By ElveNDestiNy, written April 24, 2005
Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! No copyright infringement intended.
Notes: Believe it or not, I researched gangs for this, and I've also been in areas like the ones I describe here. Even so, a good deal of it is completely from my own imagination. I'm sorry if I misrepresent any details of gang life, but (unless you happen to be in a gang…in that case, I can't imagine you reading this) you probably can't tell, and this is fiction anyway. Enjoy!
o - o - o - o -
He woke early, though he wasn't sure if he had ever been truly asleep. Certainly, he felt more tired now than he had before he closed his eyes. Over and over he saw Miruko, heard his words in the confusion of his mind, and only now did he comprehend what he'd barely understood the first time they were thrown at him.
Amelda left the house quietly, well versed in security systems, even those as high tech as the one employed in the Kaiba mansion. At least Kaiba had obligingly brought his motorcycle along, so he wouldn't lack for transportation. He set out for what he thought of home now, the house that he shared with Varon and Raphael, but halfway there he thought of what questions might be waiting for him.
It wasn't exactly that he was afraid of confronting them, but it was just that no one had ever cared before. Amelda didn't know why, but they were like brothers to him, and he knew they would do anything they could to help him. It filled him with a certain sense of awe but still left him confused.
At the same time, it wouldn't be right to involve them in this. This was between Miruko and himself, and possibly one other. Gozaburo Kaiba had torn them apart, but his adopted son had brought them together again, and Amelda no longer spent energy futilely trying to understand Seto Kaiba's part in all this.
From what Miruko had said, Amelda doubted that he was living in a good part of the city. He didn't know much about gangs—actual street gangs, that is, not specialized organizations like DOOM had been—but he was willing to bet that he could at least find the right area. That was good.
Because despite what Miruko had said, despite all of the anger between them, Amelda wasn't willing to let it rest like that. He couldn't just forget Miruko as if he never found out that his little brother was still alive. Judging by the gun Miruko had drawn, he was involved in something dangerous.
He couldn't get the image out of his mind—his brother's face, filled with anger, hurt, fear, and pain as those grey eyes stared accusingly at him. Even in Miruko's bitterness, his anger, Amelda still saw a hint of the child he had been. So he would save his brother from himself, whether Miruko wanted to be saved or not.
His mind made up, Amelda made a tight turn and sped to the worse part of town he could think of. He combed the streets for a good while, looking at the neon graffiti scrawled on the walls of abandoned warehouses. It was art of a sort, symbolic though few recognized it. Amelda doubted they understood what it represented, though, even the people who made them. It was far more than territory and the odd loyalty of desperation that held these gangs together.
This had once been the industrial part of Domino, long before, but now the poorest people lived here and the area was rife with violence. Here, shadowy figures approached you on street corners, looking to sell you drugs that were as good as poison. It represented, Amelda thought silently to himself, everything that was wrong in society. But few city people ever came here, and most never would see this example of human misery, or understand why every week another shooting exchange between rival gangs would break out and leave innocents dead.
He checked the narrow, dark alleyways, too, and it didn't take long before he spotted two figures at the end of one. On his motorcycle, he would have had little to fear against these youths on foot, but it was their struggling captive that had Amelda furious. Their clothes made it impossible not to realize their affiliation; a large tattoo of a snake circled around their right arms and they dressed 'to the left.'
Stepping his foot on the gas, Amelda pulled up right next to them before they realized he was there. The taller blonde one momentarily stopped his abuse of Miruko, but dark sunglasses hid his eyes from Amelda's furious grey glare.
"You're in Black Cobra territory," said the other in a menacing tone, who was dressed completely in black and aiming a gun at Miruko. "Stay out of this."
"Get out if you know what's good for you," Miruko hissed at Amelda, holding very still. "You don't want to be part of this." Under the light of the sun he looked so much younger, almost more vulnerable because of the way he was dressed, not less. Despite his brave words, Amelda could hear the fear in his brother's voice. He grieved for a brief moment as he looked at the picture they made from an outsider's perspective. Three youths, none older than perhaps twenty, but so familiar with violence that guns were an everyday part of their lives.
Amelda swung off his red motorcycle and stood facing them. "That's my brother you're holding," he snarled at the Black Cobra gang members. "What do you want with him?"
"There's a little thing called blood vengeance," the one in black said coldly. Contrary to Amelda's expectations, he sounded educated, with almost the same air as British people seemed to cultivate. "Skinner, hold him." His hulking partner smirked and stepped up close to Amelda, forcing him to give ground and back away.
"Your bro didn't tell ya that two days ago someone from Bloods tried t'kill King Cobra, did he?" His voice was guttural and low, meant to intimidating, but Amelda barely understood what he was saying anyway. "Stay outta this, 'less you want to join him. You don't belong here, rich boy like you."
He drew his fist back to punch Miruko, who cursed and broke free just fast enough to whip out the gun that he had used in Kaiba's office from wherever it was hiding.
There was a moment when shocked realization flashed through Amelda's mind and he tried to reach out towards his brother, screaming, "NO, Miruko, don't do it!" But he had barely finished his cry before Miruko fired without hesitation, the blast of noise almost deafening to Amelda's ears.
Suddenly there was blood splattered over the cobra tattoo and a short, sharp cry of pain from Skinner, the blonde. His partner's eyes flashed with rage as he raised his gun towards Miruko, but Amelda sprang into action and leapt.
He managed to at least knock the gun to the floor, but fell hard, and Skinner had recovered enough to kick him hard in the stomach. Amelda gasped in pain and instinctively curled into a ball, but forced himself to get up when he heard Miruko's childish scream, saw a gun flung away from the group, skittering across the floor.
The next few seconds passed in a confused blur as Amelda heard an ear-piercing whistle and the sound of a motor coming towards them. Backup, but for which gang? Miruko was down, but he couldn't tell if his brother had been shot, and the blonde was pummeling him with kicks. Amelda couldn't see where the other Cobra was, the one in black.
All rational thought gone, Amelda grabbed Skinner's arm and flung his left arm around his opponent's thick neck, trying to cut off his air supply. If he had been wiser, he would have realized that he was outweighed by at least a good eighty pounds, but as it was, he grimly hung on to his death choke even as the blonde went mad. One flailing hand caught Amelda in the eye and his head burst with pain. Something wet was smeared across his cheek; the sweet, coppery smell told him that it was blood. His grip loosened involuntarily and Amelda was hurled to the ground, falling hard on his back.
The ground was rumbling—no, it was vibrating—and Amelda recognized the sound very well. Bikers, then. A gang of motorcycles all in the black and gold colors of the Cobra gang approached. Miruko's gun had been taken but the youth was on his feet, savagely fighting the blonde and executing brutal, effective moves that Amelda had never seen anyone do before. The blonde's hoarse cry was cut off abruptly when a small but hard fist slammed into his throat.
Five, there were five bikers surrounding them. Amelda regained his feet painfully, knowing that he must have at least fractured a rib or more in his fall. He was bent over in a half crouch, partly because he was wary, but also partly because he wasn't sure what would happen if he tried to stand up straight.
"Hold him still, Skinner," the came the voice from the leader of the newcomers. His face was hidden behind a gleaming black helmet. Besides him was the gangster in black from before. The blonde stopped pounding on Miruko with his good arm and looked up. He was pale, probably from the loss of blood, but the crazed look in his eyes remained.
Amelda was standing but frozen, knowing that they were hopelessly outnumbered. Miruko, released from Skinner's hold, crumpled to a heap at the gangster's feet.
"You, there!" Amelda didn't dare answer, but evidently it wasn't required of him. "Go stand over by that wall. Move slowly. I want to see your hands!"
He walked towards the entrance of the alley, about a good hundred feet away from Miruko. Every step felt like he was betraying his brother again, leaving him there with people that would kill him. Eventually, when he stopped, Amelda found that he was across the street from his motorcycle. He stared at it and wondered if he could reach it, but another one of the bikers had dismounted. The biker followed him on foot and was now casually pointing a gun in his direction.
"What happened here?" the leader demanded. Every word came clearly to Amelda, despite the distance. Maybe fear sharpened your hearing, he thought dizzily.
"This one—" Skinner pointed to Miruko, hand trembling unsteadily, "shot me! We were teachin' him a lesson when his bro here showed up. I saw him when he shot at you before, the redhead. He's damned distinctive, King."
Black gloved hands reached up to pull off the helmet, exposing the face of a man that did not look like he was part of a gang, let alone the leader. He was young, perhaps twenty-three or slightly older, but twenty-five at most. Even from the distance, Amelda could see that the man's brown hair was cut in a respectable fashion. In fact, the leader could have passed for a businessman's son, even dressed in black leather as he was. Amelda stared at him in numb disbelief. He must be one of the black market gangs, supplied with money by blackmailing important people and intimidating them with his cronies.
White, even teeth flashed in a feral smile. "Is that so, Skinner? Well, even someone as brainless as you are can be right for once. I do believe we need to make an example of this pathetic little thing. The Black Cobras rule here, not the Bloods."
The sound of another motorcycle speeding into the alley was enough to distract him. Amelda looked to the entrance of the alley as well, thinking that maybe it was Miruko's gang. It was all confused in his mind; he had no experience with this kind of life and could not possibly predict what would happen now.
The newcomer rode a silver motorcycle that screamed wealth and style. A long trench coat flowed out behind him, where he was crouched over the handlebars. Kaiba! What was he doing here, of all places? Had he followed Amelda here, and why—but there was no time for thought, and Amelda only felt a surge of profound relief that this horrific situation could be put into Kaiba's calm and no doubt capable hands. He hadn't balked when Miruko had drawn the gun in his office. Even now, he looked in control.
Amelda forgot the most important thing, however. Kaiba might have been influential in many areas, but he was just as out of his domain here as Amelda was himself. The Cobra king sneered at the coming motorcycle and his hand disappeared into the front of his glistening black leather jacket before reappearing with a sleek black thing—a gun.
Amelda had only a moment to realize what the man was going to do before utter fear overtook anything else. The man that had been assigned to watch him was looking at King and he took advantage of the momentary lapse. He ran across the street to his motorcycle and threw himself onto it, hearing the curse behind him as the man realized his quarry had slipped away.
Shots ricocheted loudly off the walls but Amelda was in his element, master of movement now as he stepped hard on the gas and wove dangerously towards King and Miruko, leaning hard left and right to make himself a harder target. A little too much and he would be killed in a crash in a matter of seconds, if he lost control of the sharp angle between himself and the ground. The sound of his desperate race was echoed and he looked through strands of his own magenta locks to see one of King's cronies racing directly towards him from the opposite direction.
For a moment Amelda was lost in memory, remembering another place, another time. Raphael stood watching in disapproval and disbelief. He had met Varon for the first time like this—it was called chicken, a common game for bikers. Varon had insulted him and then challenged him this, a test of sorts.
They reached deadly speeds over eighty miles per hour as they raced towards each other in a deliberate head-on collision course. Amelda remembered the frantic beating of his heart, like a bird trapped in a cage, as the speck that was Varon grew larger in a matter of seconds. Remembered the adrenaline rushing through the blood, as you wondered if he would stop, wondering if you could stop in time, or if you would kill each other over something so stupid, just a bluff. That's all it was, a bluff, a game, but the ultimate thrill because the stakes were life and death.
But it wasn't a game now, and Amelda wasn't numb with fear for his own safety, but for Miruko's, because his brother was about to be shot and he wasn't sure if he could make it there in time to save him. So close, so close—another breath and he would be there, he had to stop at the right time so he would block Miruko, but the other motorcycle was gaining speed…Amelda couldn't let the other biker to reach Miruko before he did, or else he wouldn't be able to block King's bullet—
They reached Miruko at the same instant. Amelda had the impression of his brother's face and wide grey eyes, or maybe it was just a memory of earlier times, because the world exploded around him. The gunshot blasting so loudly he felt as if his heart stopped with fear, the motorcycle spinning out of control to crash to the left, but in front of Miruko, blocking him from harm…and Amelda thrown from the seat, feeling the sudden, blinding pain ripping through his chest—his mouth opened in a surprised cry.
But it was enough and he'd taken the bullet for Miruko, so Amelda's scream was one of triumph, not agony…because he had understood that he'd saved his brother.
o - o - o - o -
A/N: Review here—after all my hard work, please? Or fine, go read the next chapter and just ignore the annoying little author's notes here asking you to give some feedback...