Disclaimer: If I owned it… trust me. You would know. I do own my OC, though. He's mine; you can't have him. (stubborn look)
A/N: If you've never played chess before (I pity you, if you haven't) the phrase "check" means that the king is in take – that a piece is threatening it. "Checkmate" means that the king is in check and that there is no way for its player to back out. Checkmate ends the game, because when the king is dead, it's game over. If you need further explanations, feel free to ask.
Sergeant Major Kerrick looked at his top agent in puzzlement. Though the boy was only fifteen years old, his impressive height of six-foot-one forced the officer to look up to meet his gaze. According to a recent x-ray in his medical file, which clearly showed that his growth plates had yet to disappear, the boy would get even taller before he was finished.
It was a running joke among other divisions that the best agent in the Domino City branch was just a boy. Then again, none of them had seen him in action. Kerrick had, and he trusted the boy to do his job and do it well.
That wasn't what had him puzzled at the moment. That was all fact; he had acknowledged it as such some time ago.
What the sergeant major couldn't understand was the small boy who stood slightly behind the agent, grey eyes wide as he looked about him, taking in his surroundings. Children – or anyone but a registered officer or agent – were not allowed in this section of the division's headquarters.
Whatever the reason for the breach in protocol, Kerrick was sure he would soon find out. And whatever it was, it could wait until business had been completed. "S4913, welcome home. I trust everything went according to plan?"
"Yes, sir," the agent replied stoically.
"Any trouble?"
"No, sir. I met little resistance. They were taken by surprise."
Kerrick raised his eyebrows. "Interesting. I would have thought such an important facility would have been more heavily guarded."
"It was heavily guarded," S4913 said calmly. "Guards only do you good if they catch the intruder."
Kerrick gave a dark chuckle. The boy had a point. "Nothing further to report?"
"No, sir. Everything went smoothly."
"Good. Well done, S4913."
"Thank you, sir." The reply was routine politeness towards his superior; it was impossible to tell from his facial expression whether he really felt gratitude or not. Knowing S4913, Kerrick guessed not.
"Very well. If there's nothing else…" He trailed off, brown eyes shifting to settle on the child. His words had been a dismissal, but he didn't expect the agent to leave – and S4913 knew it.
The tall brunette stood at attention, and the raven-haired boy followed his example.
"S4913?" Kerrick raided his eyebrows again, waiting.
"Sir. This is M7132… my brother."
"Ah." Now the officer understood. He distinctly remembered the day S4913 had confronted him, telling him in no uncertain terms that he would stand for no partner save his brother. Any other agent would have found themselves demoted before they could say "insubordination." Not S4913.
"He just turned ten," S4913 added unnecessarily.
"And you think him ready for a position?"
"Yes, sir. Read his file; he's the best in his age group."
"Well, M7132." Kerrick assessed the boy. He was small for his age, not showing any of his brother's height. That, however, could be to his advantage on a mission. "That's quite high praise, coming from S4913… even if he is your brother."
"Thank you, sir," the boy responded. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he had been taught.
"What do you have to say for yourself, boy?"
M7132 hesitated. When his reply came, it was slow, but firm and steady. "Sir… I'm ready."
"Brave words, M7132. I hope you come to prove them." He turned to S4913. "I will look into his file and see that there are no complications. Assuming that there are none, he will receive a contract on the morrow. Do you have anything further to add?"
"No, sir," S4913 replied.
"Very well. Dismissed."
The boys saluted, turned, and left the room.
Sergeant Major Kerrick watched them leave, eyes fixed on the back of the new recruit. The dark skinned man stroked his chin thoughtfully. He had high hopes for this M7132. He had reminded the officer of S4913 at that age – and S4913 was the best Domino City had to offer. If his brother was half as good, the Revolution had just gained another top agent. Perhaps this rebellion wasn't so hopeless after all.
"Seto, what did he mean? Complications?"
"Don't worry about it. It doesn't apply to you." Seto's voice was calm, firm, and apparently emotionless. But appearances could be deceiving, and Mokuba thought he could detect a hint of pride in his tone.
"But then why–"
Seto interrupted him. "It's standard procedure. HQ runs a background check on all new agents. You won't have any problems. It's your move, by the way."
Mokuba frowned, concentrating on the black and white game pieces in front of him. The two boys sat at the table in their living room, the old chess board in between them. Up two knights and a queen, Seto was in the lead. That wasn't surprising; Seto always won.
Slowly, Mokuba moved his only bishop – both brothers had lost one some time earlier – forward to take one of Seto's pawns. "Check. What type of things are they looking for?"
"Past criminal records, any possible connections to the other side, things like that. We have to be careful, little brother. Are you sure you want to do that?" The last referred to the bishop's movement.
"Um…" Mokuba double-checked the position of all of the pieces. There wasn't anything that could take it… "Yeah… What would happen if they found something?"
Seto shrugged in regard to the game, moving his rook forward one space so that it lay in between Mokuba's bishop and his own king. "That depends on how bad the offense is. For minor things, they would probably put the suspected on probation. For a major offense…" He shrugged again. "We can't risk traitors escaping, kid."
Mokuba swallowed. He knew what Seto meant. "They'd do that?" He didn't understand how someone could just kill a person who might be in the way.
He also didn't understand his brother's chess move. Wouldn't it have been better to move his king, instead of sacrificing his rook? The younger boy moved his bishop, taking the rook and once more threatening the king. "Check again."
Seto nodded grimly. "Yes, they would," he answered his brother's question. "Anyone who gets in the way of the cause must be terminated." He picked up his queen, moving it backwards to take the bishop. "Checkmate."
Mokuba's eyes widened. Where had the queen come from? He looked at his king, who now lay in the direct path of his brother's queen. The king was boxed in… he couldn't move. Seto had won the game.
Seto picked up the rook he had sacrificed, holding it out to the small boy. "We're expendable to them, Mokuba. We all are. They don't care about us; they say they do, but they don't. Don't trust them. Always be on guard. Don't let yourself become my rook here."
Mokuba reached forward, touching the rook, but not taking it. Grey eyes met blue, and the raven-haired child nodded. "I understand."
"Good." Seto watched him for a moment more, then nodded. "I'll put this away; you go get ready for bed."
"Okay." Mokuba stood, trotting around to his brother's side of the table to give him a hug. "G'night, big brother."
Seto returned the embrace. "Good night. I'll be in in a minute."
"'Kay." Mokuba smiled and disappeared into the bedroom.
Seto sat back in his chair, the rook still held loosely in his hand. He stroked it absently with his thumb, staring into space.
Slowly, his fist closed around the white, castle-like gamepiece. He wouldn't let it happen to his brother. He had promised to protect him, back before they had been caught up in this whole damn war. The situations may have changed now, but a promise was a promise.
S4913 always kept his promises.
Mokuba stirred as a bright ray of sunlight shone in his face, trying to drag him away from the depths of sleep. He gave a mumbled, incoherent complaint, rolling over and burying his face in the pillow in attempt to go back to sleep.
Once he had awakened, however, he found it difficult to return to his dreams. Sighing, he sat up and gave the window a disapproving glare.
Seto was always complaining about the window, though for a different reason than Mokuba was at the moment. The fifteen-year-old agent claimed that it was dangerous to have an external window in a time of war. It would be too easy for an enemy agent to slip inside if ever their identities were discovered. A sniper would find them an easy target if perched on one of the opposite rooftops. They had to take what they could get, however. Housing space wasn't easy to come by in this day and age.
Right now, Mokuba wasn't concerned about enemy assassins or snipers. He was just disgruntled that he had been aroused.
Still grumbling about his rude awakening, the ten-year-old climbed to his feet, stretched, and glanced over at his brother's mattress. It was abandoned, the blankets neatly folded at its foot. Seto was already awake.
Following the older boy's example, Mokuba folded his own blankets, then stumbled out of the bedroom.
Seto sat at the table, a plate of pancakes in front of him. He looked up as Mokuba came into the room. He nodded at the boy. "Good morning."
"Morning," Mokuba yawned. He eyed his brother's breakfast, noting another plate on the counter. They didn't have food like that very often.
Seto noticed the look. His face relaxed into an almost-smile. "I thought we should celebrate a little," he explained.
"Thanks!" Mokuba exclaimed, eagerly grabbing a knife, fork, and his plate and sitting down across from his brother. His eyes widened as the brunette offered him a chipped dish with a brownish liquid in it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even seen maple syrup, though he knew what it was. "Where'd you get that?" he asked, accepting the dish and dipping his finger into its contents.
"I pulled a few strings down in the supplies department." Seto smirked as Mokuba tasted the gooey substance that now coated his finger.
Mokuba's eyes widened in delight; he quickly drenched his breakfast in syrup. "Thanks," he chirped again, and began to dig into his now very sticky meal.
"You earned it." Seto watched him eat for a moment, then stood and walked over to the couch. He came back with something in his hand.
Mokuba glanced up. "What's that?"
"Your contract."
The younger boy froze, his eyes going wide.
"…And when you finish eating, you can have it."
Mokuba stuck his tongue out at him, then went back to wolfing down his breakfast.
When he had licked his plate clean of the last drop of syrup and the final crumbs of pancake, he scrambled to his feet and stood at attention at Seto's side.
The tall brunette smirked, leaning back in his chair teasingly. "Your hands."
"What about them?" Mokuba blinked, glancing down at the offending limbs.
"They're sticky. Wash them. What kind of impression do you think it would make if you got syrup on such an important document?
The ten-year-old released a frustrated moan as he turned and sprinted through the bedroom to the bathroom. His hands received the quickest, most thorough washing they ever had, and in no time at all, Mokuba was back at his brother's side.
"Read it carefully," Seto advised, handing it to him. Make sure there's nothing unpleasant in the fine print."
Mokuba read the document excitedly. There wasn't much to read. He was to understand that he was now responsible for furthering the rebel cause. He must be willing to sacrifice life, limb, and freedom for that cause, and for his future partner, who would be assigned at a later time. Traitors would be punished, no exceptions. While his new position brought new responsibilities, it also brought rewards. He now had access to the various lounges, resources, computers, and other recreational and informational devices available to all agents. Following the completion of his first mission, he would be a trusted member of the Domino City division. He would receive a (small) salary, to be raised or lowered based on performance. He was to sign his registration number, thus swearing his fealty and sealing the deal.
"…It looks fine to me," he said, lifting his eyes from the paper.
"You're sure?"
Mokuba looked up at the tone in his brother's voice. It somehow contained sadness, exhaustion, worry, and yet its usual calmness all at the same time.
"You're absolutely sure?" the older boy asked again. "This is what you want? There's no going back once you sign your number on that paper, Mokuba. You're stuck for life. Are you sure?"
The raven-haired child frowned. He was sure, but it seemed important to Seto that he think about it. Would it be something he would regret someday? Maybe. He wondered if Seto ever regretted his own decision to join. Probably. Was it worth it anyway?
Yes.
"...I'm sure," he said, meeting his brother's gaze.
"…Very well." The fifteen-year-old rebel agent extended a pen to him, and Mokuba took it with trembling fingers. Carefully, in his neatest handwriting, he printed his registration number in the indicated spaces, then signed and dated the document at the bottom. The paper copy would be taken to headquarters, photocopied, and scanned into a computer. The original would stay at their division's headquarters; the photocopy would be sent to the main base in Kyoto, the capital of the Revolution; and the digital copy would be stored in the database, to be accessed as needed from any computer that had the proper codes.
Finished, Mokuba set aside the pen, blowing on the ink to dry it. "Done," he whispered.
He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up at Seto's face. "Begun," the older boy corrected gently. "Welcome to the Revolution, little brother."
