Chapter Two

Mokuba Kaiba bit his lip as he stared out the window in his brother's home office. Really, he knew, it was amazing that their house was still standing. The Duel Monsters had destroyed many other locales. Mokuba had even witnessed the partial collapse of a building near KaibaCorp. He had been horrified, though at least there was the assurance that no one had been killed during the fall. But what if KaibaCorp was next? What if his brother was there when it happened?

He narrowed his eyes. No, he had to stop this foolish "what if" thinking. Seto would not want him to be thinking of such things. Nothing would happen to him. Mokuba had to believe that. He would not lose the one who was his first best friend.

Carefully he clicked open the locket, looking at the picture of the young Seto. His brother had always been serious, but once he had smiled more and had even played games with Mokuba at times. Now he never played games just for fun, and he rarely gave a true smile. Mostly, if he was not frowning or deadpanning, he was smirking. Mokuba sighed. He did not like it when Seto was smirking.

Sometimes he wondered what would have happened if they had never met Gozaburo. Would Seto still be the same as he once had been? Would they both still be in the orphanage, even now, because Seto would have refused to go without Mokuba? Or would they be in some other strange situation? The child leaned back, rubbing his eyes and letting the sound of Seto's furious typing fill his mind.

"Hey, Seto?" he spoke at last.

The older boy briefly paused in his typing to look over. "What is it, Mokuba?" He was highly displeased with the events that had transpired of late. The last time monsters had been set loose all over the city, KaibaCorp had initially been blamed. It had been no different this time, though before long people had sadly discovered that these creatures were not something as harmless as holograms. Seto did not know or care how the beasts had gotten here; he just wanted them gone.

Mokuba sat up straight. "What are we gonna do if, you know, the monsters don't leave?" He bit his lip, tears gathering in his eyes. "I mean . . . a lot of people have been hurt already . . . and even killed! The monsters could end up taking over the whole city!" Unconsciously he clutched the locket tightly. "And . . . something could even happen to you. . . ." He could barely get the words out, and he could not without shedding several tears. Quickly he looked down, knowing that Seto did not like to see him cry.

Seto frowned, getting up from his computer and coming over to where Mokuba was sitting. "Nothing's going to happen to me," he said firmly, as Mokuba had known he would. The child just prayed that it was the truth. "And as for what we're going to do. . . . Well, we're just going to go on as we've been doing. I don't intend to change how I live my life just because some Duel Monsters got bored of their world and decided to come here." He intended to show them that they could not disrupt everyone's routines by their untimely stay. They were unwelcome entities in this universe and Seto was determined to let them know.

"Yeah, but . . ." Mokuba sighed, his shoulders slumping. "How can we just stand by and do nothing, either?" He raised bright, saddened, blue-gray eyes to meet Seto's deep azure orbs. "They're causing so much trouble, Seto! I wanna help so bad . . . but I don't know what to do. . . ."

"There's nothing you could do, Mokuba," Seto answered, perhaps more sharply than he had meant it. It was true that he was still somewhat overprotective of his younger brother, but aside from that, this was dangerous. Of course Seto would not want Mokuba involved in fighting the beasts. He knew only too well that people had been getting hurt and that others had perished. And he was not about to do anything that would add Mokuba to either of those categories.

Mokuba knew that was true. But still, he also had to wonder, With the Pharaoh gone, who can do anything?

The bright light of the blast temporarily blinded him, sending him flying backward to the ground. He gave a yelp, but that was drowned out by the pain-filled cries that soon followed. He heard a loud thump, then another, and then silence.

He coughed, struggling to get up. "Hey!" he cried out. "Where are you fellas? Are you okay?" He waved away the smoke and dust from in front of his eyes, taking in the scene of devastation around him. A Magician of Black Chaos was standing nearby, coldly twirling its staff around after the assault that it had apparently initiated. It glared at him, and he glared back.

As he took a step forward, the ground gave out underneath him and he slid down a ravine, only to crash down at the bottom with the bodies of the two young men he had been with. His eyes widened as he sat up and surveyed them. One, a lanky redhead, was crumpled on his side. The other, a rough-looking blonde, was on his stomach, his arms flung out in front of him. Both were bleeding severely and neither was moving.

"Hey," the Australian said, his voice trembling, "wake up. C'mon, fellas! This isn't funny." Gently he reached out, shaking them, but he received no response. When he bent down to see if they were breathing, he felt nothing. Horror gripped at his being.

"They're dead," he whispered in realization. "They're dead. . . ." And he knew he was entirely alone.

The boy gasped, sitting up on the couch and looking around. It took his wide eyes a moment to adjust to the near-darkness all around him. Then, as he took in the shapes, he knew that he was in the back room of the garage, just as he had been before. There were no corpses laying before him and no Chaos Mages wielding their staffs. It was all just a dream. It had not truly happened. Still . . . it was so vivid in his mind. . . .

"It's just a dream," he mumbled aloud, searching for a lamp. At last he found one and clicked it on. He wondered what time it was now. It must be late, since there were no lights coming from the other gang members' individual alcoves. But that was alright. He found that he was not in the mood to be bothered right now, anyway. He just wanted to be alone to ponder over things.

Rubbing his eyes, he got up and wandered over to the window to look outside. There was not much to see, other than the lights from the buildings that still had electricity. Clouds had covered over the sky, so the moon was not visible. The night looked dark and cold, almost lonely. He sighed to himself.

Who really am I? Heh . . . maybe I don't even wanna know. I must've made a mess of my life, to be here in a gang. And what about the two blokes in my dream? I dunno, but whenever I think about them, I just feel this sense of guilt come over me. Maybe . . . maybe it's my fault they both croaked. He swallowed hard. They had seemed to be his friends in the dream. If he was responsible for them being killed, then maybe that was why he did not remember them. Maybe he had blocked all memories of them from his mind.

But Rocky told me I was in a motorcycle accident. . . . Heck, I had a bad enough headache to believe him. He glowered down at the window sill. He did not believe that he was being lied to. And yet, he could not deny that things did not add up. Normally he would never put any stock in dreams, but because of the "real" feeling about that one, he found it impossible to simply forget about it. The fact that it returned every night, in some form, must mean something. This was the first dream, however, in which he had actually found the bodies and had realized that the other young men were dead. The previous visions had cut short right after the vicious blast.

He did not realize that he was clenching his fist until a drop of blood hit the windowsill. Then, stunned, he slowly pulled his fingers back and stared at the crescent marks he had just engraved into his palm. Crikey. . . . He narrowed his eyes before crossing the floor and opening the door to the bathroom. As he went over to the sink, he turned on the tap and quickly washed the blood away, still confused and upset both over the dream and the fact that it was causing him such distress. I don't go around clenching my fist that tightly. . . . That's more like what . . . someone else does. . . . I've seen him draw blood that way before. . . .

But then he started back to the present. Where had those thoughts come from? What someone? When had Valon seen him or known that he had the unhealthy habit of digging his fingernails into his hand? Shaking his head, he turned off the water and took a clean cloth to dab at his palm. The cuts looked more normal now, he observed. He had stopped before digging very deep or breaking the skin too badly. He walked out of the bathroom, unaware that he almost looked dazed.

"What's the matter with you?"

At the sound of Rocky's rough, Brooklyn voice, the boy whirled around to face him. Rocky frowned, his one visible, crimson eye narrowing suspiciously. Several strands of purple hair fell over the eyepatch that graced the other side of his face, but he seemed not to notice. He was much too intent on studying the Australian teenager standing in front of him. Valon, that's his name. But he doesn't need to know that.

Rocky had taken Valon's identification upon finding him crashed on the highway two months previous and had let the boy think that none of them even knew his name for all the "years" he'd been with them. He was "Aussie" to all of them, and he seemed fine with that. Rocky did not want to give him anything that could possibly revive his memory, so he had kept his name a secret. Not even the other gang members realized he had taken Valon's identification card. Rocky intended to let it stay that way. After all, they did not need to know of his secret agenda.

"Nothin'," Valon answered defensively, breaking into Rocky's reverie. "There's nothin' the matter with me." He frowned, meeting the leader's cold stare with one of his own.

"Yeah, well, that's good," Rocky growled. He was several years older than Valon, and he enjoyed wearing brass knuckles and carrying a mace, but he did not intimidate the brunette. Valon found that he was not really intimidated by much of anything . . . except those dreams.

Now Rocky walked over closer to Valon, studying him intently once again. "Look, I've been stakin' out this old mansion," he said then. "It'd be a better hideout than this rattrap where we barely have enough room to move around. I want you to go there tonight and have a look around. See, there's another gang that's been hanging around. I kicked 'em into next week the last time I saw them there, but maybe some of them went back. If they did, then it's your turn to show 'em that we mean business." He smirked.

"Tomorrow we start moving in, and we don't need them there." Valon was a good fighter. Rocky had seen him in action before. And he would enjoy seeing if Valon could hold his own against any of the members of the opposing gang. He was confident that the spunky Australian could, indeed. But this was to be a test, though Valon most likely did not realize it.

Valon shrugged. "Sure," he agreed. He could handle that. He would enjoy a good fight, anyway. He found himself almost hoping that some of the rival gang would be there.

Marik glared angrily at the dragons surrounding the airplane. "This is all we need," he growled. "We're having problems before we even get to where we're going!" One of the Red-Eyes roared at him, which did not help his mood any. His eye twitched.

"Actually," Ishizu spoke up now, her voice and manner calm even in the face of this disturbance, "I believe that these beasts are attempting to escort us safely to Domino City." She had been observing them for the last several moments, and none of them seemed to be causing any harm. Now they were all flying on either side of the plane, as if indeed to guide it to its destination. Ishizu had noticed something else, as well. "And perhaps they are also striving to keep all of the passengers safe from the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragon that is just up ahead."

Marik leaped out of his seat. "What!" he gasped, soon catching sight of the monster in question. What was more, it was being joined by at least three others. "If they have the same amount of power as they do in the game, then four of them will cause about eighteen thousand lifepoints worth of damage!" Would the airplane even survive such an assault? Would any of the passengers? What about Ishizu and Rishid? Would they perish? Marik clenched his fist, growing much more tense. This was very bad.

Rishid, who had been silently pondering and attempting to count the number of Red-Eyes and Thousand Dragons, now spoke. "There are ten Red-Eyes Black Dragons," he observed. "They alone should possess more than enough power to defeat all of the Blue-Eyes Ultimate Dragons. Then there are ten Thousand Dragons, as well." There seemed to be ten on each side of the airplane-five of each kind of dragon-from what he could determine. But what if there were more Ultimate Dragons than what he could see? Or what if there were even other kinds of monsters as well? It really was too soon to decide on a certain victory for them.

The ensuing blasts lit up the sky completely with a cacophony of light and sound. Several of the passengers covered their ears and closed their eyes, extremely disturbed and perplexed by the events. Others even fainted, certain that some of the blasts would strike the airplane. Marik and his siblings somehow kept calm as they rendered assistance to the others while keeping watch over the battle outside.

In the middle of all the commotion, a scream abruptly rang out from the cockpit. Startled, Marik decided to go investigate. Had something happened to the pilot? If so, what on earth would they do? Marik doubted that he could fly the aircraft, and he knew his siblings were also not skilled in such a venture. He walked down the corridor with purpose and then flung open the door leading into the cockpit. His eyes widened in disbelief at what he saw.

One of the flight attendants was standing by, not certain at all what to do at the discovery of a Cyber Commander in the pilot's seat. Next to him, as copilot, was a Marauding Captain. The original crew was nowhere in sight.

"What happened here!" Marik demanded, looking to the flight attendant. "Where did this plane's pilot go?" He glared at the woman when she did not immediately answer. She seemed to be in too much shock to know what to do at all. And not that he blamed her, but now was simply not the time to be becoming so distressed. He wanted answers!

He was highly surprised to receive one from a different source, however.

"The pilot of this vessel was a coward," the Marauding Captain announced, turning to look at Marik. The Cyber Commander remained silent, concentrating on the course he had chosen. "We saw him and the other crew members bail out as soon as the dragons became visible in the sky." He frowned darkly. "Apparently they cared only for themselves and not for everyone here whom they were assigned to protect." That angered him immensely, especially when he had been taught as a soldier-in his own realm-to never abandon the people who were his responsibility. Cowardice was not something he looked upon with any degree of allowance.

Marik blinked at him in surprise. Somehow, he supposed, he had never really imagined that any Duel Monsters had the power to speak in tongues from the other dimensions. But this one spoke fluent English. "But how did you and your friend even get here!" he cried in confusion. These two characters were not capable of flight. Had they ridden on a dragon?

The Cyber Commander spoke at last. "I think there's more important things to worry about than how we got here," he said gruffly. "We seem to be heading towards a storm of some kind, and we're picking up more enemy monsters." He glared out through the window, having taken notice of several approaching Dark Chimeras.

Marik slapped his forehead in frustration. "What can we do?" he cried, then noticed some of the Thousand Dragons coming to attention to battle these latest foes. He wondered if the Red-Eyes had yet managed to eliminate all of the Ultimate Dragons.

"There's not much you can do," the Cyber Commander snapped, "unless you can prepare the other passengers for the possibility that the flock of Harpie Lady Sisters might be preparing to board the plane."

Marik was about to make an angry retort, not liking talking to someone who also had an attitude, when he heard the rest of the sentence. "An entire flock!" he repeated, feeling vexation overwhelm him. This was simply getting worse all the time! How would they be able to fight off Harpie Ladies? Those creatures had long and sharp talons, and were usually equipped with various articles to help them battle, such as Rose Whip. Many people were liable to wind up injured if the Harpies broke in and attacked. "How, prey tell, do you expect me to prepare them!"

"I'm afraid it's too late for that," the Marauding Captain announced grimly, hearing the sound of breaking glass and the screech that the Harpie Ladies were well-known for. "One of them is coming in now." And abruptly one of the creatures landed upon the windshield, looking into the cockpit with great interest.

The plane swerved, the Cyber Commander not having expected to have his view of the outside sky blocked. Marik yelped in surprise, crashing into the taciturn flight attendant and causing them to both tumble to the floor. The young woman cried out as well, starting to wonder why she had ever wanted to go into her current line of work. Dealing with otherworldly creatures had not been part of the job description.

Ishizu now appeared in the doorway. "Marik?" she asked softly, having heard his cry of astonishment. "Are you alright?" She took in the sight of the Cyber Commander and the Marauding Captain who were piloting the aircraft, and the Harpie Lady outside on the plane's nose, but she was much more interested in Marik's safety at the moment. She watched the boy get up and then assist the flight attendant in doing so as well.

"I'm fine, sister," he replied then, blowing at his bangs to push them away from his eyes, "but the plane might not be." The Harpie Lady was raking her claws through it, and at any moment would probably shatter the windshield with her Rose Whip. Marik was not looking forward to that. "And if it breaks, we're all in for it," he muttered.

Ishizu regarded the shrieking Harpie Lady with a firm, impassive gaze. "It will not break," she reassured Marik.

At that moment the creature outside hissed and spat vehemently as she was lifted into the air by the claws of a Blue-Eyes White Dragon. It gave a loud roar as its strong wings carried it and the captive Harpie Lady away from the airplane. Those in the cockpit watched in amazement and a bit of surprise.

"That was . . . different," Marik said at last.

"Yes," Ishizu agreed, "but the danger is not over yet."

The plane abruptly gave a vicious jerk. The Cyber Commander frowned darkly, finding it more difficult to keep it on course. "I think our visitor managed to damage something," he announced. Again there was a jerk, more violent this time. "I don't know if I'll be able to get us safely landed, either." The soldier gripped the steering levers firmly. "Go back and make sure everyone else gets strapped in. The last thing we need is people flying every which way."

The two Ishtar siblings were not about to protest. As they left, the flight attendant trailed after them, not willing to be left behind.

Alister narrowed his eyes behind the visor of his helmet. It was an overcast night. Raphael had not wanted him to go out tonight, especially with his injured ankle, but Alister had insisted anyway. He wanted to get out of the house and ponder on Valon's whereabouts. He believed that the boy was still alive somewhere. Raphael wanted to, but Alister could tell that his older friend's pessimistic side was coming out again. It had been so long and they had looked all over Domino City and the surrounding area. Why had they not seen Valon before, if he was still here-and alive? He could have long ago been killed by one of the many rampaging Duel Monsters. Or else the Paltridges could have taken him away.

The redhead inwardly growled as a light rain began to fall. The drops splashed against his helmet, making it hard to see. He swerved around a corner, not liking the current area he found himself in. He was in the more deserted section of the city, which he and Raphael had admittedly not looked through as thoroughly. And not only that, but he found himself gazing at a mansion that only held bad memories for him and the others. Once that edifice had housed a torture chamber, and he had been its unwilling victim. Another time, they had all three gone there searching for clues to a baffling mystery. Raphael had then been poisoned by a mind control drug and had attacked Alister and Valon in the mansion. Alister wondered why he had wound up there now.

He also wondered why someone seemed to be trying to get inside. He could make out a figure on the porch, turning the doorknob. With a frown he pulled up in front of the building and parked. Was that one of Dr. Portman's minions, possibly returning to resume their operations in the basement? But no . . . this person was somewhat short, with familiar, fluffy, brown hair that had settled into a star-shaped formation. Alister did a doubletake, at first unwilling to believe what he was seeing. But then he yanked his helmet off and ran forward through the open gate, heedless of the rain and his bad ankle. "Valon!" he yelled, reaching the porch. He swayed now as he put his weight upon the ankle that had been twisted and he had to quickly grab the nearby post to keep himself up.

The boy turned to stare at him in complete confusion. His blue eyes narrowed as he took in the odd manner of Alister's attire. The trenchcoat hung open to reveal one of the redhead's trademark midriff shirts, as well as the two red belts around his trousers. As Valon looked up into the gray eyes, he felt a jolt of some sort, but he could not determine what it was. He did not know this person with the waist-baring top and the flipped crimson hair! "Who're you?" he demanded suspiciously. "Are you talkin' to me?" He thought back to the redhead in his dream, but then dismissed the thought. That person was dead, anyway, if he had even existed.

Alister frowned, not having expected this at all. There was no question that this was Valon, but there was no recognition in the blue eyes. Valon did not know him. Alister wondered why the possibility of amnesia had never entered either his mind or Raphael's. In any case, it was a harsh blow, more of one than he would have imagined possible. "Yes," he said at last, after thinking over what he could reply, "I am talking to you. You've been missing for over two months, Valon."

"Are you some kinda nut!" Valon snapped, still on his guard. This could be someone from the rival gang, trying to trick him. "I don't know you! I probably don't want to, either." He took a step forward, his blue eyes flashing wildly. "But if you're lookin' for a fight, you've got one." He clenched a fist, holding it up in front of him threateningly. This strange annoyance would be out of his way soon enough, and then he could go on with his assignment.

Alister ignored the knowledge that those remarks hurt. If Valon recalled nothing of his life, naturally he might become defensive if approached in this bad neighborhood. "I don't want a fight," he answered calmly. "I want my friend back." He looked piercingly into the younger man's eyes. "I know it may be hard for you to trust that what I'm saying is true, but it is. My name is Alister Mackenzie. The two of us and another man named Raphael have been together for some time now. Recently there was a battle with some of the monsters that invaded the city. Raphael and I were both badly injured, and you blamed yourself for our 'deaths,' leaving out of grief. But we weren't dead, Valon."

Valon stared at him, again remembering flashes of his dream. But he was not one to believe in such things and so it only caused him to hesitate for a moment before shoving Alister away from him, nearly causing the lanky man to tumble off the porch onto the hard walkway. "It's a lie!" he yelled, glaring at him fiercely. "I'm with Rocky McCallon's gang, and I have been for years! I don't KNOW you! Don't you get that? I'm not your chum!"

Alister caught himself right before he would have fallen. He gazed at Valon, emotions churning through his soul that had not often been there before. His friend was alive in a way, but dead as well. This was not the Valon he knew. And the boy was informing him that he was part of a local gang. That could be very bad later on, if he was caught by the police. And with amnesia, it would also be bad if the Paltridges suddenly came back. Alister could not let any of that happen. "Look at me," he instructed. "Do I look like I'm lying?"

Valon again looked into the firm gray eyes. Now he held his fists at his sides, still clenching them. No, this stranger did not appear to be lying. But if he was not, then he must be simply insane. What he was saying could not be true! Still, there was the dream and its contents. . . . Valon had felt an overwhelming sense of guilt in the last one, as though he believed himself to be responsible for the two men's deaths. And one of them had been a redhead. Still, it was too odd. The teenager turned away, overwhelmed by his conflicting thoughts. Everything was happening too fast.

"You know I'm not lying." Alister's voice cut into his thoughts.

Valon whirled around again. "I know you're crazy!" he yelled defiantly. "I already have a home, and it's not with you and some Raphael bloke!" He poked Alister in the chest. "Just go away already! I've got a job to do and you're holdin' me up. Your chum's probably kicked the bucket by now. He probably died ages ago!"

Alister continued to gaze at him. "I hope he hasn't," he responded evenly.

Valon was growing increasingly irritated by the other young man's seemingly unshakable, calm personality. "Whatever," he muttered, half-turning back to the door. "But I'm goin' in here and I don't want you followin' me. If you do, I'm gonna punch your lights out. You got that?" Again he began to turn the doorknob. He no longer believed that this person was part of the rival gang, or else he would never be turning his back on him. The redhead seemed harmless enough, albeit vexing. Valon hated the way that being around him made him feel so bewildered.

"I understand," Alister answered calmly, "but I'll wait here for you." He had now noticed Valon's yellow motorcycle parked nearby. Even if Valon wanted to get away without talking to him again, he would have to come back to get his vehicle.

Valon glowered at him viciously before entering the house. This redhead was either insane . . . or he was telling the truth. But if he was telling the truth, why had Rocky and the others lied? What truly was going on? Why could he not make sense of any of it?