'Tis midnight in the cave I'm in. August 19th, 2009. For those playing the home game, this means something very significant: "Paved with Good Intentions" is now one year old.
In that time, things have evolved quite substantially. The response has been phenomenal, and I cannot tell you what it means to me that you've all been enjoying it alongside me. It's an honor. It might have been more fitting to celebrate the one-year-anniversary with a chapter more...cheerful than this one. But I guess my muse doesn't work that way. Considering my protagonist, I think you'll understand just why that is: Seto is an angst-magnet, and happy just doesn't become him.
I wish I had some profound insight to relay unto you, my fine audience, to commemorate this occasion. But all I can think to say has already been said. It's been a great year, and here's hoping the next one will surpass it.
Welcome, friends, to "The Final Countdown."
Enjoy your stay.
1.
"Do you have it?"
Mokuba nodded quickly, as he carefully punched the numbers into his new phone. Roland Ackerman stood nearby, looking coolly professional like he always did, in his FBI sunglasses and his classic-era butler mustache, watching his employer with detached, mild interest as Seto sat low in his chair, right wrist leaning against the edge of his desk as he twirled a pen restlessly through his fingers.
"Try it, Mokuba," Seto said, somewhat sharply.
Mokuba hit one button, then another.
Roland's cellular phone, tucked into an inner pocket of his jacket, began to ring. Roland glanced down, but did not take the device out. He raised an eyebrow at Seto, who gestured vaguely at his brother, indicating that he should terminate the call. Mokuba pressed a third button, and the ringing stopped.
Seto nodded. "Good."
"If I may speak freely, sir," Roland said slowly, and Seto glanced at him, "I am not entirely certain why you are treating the matter of a cellular telephone with such...gravity. Surely young Mokuba is trustworthy enough to use such a device responsibly? You seem as though you are giving him a weapon."
"The thought crossed my mind more than once," Seto said gravely, with an image of Pegasus Crawford planted firmly in his mind's eye. "Let us just say that my motivations for this are...less than joyous. Listen to me, Mokuba. I'm not going to place any restrictions on how often you use this phone so long as it does not present a problem. But I want you to heed me on this one thing, okay? The number you've just entered is not to be used regularly. Am I understood?"
"Oh...uh...okay?" Mokuba answered uncertainly, frowning curiously at his sibling, whose lips twitched in the beginnings of a smirk. With a faint amount of irritation, however, Seto kept his face neutral. Almost painfully so.
"Roland's cellular number is for emergencies," he said. "Do you understand? Emergencies requiring immediate attention." Seto's face was set in stone now, his eyes flaring, and Mokuba had learned long ago to pay very close attention to his brother's every word when he looked like this. "Call his office number, or my personal number, if you need assistance with something...mundane. If Copeland is late picking you up, you need a ride somewhere...if we're out of ice cream."
Mokuba smiled. Seto did not.
"Roland," Seto said now, "if that phone rings, treat it as a grave emergency. I don't care if it's midnight, if you're vomiting blood, or if you're taking your grandmother to the hospital. If Mokuba calls that phone, assume he is dying. If you find that Mokuba's phone is turned off at a time that it should be on, assume he is dying. Do you understand me?"
"Of course, sir," Roland said, nodding curtly.
"Do you understand, Mokuba?"
"Why shouldn't I call you?" Mokuba asked suddenly.
"I don't always answer this stupid thing," Seto said, seeming to have expected the question. He gestured to his own cellular phone, charging on his desk by a set of pens and a legal pad. "You would be surprised how many home-school hackers think themselves clever and dig up that number. It's a safety precaution. So call that number if you need immediate assistance, but for no other reason. All right?"
Mokuba looked at Roland for a moment, then looked back at his brother and nodded.
"Yes, Niisama."
Seto nodded in turn, satisfied.
And true to his word (as he almost always was; Mokuba took his brother's instructions seriously), Mokuba had never called Roland's cellular phone for anything outside of an emergency. Later, when he would have a confrontation with William Hunter, he would not call this number, because he would not believe the term "immediate assistance" to describe that situation.
Mokuba did not call immediately upon discovering his current situation, but he eventually would. Roland did not discover the problem until he checked the location of the Kaiba-Corp limousine, finding it not at Kaiba Manor, but halfway across the city. He tried to call Mokuba's phone.
It went straight to voicemail.
Roland's face paled.
"...Oh, hell."
2.
"...But if you'll just look at these figures—"
"I've looked at them, Grieco," Seto replied, "and it's not going to happen."
Alonzo Grieco was a man unused to being shut down, of that much Seto was certain. The set of the man's body told him that much. Anger was slowly mounting on his face, along with a stern set to his jaw that told Seto he was straining to hold it in.
Seto was rather impressed, to be honest.
"If you could only explain why, though!" Grieco insisted. "Think of the popularity, Mister Kaiba! I mean, you can't honestly say that your standard Duel Disks aren't expensive, yes? This way, anybody could have one. Oh, sure, there wouldn't be a hologram projector, but—"
"That's the key element to the product in the first place, Grieco," Seto said. "I have standards. I don't run a toy company, I run a gaming company, and these—this design you are showing me," he amended, grimacing slightly as he remembered that he wasn't all that annoyed with this man, "is not something I want my name on."
Grieco drew in a deep breath, crossing his arms and uncrossing them again, finally stuffing his hands into the pockets of his slacks. "...I was told you are interested foremost in profit, Mister Kaiba. Are you denying that this would be profitable?"
"No," Seto admitted, "I am not. You're likely right that this would work out well, but that is beside the point. This corporation has a reputation, Grieco, and I am not so desperate that I would jump at any chance at profit. I can afford not to; this corporation can afford not to. If you insist on pushing this idea, then keep it with you, and if I come to a point where I..."
He had stopped paying actual attention to what he was saying several seconds ago, but he continued to speak anyway, eyes shifting to the door as Roland slipped inside. He did not slam the door open, but it was clear from the set of his face that he wasn't coming to ask if you fine gentlemen would enjoy a cup of coffee, by chance.
"Master Kaiba," Roland said quickly, when Seto's voice had drifted off into silence, and his own voice was tight, stern, and tinged with a note of fear. Grieco turned, looking irritated at the interruption much like Seto might have under normal circumstances, but seemed to see that the matter was grave by Roland's stance. "The little one."
He said nothing more, but he didn't need to. Roland lifted the cellular phone clutched in his hand, and Seto's mind instantly snapped to attention; he shot to his feet so fast that Grieco jumped. "Leave it on the desk!" Seto snarled as he took great, sweeping strides across the room, and left Alonzo Grieco sitting alone, staring at the door as it slammed shut, blinking confusedly.
"...Little what?"
3.
"How sweet, Little Master. You remember me."
"Couldn't forget you," Mokuba replied snidely. "I tried."
Adachi Saruwatari wasn't a man easily forgotten. If forced to guess, Mokuba thought that that was part of the reason he had made it into Seto's employ in the first place. Seto had been younger, when he had hired this man, and more confident in his ability to intimidate.
Surely, Seto had thought, having a man of almost seven feet and three hundred pounds of corded steel as a bodyguard would make an impression. He'd thought that by placing Mokuba under the protection of a behemoth like Saruwatari, no one would dare to touch him. And he'd also thought that he had done a good enough job of proving his superiority over the man that he was well under control.
For one of only a handful of times in his life, Seto had been sorely mistaken.
As it turned out, so had Mokuba, who had thought he'd never see the man again. When Pegasus Crawford, Saruwatari's real employer, had gone down, thanks in no small part to Yugi Motou, Saruwatari had dropped off the face of the planet.
Until now, apparently.
Saruwatari's laughter boomed through the vehicle, deep and rough and, perhaps most disturbingly, real. "Ah, yes! I forgot what a treat you were, Little Master! You're a quick one, aren't you? So...how have you been?"
"Fine," Mokuba replied shortly, cursing his own stupidity. "How was life in Mexico, gorilla-face?"
Again that ringing, echoing bark of a laugh; it reminded Mokuba rather forcefully of a huge dog. He suddenly thought of a St. Bernard in a suit, driving the limousine, and cracked a smile. A St. Bernard with a unicorn-horn of hair shooting out from its forehead, between its floppy ears.
He snickered.
"Such wit!" Saruwatari cried jovially. "Ah, but you are a rare breed, Little Master. How is your...esteemed sibling doing, then? I've not seen him in some time."
"Don't have to ask me," Mokuba said, regaining his composure and wiping the grin from his face with a bit of effort. "You'll see him again, pretty soon. You can ask him yourself."
And there it was. Saruwatari's laugh came again, but it was softer this time, lower, like the rumbling of a minor earthquake. Mokuba heard a dark, malevolent side to his former bodyguard's amusement.
"Oh...I'm sure I will see him soon. I'm...quite sure."
And as Saruwatari continued to drive, still chuckling, Mokuba's confidence wavered the slightest bit. It wasn't hard to keep the smile from his face anymore. He looked down at his lap, and swiftly stuffed the game back into his backpack, mechanically, licking his lips as he buckled it closed again and lay his hands limply at his sides.
4.
He was a rare man.
Not so rare on the surface. There were plenty of cops in Domino City, and plenty of good ones. Plenty of those good cops had moved on from field work to a detective's desk, just like he had, and plenty of those detectives were on Captain Solozarno's good side, just like he was.
He was a relatively young man, thirty-four. A good age, a solid age. He was six feet even, well-muscled and well-trained, fitted to his work. He fit in well with the younger generation of what were sometimes jokingly called Dominions, because he didn't clutch at authority. He didn't wear his badge like a crown, nor did he wave his sidearm like a scepter.
He dressed relatively casually for a police detective, often in simple slacks and a button-down shirt, sometimes a jacket but never a tie, and he wore his hair short and spiked, so that he looked like a college student much more often than he did a law enforcement officer; and while it was certain that some of the older members of the Domino City Police Department disapproved, he liked it, and had done a fine enough job in his years of service that nobody pushed the issue.
These traits may have made him unusual, but none of them made him rare. What made this man rare was that he, and he alone, could confidently call himself a "family friend" of the Kaibas.
And so it was this man, Detective Darren Wilson McKinley, who received a phone call from Roland Ackerman on the afternoon of September ninth (which happened to be three days before his thirty-fifth birthday). And, as luck would have it, the detective had been on his way home.
"McKinley," Darren said automatically as he pulled the cellular phone from one pocket of the jacket lying on the passenger's seat and put it to his ear. He didn't bother to look, to see the caller's identity. He did not recognize the voice on the other end, and his first impulse was to think it was a wrong number.
"Detective," said Roland Ackerman, "I'm calling you because you're the only person he'll trust. We've never met, but my name is Roland Ackerman. I am Master Seto Kaiba's personal assistant. His...right hand, if you want to be romantic about it."
Darren frowned. "Seto? What's this about, Mister Ackerman? Does he need something?"
"Oh, yes. Indeed, he does. I've called in our own security, but we need the police department working on this as well. This is why I called. We have to move quickly. We have reason to believe that Young Master Mokuba is missing."
Darren's silver Chevrolet Impala nearly swerved off the road. "What? Do you mean...has he been taken? What do we know?"
"Sadly little, I'm afraid. But I have learned not to take matters of disrupted routine lightly in my time with this family. Master Kaiba is bound to lose his head, the longer this goes on. We have to be swift to assess the true nature of the situation. Can I count on your help, Detective McKinley?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Where should I meet you?"
"Master Kaiba is on his way to Oakwood Elementary School. That is where the little one was last seen. Do you know the way?"
"My daughter went there. I know it."
"Good. Thank you, Detective—ah. What? Oh...yes, sir. Of course."
Darren listened as Roland apparently handed his phone to his employer, and Seto Kaiba's deep, gravelly snarl entered his ears. "Detective."
"Seto," Darren said. This was another thing that made Darren McKinley a rare man. He was the only person alive to ever call Seto Kaiba by his given name. Mokuba, the only other person with permission to do so, never did, and probably never would.
"Don't call in backup for this," Seto said, and in all honesty, Darren wasn't surprised to hear it. He thought of arguing, thought of insisting, but without much conviction. Under normal circumstances, he would have been tempted to ignore the request—which was really more of a command.
These were...not normal circumstances.
Nothing involving the Kaiba family was ever a normal circumstance.
Despite knowing that he would honor this order, Darren said, "Why?"
"You know why. This game isn't new to me, Darren. Whoever has done this will contact me soon, and I will be ordered not to involve the police."
"You sound pretty sure of that," Darren offered, quirking an eyebrow, finding himself almost calmed by the tone of Seto's voice. He wasn't lying. The game wasn't new. But at the same time, Darren felt worried. It was like walking into a minefield.
"...It's what I would do," Seto said, his voice unreadable. Then, after a beat of silence, he added, "Meet me at the school, Darren. We have to move fast."
Seto hung up without waiting for a reply.
Darren tossed his phone aside and drew in a deep breath.
He couldn't help but think that his young friend was treating the situation like a training exercise. He hadn't sounded concerned so much as...exasperated. Almost bored. Certainly irritated, but not especially worried.
As he pulled back onto the road, Darren suddenly felt sad.
There was just something horribly wrong about that.
5.
Darren had it right, of course. Seto would not have befriended an unobservant man.
As Seto stepped into his Veyron, and Roland slipped in silently beside him, he did not feel especially worried. As the road to Mokuba's school began to unroll in front of him, he did not specifically think of how he felt, but he knew what he felt, nonetheless:
Insulted.
That was the key to it. This was a trespass. And it had happened often enough before that that was all he saw it as anymore. He stole a glance over at Roland, who was frowning at the laptop computer in his hands. "What is it?" Seto asked sharply.
Just because he felt insulted did not mean that he wasn't on edge.
"I...I don't understand," Roland said. "Perhaps I am simply ignorant, sir, on the current methods for child abduction, but...I thought for certain that the kidnapper would at least use another vehicle!"
Seto scowled as he turned his attention back to the road. "What are you talking about? Are you trying to tell me that we're dealing with such an idiot that he actually took Mokuba in our own limousine?"
Roland looked at him, honestly bewildered. "...Yes, sir. Exactly. It's headed toward the freeway, on Wilkins Avenue. Just passed South Cherokee. They have been moving for some time, but it's right here." He pointed.
Seto swerved into a left turn and sped off away from the school, and when Roland looked back up at him, he dared to flash a grin. Seto did not return the gesture, but he was relieved nonetheless. He always tried to anticipate the worst possible scenario, but it seemed that this time, they were dealing with a complete amateur. The idiot hadn't even remembered to take the boy's phone away from him.
Seto fished out his own and punched in a number.
"McKinley," came Darren's voice on the second ring. "Find something, Seto? Already?"
"Roland's located the limousine. We're headed after it. On the chance that this is a red herring, keep heading for Mokuba's school. See if anyone actually saw this idiot in the act."
"Will do, Seto. I'm almost there—hey, how did you find out this happened? Did you get a call?"
"Not a call…a sign. From Mokuba. If you are asking if we know for certain what's happened here…no. But I know enough."
"Didn't he get out of school something like fifteen, twenty minutes ago? Do we know why he wouldn't call? Even for a couple seconds to make sure you knew? If the suspect actually is using your limo to skip town, wouldn't he have taken Mokuba straight from school? He would have known rather quickly that something was wrong."
Seto frowned. "...I'm not sure. Probably."
Darren's silence seemed to radiate that he was troubled. But he said, "I'll see what I can find."
"Good."
On impulse, with a quick—knee-jerk—glance at Roland (who was again scanning the screen in front of him and not paying attention to the conversation), Seto said, "Darren."
"Yes?"
"...Thank you."
Darren chuckled. "This is my job, Seto, and I haven't done anything yet. Let's just make sure the kid gets home safely, huh? Then you can talk about thanking me."
Seto smirked. "Right."
He terminated the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.
As Roland continued to direct him, Seto drove with a sudden sense of confidence. It looked like this one might be resolved quickly. He wondered if he might have this wrapped up and behind him before the sun went down.
His smirk broadened. Mokuba would expect compensation for being kidnapped...again.
Seto thought he might let the boy pick out dinner.
6.
October 29, 2007
"Tris and I, we were waitin' at the KC building," Joey said, arms crossed. He wasn't looking at Téa anymore, rather choosing to stare at the glass door of the shop, out into the street. "Y'know that bowling alley out by Duke's place? I thought we'd head out there. Don't think the kid's ever been bowling before, so...y'know."
Tristan drew in a deep breath. "We were getting along pretty good with Mokuba by then. He's a good kid. I wasn't sure about the whole thing at first, but...he warms up on ya, y'know? But I was still a bit...out of it, I guess, waiting around Kaiba's place. I didn't wanna be there."
Téa seemed about to say something, probably, "I don't blame you," but Yugi touched her arm to silence her. She glanced at him, then back at the others, and didn't speak. Tristan seemed somewhat guilty to be admitting this, and it was clear by her face that she didn't think he should be. She looked like she wanted to say something comforting.
But she didn't.
Joey uncrossed his arms, stuffed his hands into his pockets, took them out again, shook his arms with an irritated grunt, and crossed them again. "So anyway, Kaiba said that he needed Mokuba to head out there for something. Dunno what. Some...vice-president...thing. But it wouldn't take long, and then he'd have Copeland, 'at's their driver, take us out. I never been in a limo, 'cept for this one time when I was...six. I was kinda excited, y'know? Antsy. I kep' wonderin' what was takin' Mokuba so long. Twenty minutes feels a lot longer when yer waitin' on somethin'."
Something struck Téa Gardner at that moment. As she listened, she realized that this was the first time she could remember seeing Joey Wheeler looking like this. Not just serious; she had seen him put on a stone face before. Not just somber; she had seen him sad before, frightened before; she had seen a wide range of emotions from the blond before.
But the expression on his face now was something alien.
It wasn't just somber. It wasn't just sad. It wasn't just frightened, or angry.
It was haunted.
For the first time, Téa realized that Joey wasn't seeing her, wasn't seeing the Turtle Game Shop, or Tristan, or Yugi, or anything else about his current location. What he was seeing, right now, was something Téa couldn't fathom...and looking at Joey's face, she realized she was glad that she couldn't.
It scared her.
Joey glanced up, locked her eyes with his own, and it was everything Téa could do not to let out a squeak of terror. The fingers of his right hand dug painfully into his left arm, and his entire body was locked, rigid, on the edge of shaking.
And he said,
"When I got the call from Kaiba, tellin' us to go home 'cuz Mokuba'd been kidnapped again...goin' home was the last thing I wanted to do. I said no, where are you, I'm comin' to help, damn it. And Kaiba said fine. Prob'ly to get off the phone quicker. But I still didn't feel too...y'know, scared for 'im yet. I mean, it's happened tons o' times already, right? Kid's prob'ly used to it by now."
Joey laughed without humor.
"...Not this. None of us...could've ever been prepared for this."
And Téa saw something even more shocking than before.
Joey Wheeler was on the verge of tears.
END
Ah, yes. The McKinley man. You all remember him, don't you? Some of you probably do. Surprised to see him? I mentioned that I want to delve deeper into the Kaibas' minds and hearts, and the other characters of the franchise as well. This came to include my own characters. Expect to see more of Detective McKinley in the future. He's become an integral part of my work, and I hope to expand on that here. I do hope that you will indulge me. Again, I thank you all for coming along for the ride this year.
Let's see where else this road leads, shall we?
