Disclaimer: Yes. It's mine. It's all mine. I own Yu Gi Oh! and everything else that you consider to be of value. Even you. I keep the creators of Yu Gi Oh! locked up in my closet and force them to work for me and me alone. I keep you locked up in my closet, too, but I'm so good at doing it that you think you're free. Or… maybe I'm the one locked up in the closet. (knocks on closet door) Help, I'm claustrophobic! If I admit that I really don't own Yu Gi Oh!, will you let me out?

It was strange. Darkness everywhere. He seemed to be experiencing darkness a lot lately. There was a furious pounding in his head, the likes of which he had never experienced before. Now he knew how his brother felt when he was working too hard and they were out of Aspirin.

Mokuba opened his eyes. He expected to be blinded by a bright light that would increase the pain in his head and cause him to need blink several times to get his eyes to adjust. He was surprised, then, when there was no difference between his eyes being open and his eyes being closed.

His stomach clenched. Was he to be cursed with blindness now, as well as that thrice damned wheelchair? Then, very slowly, he began to be able to pick out vague shapes around him. He was not blinded, then; merely in a very dark room. But why?

Memory came rushing back. He sighed in frustration upon realizing that he had once again been kidnapped. He also realized that escape would be much more difficult this time. He could not run, could not climb, and could not fight. His only hope, he recognized, was probably to be rescued.

The boy grit his teeth, fighting back tears. Would he be forced to depend on others for the rest of his life?

Perhaps not, he decided. Perhaps he would be able to free himself. In any event, his first course of action should be to figure out where exactly he was.

He started to sit up, but then thought better of it. Whoever had abducted him might be watching, and alerting them to the fact that he had awakened wouldn't be the healthiest of decisions.

The young vice president took in his surroundings as well as he could from his position on the floor. As he had previously noted, it was dark. It was also dank, and a musky scent reached his nostrils. The entire place had the feel of a cave or dungeon. The floor beneath him felt manmade, too smooth to be a natural cave. If experience was anything to go by, it was probably a dungeon.

Other than the throbbing in his head, the usual stiffness that unused muscles tended to acquire, and a few minor pains, probably from bruises that he had gotten during the no doubt rough treatment his captors had given him, he appeared to be uninjured. That was a relief. It was always better to face such a situation in as healthy a condition as possible.

He was startled out of his assessment by the sound of heavy footsteps in the distance. He quickly shut his eyes as a door somewhere off to his right creaked open, admitting the owner of the footsteps.

They approached him, stopping just next to him. Mokuba gave his best impersonation of an unconscious person, breathing slowly and doing his best to keep his muscles from tensing.

"Get up," a gruff, male voice sounded from above him. "I know you're awake."

Mokuba shivered at the certainty in the voice, but he didn't move.

Suddenly, a pain erupted in his side, the breath escaping his lungs as a booted foot kicked him in the ribs. His eyes flew open as the force of the blow sent him skidding away from his attacker. He coughed, curling around his side and struggling to regain his wind.

"There," said the man, a definite smirk in his tone. "I knew you'd see it my way. Now get up."

Mokuba opened his eyes and glared defiantly, his breathing finally under control. In the light from the open door, he could see that his earlier guess had been correct – now that he could see them, his surroundings stank of dungeon.

He could also vaguely see the man towering above him. Though he was mainly a silhouette, the boy noticed one key thing: he was huge. Extremely so, as a matter of fact. Assuming that it was typical villains he was facing, this was only a minion, perhaps some kind of bodyguard for the mastermind.

"I said stand up," the man growled again. Mokuba rolled his eyes. Definitely not the brightest bulb in the socket. Didn't this idiot know that he couldn't stand up?

Apparently not. He stormed over to the boy, picked him up by the scruff of his shirt's neck, and set him on his feet. As soon as he let go, prepared to shove his prisoner out the door and towards whatever fate awaited him there, Mokuba's legs crumpled, sending him rudely to the ground.

The man cursed and bent down to try again, but another voice stopped him.

"You idiot. Don't you remember the boy can't walk? You need to carry him." Then, slightly quieter but with no attempt to hide it, whoever was out there muttered, "Moron…"

The man in the dungeon scowled, scooped the twelve-year-old up, and threw him roughly over one shoulder, taking no precautions to be sure that his cargo wasn't damaged in the act.

Mokuba's eyes narrowed. He shut off the pain at the fact that even his abductors needed to help him get to wherever it was they were going. Such feelings would only get in the way. If his brother could ignore unnecessary emotions, so could he. He needed to concentrate on finding a way to escape, and self-pity wouldn't help him there.

He thought back to the person that had informed the guard of his predicament. Somehow, he didn't think that the owner was the one behind all of this, either. There wasn't enough command in the voice for them to be in charge of something. They were probably just another guard who had a better memory for briefings than the one carrying him did.

That, of course, meant that the boy didn't have even the faintest clue as to what he was up against.

Mokuba blinked in surprise when the guard stopped. He had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed that the path they had been following had been sloping gently upwards, and that the dark, slightly slimy stone walls and floor of the dungeon had given way to red carpet and decorative wallpaper. The lighting had changed as well, improving as they ascended at such a rate that the eyes easily adjusted. They now stood outside of a set of large, intricately carved wooden doors, waiting for something, perhaps permission to enter. Clearly, whoever was behind all of this was no stranger to wealth.

The guard shifted so that he held onto Mokuba with one arm and knocked on the door with the other.

"Come in," a deep, cold voice sounded from inside the room.

Mokuba froze, a cold chill running through him. He had never heard that voice before, so he was just as in the dark as to whom his captor was as he had been a minute before, but the sheer malevolence in the tone frightened him. Whoever had spoken was pure evil, he had no doubt. The voice had also held command and power, something that the guards had lacked, and the boy knew that he had found the person in command of his kidnapping. He tried and failed to suppress a shudder as the guard opened the door and stepped inside. He wondered if he would leave that room alive.

The guard tread across the room, then set Mokuba down none-to-gently in a high-backed chair in front of a desk. As he bowed to whoever sat behind it and turned to walk away, the raven-haired boy looked about him.

He was clearly in an office of some kind. The carpet beneath his feet held the same red tint as the one outside the room, though the walls were a deep mahogany instead of the elaborate wallpaper that he had seen before. He looked at the desk in front of him. It was beautifully carved, and in a normal circumstance he might have found himself studying it with interest. This was not a normal situation, however, and he quickly raised his gaze to the man sitting behind the desk.

He was somehow not surprised to find that the only thing he could see was a dark, shady figure hiding in the shadows, with only a pair of bright eyes really visible. He met those eyes, long practice with his brother giving him the ability to do so without flinching, though it was a near thing.

"Welcome, Mr. Kaiba," the figure spoke again, and Mokuba blinked to break his gaze, if only for a moment.

"Who are you?" he asked, trying to keep the waver out of his voice. He folded his hands in his lap to hid their shaking, feeling like an unfortunate employee facing his brother in his office.

"Names are irrelevant, Mr. Kaiba. You may call me Shade."

Trying to think of what Seto would do in such a situation, Mokuba put as much sarcasm as he could manage at the moment into his reply. "Certainly fitting."

The figure laughed quietly, a malicious, terrible sound. "Yes, I think so."

"What do you want?"

"We want you, Mr. Kaiba."

Mokuba swallowed, again forcing sarcasm into his tone. Sarcasm was safe, he remembered his brother saying to him once when asked why he used it all the time. It hid what you were really thinking and feeling, and it intimidated those who couldn't comprehend the user (not that this Shade was one of them). It was useful shield. Those hadn't been his exact words, but that was the gist. "Yeah, I got that part, unless of course your hit man just so happened to grab the wrong kid. Why do you want me so much?"

Shade chuckled again. "I like you, Mr. Kaiba. Always cutting to the chase, aren't you? What a shame… No matter."

Mokuba tensed as he stood. What was he doing?

Shade raised his hands, clapping them together once. Mokuba jumped, startled, as two guards, different than the one that had brought him here, grabbed him, each one taking one of his arms and lifting him up. He hadn't noticed them come in, and he certainly hadn't noticed them standing behind him.

He watched as Shade walked over to the far wall, somehow never seeming to leave the shadows. He placed his hand on the wall and did something that Mokuba couldn't see in the darkness. With a whooshing sound, a door slid open, revealing a small room, much like the dungeon he had been in before, though he was fairly certain that it wasn't the same place.

Shade stepped inside the room, and the two guards carrying Mokuba followed. His feet dragged alone the floor as the walked, but there was nothing he could do about that.

When they entered the room, Mokuba's heart skipped a beat as its details, which he had not been able to see from outside, were revealed to him.

It was a torture chamber. The various machines and implements of pain around the room made that quite clear. The blood drained from his face, and cold sweat broke out on his forehead. He had been kidnapped, brainwashed, and worse many times before, but he had never been tortured.

The guards carried him over to what looked like a metal barrel, lying on its side. One end had been flattened so that it didn't roll away. They systematically lay him facedown on the barrel, pulled off his shirt, and fastened his hands to manacles that were connected by chains to the floor. They did the same to his legs, probably out of habit. When they were finished, Mokuba was stretched tight out over the curve of the barrel.

He tried to raise himself to look at Shade, but the chains were too tight – the guards had left no slack. He could only lift his head as he asked in a small voice, no longer caring that he sounded like a child. "W-what are you doing?"

The dark man shrugged. "Isn't it obvious?"

Mokuba took a few calming breaths. He might be able to talk himself out of this. "Whatever it is you think you'll learn from torturing me, don't waste your time. I don't know anything."

"What makes you think I want to know something?"

Mokuba gaped at him. "If… If you don't want to torture any information out of me, then why…?"

"Simple, my dear boy. If I don't let my men have some fun once in a while, they get awfully rowdy, and I can't have that."

Mokuba felt lightheaded. "So… did you just kidnap me to… to…"

"Of course not!" Shade sounded mildly surprised. "I could have had anyone to do that. You, Mr. Kaiba, are special. I have a special purpose for you."

"And that would be…?"

"It's simple. By taking you, Mr. Kaiba, I catch the attention of someone who is very much interested in your wellbeing."

Mokuba's eyes narrowed at him. Determinedly, he told him, "My brother will find a way to rescue me without giving you what you want."

Again, Shade sounded slightly surprised. "Your brother?" He laughed. "My dear boy! What makes you think we want your brother?" He turned to the guards who were now standing in the doorway. "Don't kill him. He's no good to me dead." With that, he turned and left the room.

One of the guards stepped forward and brought a nightstick that crackled with electricity down on Mokuba's bare back. The twelve-year-old screamed in agony, completely unprepared for the pain that coursed through him.

Another guard struck him, and another, their choice of weapons different but the pain they caused the same. The small boy wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to keep himself conscious. He also wasn't sure if he wanted to remain conscious.

He managed to think only one thought before sweet blackness claimed him. If they don't want my brother… Then who…