This story is difficult.
It's still my personal favorite, and I'm still quite proud of it, and I'm not having any semblance of a problem with figuring out the plot. The problem is making sure that the overall quality maintains itself. I want to make sure that everything makes sense; I want to make sure that my details are accurate, that they're portrayed the right way, and most importantly that they're entertaining, and emotionally stimulating, to read. This story arc has been particularly difficult, and there's still plenty of work to be done on it before it's done. But the roller-coaster that has been my life for the past few months is finally slowing down, and I hope to put forth plenty of time into this particular work.
That said, this is a big chapter, in terms of what happens. I won't say anything here. I'll let you see what I mean for yourselves.
Welcome to, "Adrenaline Rush."
1.
September 9, 2006
Some distant part of him still hoped it was a misunderstanding.
While all the signs thus far could point to abduction, they could just as easily point to an innocent series of happenstances. Perhaps Mokuba had forgotten to charge his phone the night before, and it had died in his pocket. Perhaps he'd asked Copeland to drive him somewhere before heading out to headquarters. Perhaps Copeland had forgotten to mention this to Seto. It could be the case.
Yes...it could be.
As Roland sifted through the possibilities, making phone calls and checking and rechecking his computer, Seto wondered. Could it be? Could he truly allow himself to believe that it could be that simple? That innocent? The more he thought about it...the less likely he found it. No. Things didn't go that simply for him or Mokuba. No, this wasn't an innocent misunderstanding.
It couldn't be.
Seto sighed deeply and glanced over at Roland, who cursed under his breath. Seto said, "So? What do we know?" He hadn't been paying attention to what his assistant had been saying. Roland raised an eyebrow, and sighed heavily.
"I tried to call Travis," Roland said, "but it wasn't Travis who answered. A...Doctor Sean Langer. Travis was knocked unconscious near the estate. He woke up at the hospital. Someone found him, called him in. He told me that he remembered it being around one-fifteen when he was attacked. He'd just checked his watch."
Seto cursed as well.
"Sir...this means the kidnapper picked him up. Why would Young Master Mokuba get into the limousine with a stranger? He knows better than that. He isn't naïve enough to think you'd hire a new driver without telling him."
Seto didn't know. He turned his attention back to the road. "Did Copeland say anything else?"
Roland frowned seriously. "He said that if you will have it, he has offered his resignation."
"What?"
Seto was honestly surprised. The thought hadn't even crossed his mind...yet. On considering it, he supposed that it may have come to him eventually, and he would have considered it seriously. Nevertheless, he asked, "Why would he do that?"
"I told him that we have reason to believe that the little one has been abducted. Travis said that he let his guard down, he has failed in his duty to you and to Young Master Mokuba, and that if you wish it, he will step down from his position."
Seto actually chuckled.
The decision was made. "Mokuba would never forgive me if I let him go for something like this," he said. "He likes Copeland. And Copeland is a victim in this, too, apparently. He didn't see his attacker?"
"No," Roland said.
"Damn. Not as much of an amateur as I thought."
"Unfortunately."
"Which means he's leading us on."
"Most likely."
Seto's hands tightened around the steering wheel. Roland watched his employer, and thought he understood something deeper than irritation at being manipulated. While it was clear that Seto was on edge, that he was frustrated, angry, and slowly becoming more worried, the most glaringly obvious thing to Roland right now was something that should have been out of place:
Relief.
Seto was, first and foremost, relieved that his instincts had been right. And also relieved because this was a playing field on which he was intimately familiar. He, much like Mokuba, had come to see kidnapping as something of a high-stakes game of hide-and-seek. And in this game, Seto could shed everything. He was slowly getting rid of everything; there would soon be no worry, no frustration, no anger. Now that he was certain, he would work his mind and body to a razor's edge, and there would be nothing but one indisputable, irrefutable truth:
Mokuba needed him.
And Seto Kaiba was never so capable, never so confident, never so alive as when his baby brother needed him.
2.
Mokuba wasn't able to keep track of how long he sat in the back of his brother's limousine, in silence, as Saruwatari drove. He knew that there was a tracking device in the vehicle, and hoped that Saruwatari was not tech-savvy enough to have deactivated it. He knew there was another tracking device in his phone, and that it worked even when it wasn't turned on. He hoped that Roland—and thus Seto—knew where he was.
He didn't want to admit it to himself but, sitting still, alone, in such stifling silence, he felt fear begin its slow, trickling trek down his back. Unable to move, unable to act, it didn't feel like a game. Licking his lips nervously, he closed his eyes and summoned his brother's face in his memory. He told himself, make your face like that. Show nothing. Let nothing through. Be strong. Be brave. Be untouchable.
He breathed deeply.
"Nervous, Little Master?" Saruwatari asked, his voice so sudden that Mokuba jumped. The boy glared hotly in the direction of his former bodyguard, face contorted half in anger and half in shame. Yes...yes, he was. He didn't want to be, but he was.
Niisama wouldn't be nervous, he admonished himself. Niisama would be laughing in that ape's face right now. He...he'd show him up good. Yeah.
Seto was looking for him. Seto knew he was in trouble, and he was looking for him right now. Seto had outdone Saruwatari once. He'd do it again. Seto was way better at this game. Seto was a master. Seto lived for this. No way Saruwatari could win. Uh-uh.
The slightest of smiles rose on Mokuba's face.
Niisama would win.
He touched the locket resting beneath his shirt.
When Saruwatari stopped the vehicle, Mokuba snapped to attention. He felt his stomach tighten as the limousine slowly, casually, drifted to a stop, and his eyes widened slightly as he heard Saruwatari open the driver's door.
"Some business to take care of, Little Master," Saruwatari said amicably. "Behave yourself, now."
Mokuba had no idea what constituted his abductor's "business," but he didn't much care. Taking the opportunity for what it was, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and turned it on. He punched in Roland's number.
The answer came almost immediately, and as it did, Mokuba heard the huge man outside, almost directly behind him, and hissed a quick, almost inaudible, "Shhh!" before setting the phone aside. There came no voice at the other end.
"What's the hold-up?" Mokuba called out. "Take that long just to go to the bathroom? Don't know how to find it? Or maybe you just can't aim right, since...you know, you don't have opposable thumbs."
Saruwatari's laughter shot out like gunfire, and Mokuba flinched. This wasn't good. It wasn't working. He wasn't getting angry. Mokuba stole a nervous glance at his phone, relieved only the slightest bit that the call hadn't been dropped. Roland, or Seto, was still listening. But he still didn't care for that laugh. Not the slightest bit.
"Laughing 'cuz it's true?" Mokuba called out, straining to keep the tremor from his voice. "It's okay to admit it. We're all friends here, right? Hey, so where are we, anyway? You taking me to an amusement park? I like Six Flags."
"No, no...not an amusement park, sadly," came Saruwatari's reply, and he sounded legitimately sorry to admit it. "Sorry to disappoint. Just going on a bit of a ride. See the countryside."
"Are we going camping?" Mokuba asked. "I don't have a sleeping bag. We should have stopped by a store to pick up some marshmallows. Maybe some bananas for you? Monkeys like bananas, right?"
Again, that horrendous, mocking, infuriating laugh.
"Ah, but you are a treat! No, no...no camping. Although...there may just be a fire. Yes. A nice, big campfire. It's bound to be very pretty."
Without warning, Saruwatari threw open the door. He carried a gasoline can in one mammoth fist. Grinning, he reached out with the other and clutched Mokuba's phone before the boy could snatch it away, holding it close to his face as he chuckled.
"...That will be quite enough of that, Little Master," he said. Then, he added, "A shame I didn't get to see you, Master Kaiba. It's been so long."
He terminated the call, turned off the device, dropped it to the ground and crushed it beneath one gargantuan foot. Saruwatari's face, eyes obscured by his ever-present sunglasses, looked like grinning death. He reached out, lightning-quick, and gripped Mokuba by the hair. Trying to hold back a cry of pain, the boy was dragged out of the limousine.
Dropping the gasoline at his feet, Saruwatari tossed Mokuba over his shoulder with a grip like corded steel, and strolled toward a second car, a nondescript forest green sedan with the trunk popped open. Saruwatari unceremoniously tossed Mokuba into it, and the black-haired boy yelped as something sharp dug into his back. Before he could even think to escape, the lid slammed shut and all was in darkness.
Mokuba tried immediately to open it, but of course it didn't work. It was stifling in here. He could barely move. He didn't like it here. He didn't like closed-in spaces. He didn't like that he couldn't see. The darkness felt like a blanket. It reminded him of...of...
No. No time for panic.
Can't panic.
Panic gets you killed.
Saruwatari laughed again, the sound muffled now, as he walked away.
Mokuba closed his eyes (it didn't make any real difference, but it felt better), and took his locket from beneath his shirt. He held it tightly like a good-luck charm, and told himself to calm down. This is nothing new. Oh, sure, he'd never been thrown into the trunk of a car, before, but wasn't it bound to happen eventually? And sure, he'd never expected to run into this particular suit-wearing slab of beef again, but was it really much of a surprise?
He was beginning to slow his breathing. Beginning to convince himself that nothing was going to go wrong, that he would get out and that Niisama would find him even if he didn't, that this would make a great story to tell Joey and Tristan and Yugi when he finally got o—
Even confined in the trunk of a car, Mokuba knew what an explosion sounded like.
His blood went cold.
3.
Roland answered the call quickly, knowing instinctively to switch to speakerphone before Seto even thought to tell him. The first thing they heard was an insistent, fearful, "Shhh!"
Seto's breath quickened almost imperceptibly. Roland, used to his employer's subtle moods, caught it, but didn't say anything. He stared intently at the screen in front of him. The limousine had stopped, he informed his companion. Mokuba must have been left alone for a moment.
"What's the hold-up?" Mokuba called out, presumably to the one responsible for the mess they were all in. "Take that long just to go to the bathroom? Don't know how to find it? Or maybe you just can't aim right, since...you know, you don't have opposable thumbs."
Roland snickered despite himself. With a sheepish glance at Seto, the grin fighting its way onto his face vanished. He grimaced, started to clear his throat, then stopped. Seto gripped the steering wheel of his Veyron as if he thought to vicariously strangle the life out of his brother's latest antagonist. That it wasn't working didn't seem to matter, from the expression on Seto's face.
The responding laugh was familiar, and Seto wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. But now he thought he knew that the motive this time was likely to be vengeance, rather than avarice, and that was not good news. The foot on the gas pedal lowered. "...Damn it. Damn it damn it, damn it."
Seto knew what Mokuba was doing. He was trying to goad Adachi Saruwatari (and of course, why not? He'd done it before) into giving up information, angering him so that he might slip up. It was a tactic he'd learned—like every tactic he'd ever learned—from Seto, and he was fast becoming a master at it. But Seto heard the same warning signal that Mokuba had: there was no mounting anger in the man's voice; it wasn't working. Seto let out a slow, seething breath through his nose. Roland made no visible reaction.
"...so where are we, anyway?" Mokuba asked. Roland still made no reaction, but Seto heard it. He heard it clear as day: the tremble, the faintest sliver of nervousness, beneath the façade of confident nonchalance. "You taking me to an amusement park? I like Six Flags."
Seto forced himself to stop at a red light, drew in another breath, and shut his eyes. Words could not come close to describing the swell of pride that suddenly constricted his chest. It hurt, and when he opened his eyes again, they were beginning to burn. He sped through the intersection as soon as the light turned, faster than he'd intended.
Hold on, Mokuba, he thought, feeling true urgency for the first time. He licked his lips, continuing to pick up speed, stretched out his fingers on the wheel and tightened his grip again. Just hang on. Be strong for me, baby brother. Just for a while longer. I'm on my way.
He wasn't whimsical enough to think Mokuba would hear him, but he did hope that the boy knew it, nonetheless. He had to know. Why would he have called otherwise? He knew that Seto and Roland were listening to this...he had to.
He knew.
Didn't he?
"A shame I didn't get to see you, Master Kaiba. It's been so long."
Seto growled incoherently and the gas pedal hit the floor. Roland stared at him.
Not long after the call from Mokuba had been dropped, a second came to Seto's phone. He ripped it out of his suit jacket and snapped it open and nearly screamed, "What?" at it, as if the device itself were responsible for anything.
"Nobody saw anything out of the ordinary," came Darren's voice, unperturbed by his friend's fury, "at least according to them. Kids just saw Mokuba walk out, he waved at them, he got into the limo. I asked what the driver looked like, though, and that's not right. They said he had weird hair. Spiked up in front. I asked if it was like mine, but they said no. Said it looked like..."
"Antenna, shark's fin, needle, horn..." Seto muttered under his breath.
"...A…horn. They said he had a badge on his suit, though, just like Copeland, so nothing looked wrong. He must have taken it from—"
"No...no, he didn't take anything. It's his. The man who took Mokuba used to work for me," Seto said. "I...just got a call. I know him. His name is Adachi Saruwatari. I hired him as a bodyguard when I first took over Kaiba-Corp."
"Do you know where he's taking Mokuba?"
Seto glanced at Roland.
"I know where he's taken him," Roland said, "and I know one more thing."
He locked eyes with Seto, looking grave.
"We're in trouble."
4.
"Slow down, man! Jesus, you wanna get us killed before we get to do anything?"
Joey didn't answer immediately, straining to keep his face neutral as the sights of Domino City blurred past him. His car wasn't exactly Indy 500 material, but he seemed bound and determined to try to prove otherwise. Tristan drew in a deep breath, hands clasped in his lap as if praying.
"Think he's okay?"
Joey sneered. "Dunno. Hope so. I think he'll do a'right for himself for now. He's tough. He'll pull through. So we gotta do our part now and find 'im."
Tristan still wasn't quite as gung-ho on the subject of Mokuba Kaiba as his friends were; he'd never had a truly positive experience with children. His infant—now toddler—nephew was the only exposure he had ever had, and it was true even if he didn't say it out loud that he rather hated the little snot. But he had to admit that Mokuba was an entirely different breed, and so he was fully willing to help. But the main reason he was in on this was because of the blond man driving the deathtrap.
Joey had shown him, in no uncertain terms, that he'd been unfair. And for all his faults, Tristan was honest with himself. He knew Joey was right. Mokuba was not his brother, and didn't deserve to be painted with the same brush. And while he wasn't sure that he wasn't still painting with that brush, Tristan was determined to atone.
He remembered the first time he had met the boy: on Duelist Kingdom, Pegasus Crawford's private island, with a handkerchief tied around the bottom half of his face and a purple beanie covering the top half, trying to beat Yugi in a game of Magic & Wizards to protect his brother's corporation. Mokuba hadn't had a chance from the beginning...but he guessed that you had to give the kid credit for trying. For doing something. Even at...what was it, seven years old? Eight? He'd managed to sneak out of Crawford's castle, steal himself a dueling deck and star chips, and find Yugi before finally being found out.
Yeah...tough kid, all right.
Tough as nails, wasn't that the saying? Yeah. That sounded right.
Tristan himself had tried to help Mokuba at that same tournament. Kid was soulless at the time. And Tristan had nearly run the poor little guy off a cliff, hadn't he? He frowned as he thought about that time...yes. He had tried to help Mokuba Kaiba, hadn't he? Gone down to the kid's cell, broke him out, and tried to find someplace safe for him to stay while Yugi (and Yami; can't forget him) dealt with Crawford. He'd done it of his own volition, without anyone asking, he damn near died doing it and nobody even thought to...no...nobody even...knew that he'd done it.
Sudden realization smacked him upside the head.
Was this where his anger came from? Was this why he was uncomfortable around the Kaiba brothers? Oh, c'mon...that couldn't—no way. Was he really that much of a goddamn tool?
"They don't know what happened..." Tristan whispered. "Why the hell would they thank me for somethin' they don't even know about?"
"What's that?" Joey asked, distracted and likely not all that interested.
"Uh...n-nothin'. Just...thinking. Kaiba tell you where they were going?"
Something new in Tristan's voice made Joey turn to look at him. Tristan looked back, and Joey frowned, looking somewhat confused. "...Nah. Didn't say specifically. Jus' said...north. Shit, I'm stupid." The blond shook his head, rummaged through his jacket for his phone, and sifted through his call history for Kaiba's number. He called it.
"Oi," Joey said quickly, "where are you? Where you headed? Know where he is no—oh. Wha? What's that...oh, shit. W-where's the last place you—okay. Got it. Yeah, yeah, I'll be there, you bet. Sure. Right. Right, okay."
Joey dropped his phone beside him. "They, uh...lost track of 'im," he said. "GPS system. Kid's phone and the limo they were tracking, both of 'em just went...poof. Gone. But, uh...Kaiba says he knows who's behind this one."
"Who?" Tristan asked, and there was genuine worry in his voice for the first time.
"Pegasus's head suit-monkey," Joey said solemnly. "Saruwatari."
Tristan went pale. "Oh, shit."
"Yeah."
5.
Darren McKinley caught up with Seto and Roland on the outskirts of an abandoned lot with no time to say anything to them. As he'd finally reached them, his attention had been riveted on the scene directly in front of him. He'd seen the smoke from some distance away, but had hoped against hope that it didn't signify what he thought it did.
He sped through the lot alongside Seto's signature blue Veyron, skidded to a stop, and launched himself out of his own car and stumbled forward. He was too numb to even think to contact the fire department.
"Oh, no..." he breathed.
His legs threatened to give way, and he rushed ahead, stopping just behind Seto as the young CEO stepped away from his car. Seto moved slowly, woodenly, cobalt eyes wide and unseeing, like opaque mirrors projecting out from them a vision of hell itself. His face was slack, his breathing short and shallow. Darren dared to touch the man's shoulder, expecting a flinch of surprise (or perhaps hoping for one), but Seto didn't move. He hadn't felt it.
The limousine that Travis Copeland had driven for years, that Mokuba had ridden in on the trips to and from school ever since he had joined the public system, was a hunk of bent, twisted metal, home to a smoldering blaze of fire that seemed to dare them onward, like the eye of some ancient devil. Darren had seen explosions, had seen fires, had seen ruined vehicles like this; he had seen them many times. It didn't help. Now he knew why Seto and Roland had been unable to track Mokuba.
There wasn't anything here worth tracking.
Reality seemed to creep up on him, cold pragmatism snapping his mind back into proper functioning, and he remembered that this was just another part of the job. He had been trained for this. He had conditioned himself for this. This...was nothing new. He told himself this, it told itself to him many times, and he thought perhaps that he hated himself when he found that he was beginning to believe it. He drew in a shuddering sigh, and removed his hand from his friend's shoulder.
The only thing keeping him from panicking was the fact that he didn't smell burning flesh.
"Seto..."
"So...this is why," Seto managed to say, seemed to be forcing himself to say. "I see, now. Well, let's regroup, then. Roland. Darren. Stop standing there like mourners at a funeral that hasn't even happened."
"Seto, are you sure—"
"No, I'm not!" Seto suddenly roared, and Darren realized that he wasn't nearly as calm as he was striving to be. "But if he is in there, then there isn't much fucking point to anything, now is there? So I'm damned well going to assume that I'm supposed to think he is and that he isn't, until I have some goddamned proof!"
Seto suddenly looked older than his years. The raw, unfiltered pain etched into his face as he twisted it into a façade of neutrality made Darren's own face ache. He thought that if justice was at all real, Gozaburo Kaiba was sunk so deeply into hell that even Satan couldn't find him. No parent worth living would have ever created such a reprehensible legacy.
When his phone rang, Seto gave a sudden, sneering grin that looked like it belonged on a predator about to maul its prey. His claw of a hand snatched the device out of his coat and he laughed—it sounded like a cry of pain—as he flipped it open.
"So nice of you to call," he said with a snarl.
6.
Mokuba opened his eyes and wondered when he had fallen asleep. He thought for one wondrous moment that maybe he'd simply had a nightmare, and the terror still resting deep in his chest could be solved by nothing more than asking Seto to make him a special breakfast to cheer him up.
But when he opened his eyes, he realized quickly enough that things weren't going to be that easy. The room he was in was most certainly not his own. The walls were bare of any decoration; there was no desk, no shelves, no chairs, no familiar poster on the back of the door. He sat up, saw that he was covered only by a simple white sheet that smelled stale, and groaned as pain erupted in his head.
It didn't cloud his thinking enough that he didn't realize what must have happened: Saruwatari had to have knocked him out. On realizing that, he noted with some detached surprise that he felt not fear, not worry, but anger. He had no idea where he was, he was cold, he had a headache, his brother probably thought he was dead or dying, and all Mokuba felt was pissed.
"Son of a bitch," he cursed under his breath, and felt that child's electric, clandestine glee at doing something he knew wasn't allowed. He almost grinned.
Instead of grinning, though, he swung his legs out from under the sheet, tossed it aside, and dropped his feet onto the thin carpet. He started as he realized that he could feel that carpet, and not his shoes. It was only then that he realized he wasn't dressed in the jeans, t-shirt, and sneakers that he'd been wearing when Saruwatari had taken him; he was dressed in white pajamas that didn't fit.
Someone had changed his clothes while he'd been out.
Now he felt angry and violated.
That's just wrong, he thought.
In a sudden flare of panic, Mokuba snatched his hand up around his neck. He felt the cord of his locket, right where it always was, and realized that he'd felt it all along. He let out a slow breath, relieved at least that his brother was still with him.
Niisama was still there.
The boy scanned his surroundings. He found absolutely nothing of note; no window through which he could escape, no manner of communicating with anyone, but most disappointingly, nothing he could use as a weapon. He stood up, decided there was no harm in checking, and glanced under the bed.
There, in the back, past his reach from his current position but still available to him, was an old framing hammer. It seemed a gift, at first, but enough of his brother's cynicism had leaked into Mokuba that he thought of it more like mockery. Still, he crawled beneath the bed and picked it up. It was solid, heavy, and felt good in his hand. Heartened at least by the fact that he was armed, Mokuba pushed himself back out and stood up again. Yeah, a hammer wasn't going to do him much good against a monster like Saruwatari, but maybe if he was lucky he could bash his kneecaps or smash a foot.
A wide grin finally spread on his face as he thought of it.
He took one final, cursory glance about the room before heading to the single door and exiting into a long hallway. Well, wherever he was, it was big. It reminded him somewhat of his home, but all the same it felt...empty. It felt abandoned. Even Seto, as disdainful of frivolous decoration as he was, allowed some life to be breathed into his mansion; if only to make it different from when it had been Gozaburo's. There were potted plants, and artwork hung on the walls, and the occasional coat rack, and the rugs that adorned the hallways were artful, if somewhat simple.
This place had none of that, and it brought to mind the cold, sterile walkway of a prison.
Mokuba looked to his left, then his right, and found no indicator of what direction he should go. So, he took a chance, and turned right. He looked around him, keeping his eyes moving, but pretty soon everything just blended together. There was nothing of note. Just like the room he'd been kept in, the walls of this place (he didn't think of it as a home, or even a house) were desolate. Stripped.
The hallway eventually led into a parlor, and here he saw, at least, that sunlight had been allowed into the space by virtue of several windows. The room was simply furnished, with only a couch and two chairs situated around a single table. A bouquet of light purple flowers in a glass vase sat at the center of that table. Mokuba didn't know what the flowers were called, but he didn't much care. He didn't like them.
He saw the front door, but knew even as he headed toward it that he would never make it out. And so, when he heard a voice from behind him to his left, he wasn't the least bit surprised. "Leaving? Oh, now, that's hardly polite, Little Kaiba. We haven't had any time to...chat."
Mokuba turned slowly, and saw that settled into one corner of the parlor was a little nook, where sat a second table and a second pair of chairs. Unlike the sturdy, bulky set in the center of the room, this furniture was thin, wispy, more sculpture than function; Seto would have hated it. Mokuba didn't much care for it, either.
And as Mokuba finally set eyes on the man responsible for his current...situation, he did not see Adachi Saruwatari. And indeed, it hadn't been his old bodyguard's voice that had called out to him. It had been familiar, that voice, but only distantly, and even as he saw the man's face, it wasn't immediately recognizable. Still, Mokuba tightened his grip on the hammer.
"Ah, now, I thought I had that room cleaned," the man murmured, the barest hint of an accent revealing that English likely hadn't been his first language, as he crossed one leg over the other and leaned back in his chair. "Wherever did you pick that up, little one? Toss it aside. What do you think you'll be doing? Construction? Nonsense; you're a guest."
But Mokuba didn't believe that. His eyes finally fell on the pistol in the man's right hand.
Dropping the hammer hadn't been a friendly suggestion; it was a command.
Mokuba threw it to his side, face going suddenly blank. The man smiled, but it didn't lift the boy's spirits. On the contrary, it scared the hell out of him, and perhaps the most frightening part about that smile was that it didn't look angry, or crazy. Indeed, the man's face was bright, open, and his smile danced merrily in his eyes. This man looked genuinely happy to see him.
But he never let his weapon's barrel leave its target.
"Come," the man said jovially, "sit. Come, come here, Little Kaiba, sit with me. It's been quite a long while, hasn't it? Let's...catch up, shall we?"
He nudged the other chair sitting on the opposite side of the small table with one foot.
Another command. Mokuba breathed deeply, and stepped forward. He walked slowly, carefully, and sat down. He folded his hands in his lap and looked at his captor. He leveled his gaze on this happy, friendly, crazy man and didn't say a word. He refused to look at his feet like some sniveling coward. No. He would do what his brother always did; he'd look the threat straight in the face.
The man chuckled. "It is nice to see you again, Little Kaiba. I do hope you may forgive my...associate. I hear he ruined your brother's limousine." He clicked his tongue in admonition. "So crass. So crass. But...now you're here. And that's what matters." He looked at Mokuba's blank face and frowned. "Surely, Little Kaiba, you would recognize me?"
And with a sudden jolt, he did.
Mokuba's calm façade broke the slightest bit, and his mouth dropped open in surprise.
"...Siegfried von Schroeder."
END.
