The last time I did a long-running arc for this project was a long time ago, with the "Shot in the Dark" storyline. There were a couple of connected chapters after that, but honestly, I'm not entirely sure that they count.

I've had this storyline in mind for a long time, and considering there were eleven chapters before "Shot in the Dark" began, it kind of fits that there would be eleven chapters before this one began, as well. It's almost like I planned it out.

Truth be told, though, I didn't.

Nonetheless, this chapter marks the beginning of the final section of this story arc, and will conclude a couple of conflicts that have been in the background of the story for a long time now.

Welcome to "The Opposite of a Good Idea."


1.


There was something about Matt Kerns's general disposition that made people not want to be around him, and nowhere was this truer than with his own family.

Unfortunately, that likely had a lot to do with why he'd turned out the way he had. He couldn't remember the last time he'd honestly interacted with either of his parents, and even if he could, it would have been an infinitely more difficult operation to remember the last time he'd enjoyed doing it.

Matt Kerns didn't enjoy much of anything, to tell the truth. Probably, that was why he was so disagreeable. Popular theory had it that you can't love anyone else if you don't love yourself. And if you can't love anyone else, chances are it will show; and even the people who love you are only going to have so much patience with your shit.

And if you didn't even enjoy anything, you sure as fuck didn't love anything.

He wandered random side-streets and alleys, because he quite literally had nothing better to do with his time. Perhaps if he had been a "better kid," he would have been at his aunt and uncle's house, doing dishes or laundry or playing a game with his cousin, or reading, or God only knew how many other things.

But Matt Kerns wasn't a better kid. He told himself constantly that he'd never be a better kid, because better kids had no identity. Better kids were conformists, better kids were slaves, and he wasn't about to become a part of "the machine."

Like that damned Kaiba kid, that rich little boot-licking brat who bent over backwards for his pretentious asshole brother like it was his sworn and sacred duty. God, what a—

Fucking joke.

That's all it was. That's all...any of it was. But when he tried to tell people that, when he tried to call people out on it, what did he get told? Be quiet, be obedient, just accept the way things are. Respect authority, bow to authority, concede to authority.

"You don't know what you're talking about," they told him. "You're just parroting a bunch of anti-establishment rhetoric that you got from that death metal crap you listen to."

That was why Matt didn't enjoy, didn't love, anything. It all painted a picture of which he wasn't a part, and would never be a part.

Which was perhaps what made William Hunter and his Boys so...workable. What made them acceptable, even though they were just as rich, just as arrogant, and just as conformist as the Kaiba kid.

They were a part of the picture, but they didn't like it.

In the grand scheme of things, that was good enough for Matt Kerns.

He found that he could use that.

He could make his point with that.

He could enact...certain plans with that.

Matt reached back, rubbing the cold metal pressed against the small of his back as if for luck, and almost laughed.


2.


Joey Wheeler wasn't the most introspective guy in the world. He didn't make a habit of examining his own thoughts and figuring out his own beliefs like they were jigsaw puzzles. He knew what he knew, he felt what he felt, and he got along pretty well for all that.

He'd grown up on the streets, in a way that wasn't a euphemism. He hadn't had much in the way of choices, considering the fact that he'd pretty constantly striven to escape the home where he'd grown up. He hadn't thought of that little niche carved into the ground floor of Bellview Apartments—right next to a fancy little "4" hung up on the outside wall—as home...pretty much since he was about ten years old.

Maybe it was earlier than that. He didn't really know anymore. It was all a haze. His parents' marriage had been fucked from the word go, and when he thought back (on those rare occasions that he bothered), he couldn't recall a single time that he'd seen Jackson Wayne Wheeler and Lianne Tyrell (she was most certainly not a Wheeler anymore, thank you very much) smile when they were together. One or both of them had always been scowling or frowning or otherwise miserable.

When he was little, Joey had thought it was somehow his fault. He'd eventually come to realize that the truth was...exactly that. His birth had come as a surprise to his whirlwind-newlywed parents, and it had been the first step toward their downward spiral into reality.

So yeah, he'd spent as much time as humanly possible away from his home, because his home didn't really want him. His home kept him, because that was the expected thing, but it didn't want him. When he was little, he would take his baby sister out for walks; he'd go to the park with her, he'd go to the beach with her, he'd take her out every year to the annual Domino Corn Festival because...hey, corn.

And then...well. Yeah. Everything fell apart.

It was just a matter of course for Joey, which was why he didn't really like talking about it. Whenever Serenity brought up the subject of their parents—because she was the only one who would anymore—Joey's brain went AWOL and he just kind of sat there with a blank look on his face and a keen restlessness running through the labyrinth of his veins.

Like today.

She was standing in his living room with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face that would have made Ma proud—Serenity had always been good at making Ma proud—like she was in the middle of giving him a lecture and it was his job to speak up and contribute now.

He didn't. He just stared blankly at her, making no pretense of actual interest, and waited. It was surprising to most people who knew him that Joey could be as patient as a statue when he needed to be. Right now, he felt like he needed to be patient, and so he was.

Serenity probably thought he was being obstinate.

Eventually, a good three minutes after the last time she'd said anything, a spasm of real anger passed over the girl's face and she snapped, "So that's it, then? That's all you're going to say?"

Joey just looked at her and said, "Yeah. That's all I'm gonna say. It's all I'm gonna do. This whole situation's done, far as I'm concerned. I dunno what else you were bankin' on, but...that's it for me."

"Joey! Our mother is in the hospital!"

"Yup. She sure is. And she's gonna get better. So good for her. Look, Ren, I did what you asked. I went to see 'er. I talked to 'er. I did my damnedest to keep things civil. You want more outta this, you talk to Ma. Ball's in her court now, kid."

Rage smoldered in Serenity's normally soft brown eyes, but it had nothing to catch on. Joey's gaze was cold and heartless, and that was perhaps the part of it that kept her calm...and confused. She said, slowly, "You couldn't be civil for one afternoon? You couldn't just…let it go? What happened between you two? What...changed?"

Joey shrugged. "Don't matter. Whatever we had, it broke. I get you're tryin' to fix it, but...there's nothing to fix."

"But why?"

"Don't have answers for you. You want answers, talk to Ma. I got nothin'."

"Joey!"

"Sorry, Ren. I'm done talkin' about this."

Joey knew it wasn't over; not for her. He made a very calculated decision to stand up and leave the house, and he wasn't surprised in the slightest when she didn't follow him immediately. It took her a long time to gather her thoughts together, and he was already halfway down the street when the door opened again. She called for him. Angry again. Then confused again. Then...pitiful.

He didn't stop. He didn't answer.


3.


Connor strolled idly, while Mokuba tightrope-walked along the corner of the sidewalk, basking in a quiet sort of companionship that he wasn't used to. He'd never been a social butterfly, and sometimes he still wondered how he'd gotten hold of a best friend in the first place.

Sometimes, he wondered if Mokuba played games with him, and slept over on weekends, because he...pitied him. Connor couldn't help but think he was some sort of social experiment, because Mokuba was rich. He could have his pick of friends from the upper echelon, so why settle on a jumpy, shy math nerd with barely enough social skills to stay invisible?

Then he thought about how Mokuba acted around most people, how he was one of the most honest, straightforward people Connor had ever met. Kaibas didn't lie. That was a rule. The rule.

One time, Connor had actually asked the young vice-president about it. Mokuba had just looked at him and said, "Because you're not fake. When you tell me something, I know you mean it. Not true with a lot of people."

The normal kid answer would have been something like, "Because you're awesome" or "Because you're fun to hang out with" or "Because you're good at Checkers." Something about Mokuba's answer, totalitarian as it might have seemed on the surface, was comforting.

It made Connor feel like he'd earned something.

Sometimes, they didn't talk. They just walked, like they were doing now. Sometimes, they didn't have to talk. That was something else that was strange. Most people Connor had tried to be friends with were always talking. Silence seemed offensive to them, and he was always expected to engage with them. Mokuba didn't expect this. He just did what felt right, and sometimes it felt right to keep quiet and just...drink in life.

That's how his dad put it, anyway.

Things had changed. Some things were better. Some...were worse. It had been a long time since Connor had really thought about the...thing with his cousin. Matt had been pretty quiet lately, and he'd been doing what Seto said and left Mokuba alone when the black-haired boy came over. He would go out with his skateboard, or lock himself in the guest bedroom and read comic books, or...pretty much anything that kept him away from "the brats."

He wasn't asked to babysit anymore. Connor was grateful for that. It always went to Matt's head when he thought he was in charge, and for the first time in his life—yet again, thanks to Mokuba—Connor realized that yeah, maybe Matt was older, but Connor was smarter. And more mature.

And Seto had helped Connor realize that Matt was fake, too. He'd used to think that his older cousin was strong, and that it was a mistake to say no to him. Matt had once been able to bully Connor into doing pretty much anything. But then Seto had come along and shown Connor what real strength, and real confidence, looked like. Real strength didn't have to yell at people that it was strong, and real confidence didn't care what people thought of it.

He was starting to think of Matt the same way that Mokuba did: which was to say, he wasn't thinking of Matt much at all.

It was kind of liberating.


4.


"So you're sure about this, sir."

Seto leaned back in his chair and tented his hands in front of him. "I am."

"He'll need formal training."

"He'll also need oxygen. Not an issue."

Roland chuckled absently and shrugged. "I never thought I would see the day that you would be hiring Joseph Wheeler to do anything more delicate than sorting mail."

"I wouldn't hire Wheeler to sort mail," Seto muttered. "He'd have to know how to read first."

Roland laughed. "I assume you'll be offering him the position personally?"

"Yes."

"Do you intend to have him interviewed?"

"I trust you can handle the red tape, Roland."

"Of course, sir."

Seto leaned forward, stood up, and stepped over to a window. Staring down at the city below, Roland couldn't help but think he looked like a stock photograph for some slick and stylish men's magazine. He was standing at the top of the world, and had every right to feel like a god.

Yet Roland couldn't help but notice a certain aura of anxiety surrounding the man. He didn't bother asking Seto whether he was concerned about something, because Seto was always concerned about something.

"What made you decide that Mister Wheeler would make an effective bodyguard?" Roland asked eventually.

Seto turned to look over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. He seemed to consider this, then eventually said, "...He's the precise opposite of the sort of man I would normally hire."

"Do you figure that if you go against your instincts, he will be enough of a wild card to catch potential threats unaware?"

Seto shook his head. "Not at all. It's simply that I'm coming to realize that my instincts can be, and have been in the past, cataclysmically wrong."


5.


Scooter Rodriguez seemed to like him. Thought he looked...well, not good, but right. He fit in. Not like his polo-shirt-wearin', lunch-box-swingin' bitch of a cousin.

William Hunter didn't like the idea of dealing with someone older than he was. He liked to have control over his people, and the hierarchy of age still held sway for this band of miscreant teenagers. Matthew Kerns would, by virtue of a couple fistfuls of extra months, eventually usurp him.

But, Hunter perked up when the new guy mentioned Mokuba Kaiba. Matthew had a kind of swagger that was too practiced to be natural, and it was obvious that he thought he was dealing with a bunch of normal kids, because after a while, he just popped off with, "You guys want to help me with a...project?"

Hunter asked what kind of project, Mohawk?

Smirking almost proudly, Matthew said he was interested in proving the lie to...certain paradigms in Domino City. Hunter bristled at this initially, but Matthew only seemed interested in teaching Mokuba Kaiba a lesson in street dancing.

The rest of the Boys seemed somewhat nervous about the proposition. When word had gotten back to their parents and guardians about their last excursion, those few with real clout in the city—like Hunter's father—immediately commanded that they never, under any circumstances, provoke the Kaiba family again.

"You're scared of Seto Kaiba?" Hunter had asked his father. "He's half your age."

"And what does it tell you about him that he has managed to claw his way up to the top of Domino's pyramid in spite of that?" Yonick Hunter had replied. "If you rock the boat with that family again, there won't be time enough on earth to chronicle the shit-storm that will rain down on you. And I don't intend to protect you. If you want to be that ungodly stupid, you're on your own."

And so far, that had worked. Hunter had looked into Seto Kaiba, and quickly realized that he was far out of his league. Sure, he was wealthy, and sure, he had some sway with certain people. But he wasn't stupid. He didn't intend to provoke the anger of a sociopathic trick-shot with more money than God.

Not...personally.

"...All right," Hunter had said, unable to resist the temptation of healing his wounded pride and pinning it on this schmuck, "I'll bite. What're you thinking of doing?"

"Nothing fancy," Matthew said. "I'm a fan of the old-fashioned. Sometimes. I say we just...show him what happens when his so-called 'underlings' get tired of holding him up. I say we put the fear of God in him."

William Hunter's grin was flinty, and his eyes were sparkling.

Scooter was smirking, sending glances around at the others; there was some nervousness flittering around, but they each had the same idea.

They didn't see a new leader when they looked at Matthew Kerns.

They saw a scapegoat.


END.