her father. How similar they were. Both were murdered. Both were somehow connected to her. And, she thought bitterly, she didn't know them both well enough. She felt the tears well up in her eyes and brushed them away angrily. No more. She would be damned if she allowed the assassin to walk away like that. Determined, angry and caught in a rage of righteous fury, she swore she would make the assassin pay.

She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to stare into Ryan's eyes. There was a jumble of emotions in those eyes. Pity was there, but more importantly there was understanding. But what was most prominent was anger and disgust. Immediately she knew Ryan was almost as angry as she was, his face rigid, his fists tightly clenched. "Why don't we go for a drink?" she suggested. She knew how well he could control his anger-which was not very- and didn't want it to develop to the stage where he would lash out at anyone, herself included. He nodded.

She was about to head to the café when she caught herself. Bringing Ryan to where they had met Tracy the day before was certainly NOT going to improve his temper. Feeling rather stupid and foolish, Lyn could only pray to God for a way out of the soon-to-be-mess.

Ask and thou shall receive.

"Ryan? Ryan Randal?" A voice suddenly called from behind.

Ryan turned and immediately grinned. "George, you big gorilla, how did you get here?"

George scowled. Clad in a dark leather jacket which reached to his wrist and a red mismatching pant which reached to his knees, he stood at an impressive 6'7". His jacket opened in the middle to reveal a very colorful singlet and he wore white leather gloves. Slung over his shoulder was a backpack that had obviously seen better days. If it wasn't because of his imposing figure, Lyn would have laughed at the comical sight. She could easily see where he got the nickname 'gorilla'. He was by far the hairiest man she had ever seen, yet he was oddly clean-shaven. "Big gorilla? I haven't seen you in 4 years and the first thing you call me is big gorilla?" he said. Then an evil grin formed on his lips. "Why don't you introduce me to your girlfriend here? She's prettier than you are and I would certainly prefer to know her than you."

That particular comment earned a blush from both of them. "For the record," George replied somewhat uncomfortably, "she's not my girlfriend and her name is Lyn. Lyn, this is a friend of mine since childhood, George. Don't let his choice of clothing fool you, he's quite smart."

"She's not?" George feigned surprise. "Oh yeah, I forgot you haven't reached puberty yet."

Ryan picked a stone and hurled it at him. "He always does that," he complained to Lyn. "Just because I'm younger than him by 6 years, he always picks on me."

"Are you making arrangements in advance then?" George asked slyly. That earned him another stone from Ryan. Then his humorous expression dropped. "Have you heard what happened?" he said seriously.

Lyn's face immediately darkened, while angry thoughts started to run through Ryan's head again. Recognizing the expression on their faces, George smiled. "So what do you say we do some snooping about?"

Ryan gave him a quick look and a similar smile began to form on his lips. "Just like old times eh?" Noticing Lyn's confused look, he told her, "When we were younger, George and I used to play detective. We used to use whatever means necessary to crack the case," He laughed suddenly. "My brother was absolutely furious with us afterwards."

"And the beating he gave us usually lasted for weeks," George added. "Remember the time when he caught us sneaking out past our bedtime?"

Ryan winced. "I've been trying to forget that."

"Anyway, the point we're trying to make is we're going to go after this murderer. Care to join us?" George asked Lyn. She immediately agreed. "Good," He folded his right-hand sleeve, revealing a robotic arm. "An argument with a bear," he said, noticing Lyn's inquiring look, "and one I didn't win." Flipping up a hidden panel, he began pressing several buttons. Then he held his arm closer to the both of them.

"Cause and time of death?" Jetson's voice came through a hidden speaker. Lyn listened closely as the conversation between the two detectives was unveiled to her. "So we're going to Tholand?" she finally said.

George shook his head. "The authorities might catch us snooping about and then we'll have to answer a lot of embarrassing questions. No, we're going to Georgia." He suddenly grinned. "Besides, if what Ryan's brother gave us was an indication of what we'll receive I wouldn't want to cross their path."

They laughed.