This . . . was a long time coming. I've been working out how to finish up this plotline for a lot longer than I would like to admit. But I'm back in it, and the rest of this arc will come a lot quicker than this one did.

I'm sorry. This should never have taken so long to get out. The past year has been taxing, to say the absolute least of it, and while I've been able to write, a long-running, long-format work like this one has been extremely difficult to work out.

I won't take up any more time here. Welcome, one and all, to "The Coming Storm."


1.


Joey Wheeler was no stranger to coming in late to a mauling. Any number of times in his early teens—his own personal Dark Ages—he'd batted cleanup, rounded up the cavalry, and a number of other ridiculous metaphors that he didn't consciously remember.

They always had the same look, the same feel, and it was that simple fact which brought up a wave of nauseating nostalgia when he saw the group, squeezed into a back alley. It was like a street-corner dance hall, and the Belle of the Ball was none other than Matthew Kerns.

The rest of the gang had formed a circle around Kerns, Hunter, and their targets. Connor was petrified, barely standing strong behind his best friend, stuck between a brick wall and Mokuba's back. Probably the only reason he wasn't hugging himself—or running away—was because Mokuba still had a look that said he was ready to fight; not out of bravery, but pure animal's instinct.

Two thoughts occurred to Joey as he saw the gun.

One: I'm gonna fuckin' kill somebody today.

Two: I'd better do it carefully.

There was a strange sense of . . . panicky calm—he recognized it immediately—that thrummed through his every muscle as he slowed his pace. He called out: "Howdie-ho, boys!" as he approached. Kerns was still pointing his piece straight at the sky, and Joey hoped that meant what he thought it meant.

This jackass had never held a gun in his life before today.

This fact clearly hadn't occurred to Hunter and his gang, because each of them had frozen in place. Even Rodriguez, obviously the firecracker of the group, was stuck. These were kids. They'd probably never seen a gun before, much less someone ready to use one.

Matthew Kerns, like a baby snake too young to control its venom, was too stupid not to be ready. He whirled on Joey with a look that could curdle milk. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Joey held up his hands. "Just takin' a walk, bro-ham. What's up with you?"

"Well, take another walk. I got business."

"You know I can't do that, Matt." Joey gestured, and his voice softened as he continued to speak. "This kid here, the one with the black hair? Kinda my responsibility right now, so I can't just bolt. And you got your baby cousin right there, too. You don't wanna hurt him, do ya?"

"Shut your trap!"

"C'mon, Matt. I know kids can be annoying, but that don't mean ya wanna hurt 'em. You really wanna end up at a ten-year-old kid's funeral? Besides, that ain't gonna look good for you. You got witnesses, here. A whole bunch of 'em."

". . . You tryin' to threaten me?"

Joey sighed. "Look, man. Just put the hand-cannon back where ya had it, and we'll all pretend nothing happened here today. I'll take the kids off yer hands, we'll see a movie." He pulled out his wallet. "I got some spendin' cash here. How 'bout I spot you guys a drink, huh? How'd that work?"

Kerns had the ugliest expression on his face that Joey had ever seen on a teenager. "You think you can just come up here and buy me off? You and all your other Kaiba flunkies just comin' in and throwing money everywhere? Is that what you think?" He pointed the gun straight at Mokuba. "You think I'm a joke?!"

". . . I don't think you're a joke, Matt," Joey said. His tone had turned slow, quiet, firm. "I think you're pissed. And I get that. I ain't done right by you. Ain't done you the courtesy I should. I get that." He gestured. "So how 'bout you point that at me, huh? Not the kid. He ain't done a thing to you. Not like me. C'mon. Take it out on me. I deserve it. I can take it. C'mon, Matt—"

"Cut that shit!" Kerns pointed the gun at the sky again. The rest of the gang suddenly didn't exist. The only people in the world right now were two boys from a private middle school, a green-haired punk, and a blond ex-con with a stupid streak.

"Consider it cut," Joey said. He kept up his approach, one step at a time. He spread out his hands in a gesture manufactured to look welcoming. "Not here to make trouble, man. All that shit I said about teaching you a lesson? Grandstanding, man. Peacocking. Ain't gonna do a thing. All right? But I can't leave. Those kids, ya gotta let 'em go, man. You don't wanna do this."

"You don't know shit about what I want to do!" Kerns shrieked.

Now the gun was pointed at Joey.

"All right, all right. I don't. Fine. So tell me. Lemme do right by you, huh? What can I do, make this go right? You tell me. You're in charge, man."

Mokuba's stance was rigid, his face pale. He wasn't watching Kerns, and he wasn't watching Joey. He wasn't watching any of Hunter's gang, nor Hunter himself. His entire being was focused on a single point in a fixed universe:

The gun.

Kerns's face screwed up.

"You're goddamned right I'm in charge!"


2.


William Hunter was not a stupid person.

He had a reckless streak, and he was convinced of his own greatness, but he was not stupid. He knew, as soon as the revolver came out, that the situation had gone far above his pay grade. Suddenly, hooking up with a swaggering target like Matt Kerns seemed like the single dumbest move he'd ever made in his life.

William, like everyone else who lived in Domino City, remembered what had happened the last time someone had pointed a gun at Mokuba Kaiba. The story still had local press salivating.

". . . Do what he says," William said slowly, barely audible, eyeing the blond guy he still remembered from his last run-in with the richest kid in the city. Joey? Was that his name? "If that gun goes off anywhere near Mokuba Kaiba, his brother'll murder the lot of us."

"The fuck you say?" Matt demanded.

"He. Will. Kill. Us. All."

"You think I'm scared o' that fucking asshole, too?!"

"You're not listening to me. He—"

"Oi, Will." Joey was still, somehow, smiling. "It's cool."

Something had changed in the man's entire essence. William didn't quite understand it, but he knew that Kaiba's friend had settled into a very specific stance, and his voice had a very specific tone to it. This man was about to do something very specifically stupid.

William was used to being in charge. He knew, when he gave an order, that his people would listen. There was never any question about it; he'd established his dominance, such as it was. But right now, none of his boys were in any position to listen to him. They were terrified. Even Scooter—the wildest, most borderline suicidal son of a bitch William had ever met—couldn't tear his eyes away from this exchange; and he couldn't tear his feet away from where they were glued.

"So," Joey said, slowly, "what're we gonna do, chief? How's this gonna go down?"

"I'll tell you how this is gonna go down, you idiot!" Matt Kerns snarled. "I'm gonna show this upstart little shit how the real world works!"

It crossed William's mind, in a flash of intuition, how inhumanly stupid that idea actually was. Just looking at the young Kaiba was enough to tell William just how much he already knew about the real world.

Kaiba wasn't like Brinkley, who looked ready to wet himself.

Kaiba looked ready to die.


3.


The rest of the conversation, if it could be called that, had no meaning. There weren't any words from Kerns or from Joey that anyone would remember in hindsight. It was tone that stood out. Kerns's waspish screeching, and Joey's quiet finality.

If Seto had been there, he would have seen murder in Joey's eyes. Kerns had the weapon, but Joey had the readiness, and the willingness, that came from a lifetime of clawing, tooth and proverbial nail, for every inch.

But Seto wasn't there. Not Seto, nor his men in suits, nor their semiautomatic messengers of Old Testament justice. Joey was alone with two little boys, surrounded by a pack of wolves, and his only weapon was himself. And the fire behind his eyes. Joey doubted that anybody realized just what Mokuba had done, but he could see it. He'd backed up against a wall on purpose, almost pinning Connor, to make sure no one could come up behind them.

Now that he'd gotten a bit closer, Joey could see something else, in the kid's eyes, that he expected but hadn't wanted to expect. It brought back memories of an abandoned mansion, and a sociopath's bloody fall from grace. But he hadn't seen that look in Mokuba's eyes that day.

He'd seen it in Seto's.

"I think they got the message, man," Joey said He was taking a step forward every handful of seconds, barely shuffling forward, praying that Kerns wasn't paying attention. Joey hoped against hope that the elder Kaiba's subtle cruelty wouldn't be necessary here; that his clumsy, bumbling attempts at diplomacy would be enough.

This man wasn't Siegfried von Schroeder. He had no right to put that look in Mokuba Kaiba's eyes.

"Fuck what you think," Kerns seethed. "You think you can get away with laughing at me?! Treating me like a joke?! Well, how funny am I now, huh?!"

"Matt, c'mon," Joey said, "nobody's laughing. I get it, okay? I'm not a Kaiba flunky, a'right? Hated that son of a bitch for years. Smug bastard actin' like nobody's got a right to live except him." This seemed to catch Kerns's attention. "Acts like nobody's got problems if he don't. Like us poor people ain't much past wondering whether we'll scuff up his carpet. We're servants or distractions. I get it, man. But please. Listen to me. I've lived here all my life, okay? Hunter's right. You don't wanna start a war with him. He'll eat you alive."

"Yeah? Well, it's too damn bad that Kaiba isn't here, isn't it?"

"He owns this city, Matt."

"I don't live here, you fucking tool!"

The fucker had an answer for everything. Appealing to his better judgment wasn't going to do anything. Joey realized that the best he could do was distract him long enough to get up close. Long enough to give the kids a way out. He could say that Kaiba was the richest man in the hemisphere, and that he had the fastest street-legal car in the country. He could say that a private army wouldn't be enough to protect Matt Kerns once Hurricane Kaiba set his sights on these shores.

"They got it," Joey said suddenly, in a flash of reckless inspiration. "You made your point. Okay? You scared a couple o' kids half to death with a gun ain't even yours." God, this was a gamble. What was he doing? What the fuck was he doing? "So how's about big man points that thing at me, and shows me what the real world's like? Huh? How about that?"

The gun didn't move from its place, aiming at Mokuba. But Matt did turn his face to look at Joey, which was a start. ". . . What'd you say?"

"Point that thing at me, big shot," Joey snapped. "Show me how fucking brave you are. You wanna act like a thug? You wanna throw down like you're a man of the streets? Then dethrone me, you son of a bitch, 'cuz I got about ten years on you."

The gun's barrel turned, so that Mokuba was only in its peripheral vision.

"Oh, now I should be scared o' you? Who the fuck are you?"

"Hirutani's chief lieutenant," Joey said. "His favorite pit bull." About three of Hunter's boys stiffened up, and stared at Joey with eyes as big as plates. They knew that name.

Kerns did not. "Who?!"

Joey chuckled. ". . . You got no idea the rock 'n hard place you wedged yourself into. Take a look around you. They know."

The frozen audience act was over. The Boys had their agency back, such as it was. They suddenly looked very scared. This was their language. They knew that nobody from Domino would ever invoke the name of Hirutani without cause, just like Hunter knew how bad an idea it was to cross a Kaiba.

Seto Kaiba owned the upper class. Kenzou Hirutani owned the streets.

Two kings, Upper and Lower, just like an ancient kingdom Joey knew about, where an old friend used to hang out. He paused, in that flash of a moment where his brain was holding its breath, waiting to see Kerns's reaction, to wonder how that friend would have handled this situation.

What would you've done with this asshole, Yami?

And on the heels of that:

What'm I gonna do with this asshole, Yami?


4.


Seto sat in his office like it was a prison cell.

This wasn't particularly new. Everyone knew that Kaiba-shachou worked this way: he locked himself at his desk until he could no longer excuse the time spent. He seemed convinced that he could do a year's worth of work in six hours if he could just hammer his keyboard with enough conviction.

Today, however, it was obvious that something more than his usual problems had him angry at the world. He was distracted, and spent more time staring at the screen in front of him than doing anything specific. No one had yet dared to come inside and ask His Imperial Highness what was wrong, because the people who worked on this floor of Kaiba-Corp's regional headquarters understood, to a head, what a horrible idea that was.

Seto's phone rang, and he snatched at it like a beast out of a fairy tale. "For fuck's sake, Roland, focus! Should I officially assign you to attend that wedding? Fine. I'll tell you what. I might show up, so your official assignment is to scope out the venue and make sure everything's in order. Make sure to socialize so that nobody questions your presence there. See? Now you're being paid to attend a family function."

". . . You're as worried about him as I am, sir. Just admit it. It'd save the both of us plenty of time."

"You'd save me plenty of time if you'd stop trying to psychoanalyze me and focus on the wedding you're supposed to be attending."

"Sir, come on. Even you know you're being snappier than usual. I don't have to remind you that the young master is having a tough time right now."

"Obviously."

"But, you know as well as any of us that he is, and you are, too. And I think, personally, this is a small price to pay to set the both of you at ease."

"I can't do that, Roland. If I send out a team of suits to track him down . . . no. I have to trust him. He has to get away with this. He has to do this on his own, I have to ground him from electronics for the weekend when he does it, and he has to get on with his life. That's what has to happen, Roland."

". . . I know, sir. There's a fine balance between keeping him safe and letting him live. I know that."

"So turn your phone off. I don't want to hear from you until that damned wedding is over."

"Yes, sir."


5.


The truth of the matter was that Mokuba was only truly shell-shocked for a handful of moments after Matt pulled the revolver. The rest of his silence only indicated that he had no idea what to do. He was surrounded, and he had Connor to worry about. Connor, his brother in arms, older by a technicality but so much younger. Mokuba could feel his friend trembling behind him, and later he would realize that that was the only thing that kept him centered, that kept him aware.

He had a job to do.

What Joey did next, as Matt continued ranting at the sky, would have shocked anyone else, rocked them to their core. But Mokuba wasn't anyone else; he was a Kaiba. He watched with keen interest, and waited for an opening.

"Playing hostage expert wasn't working out," Matt was crowing, "so you're just gonna start mouthing off to me?! Huh?!"

The look that crossed Joey's face was ugly. "Mouthing off?" he repeated. "That's what you got out of this?" He rolled back on his heels, chuckled so that it sounded like nothing so much as a scoff. "You know what? Never fuckin' mind. You aren't worth the trouble anymore. You have a nice life. I'm done with you."

He turned.

Mokuba heard Connor let out a sound like a whimper, as Joey turned away. He jabbed at Connor with a spasmodic jerk of one hand. "Do it!" Mokuba hissed.

It was the best chance they had. So far, it was the only chance they'd had.

While the psycho with the revolver was distracted; when he might not hear.

Connor had Mokuba's phone clenched in one hand. Mokuba couldn't remember when the other boy had slipped that hand into his pocket; this simple fact was terrifying. But that didn't matter, and hopefully it wouldn't matter, so Mokuba tried to push it out of his mind.

As Joey had no doubt predicted—or, at the very least, hoped—Matt took this perceived rejection badly. "You're gonna turn your back on me?!"

Yeah, Mokuba thought, that's what he's doing. To get you away from us. Take the bait, you stupid fuck. Do it. My brother's going to tear you apart. Let me get out of here. That's all it'll take. Do it!

Joey was turning his back, all right. Gambling. That was all he could do, but all the same Mokuba could tell that Joey hadn't lowered his guard in the slightest. He was still just as tightly wound as before; he wasn't actually walking away.

He'd only taken a single step. Not even a step, so much as he'd turned and shifted his weight. Even though he looked like he was putting distance between himself and his target, Joey had barely moved at all. But by this slight adjustment to his stance, he'd managed to make Matt think he was leaving. The only option, obviously, was to follow him.

Matt did just that, still waving his gun around. "You think this is a fucking joke?!"

"H-H-Hello!" Connor was whispering desperately behind Mokuba's back, huddled against him, trying to make himself as small as possible. "I-I'm with my friend, a-and . . . and . . . my cousin's got a gun! He's waving it around all over the place, and—!"

"Hey!"

Mokuba actually felt the world tilt on its axis, and thought he had no business standing upright. He stared at Scooter Rodriguez, whose eyes were bugging out in Connor's direction, and a feeling of such raging contempt flooded through the young Kaiba's body that he thought he might vomit.

"What the fuck're you doing?!"


6.


William Hunter, like Mokuba Kaiba, couldn't comprehend the sheer stupidityof Scooter Rodriguez. He froze. Then he screamed: "What the shit is wrong with you?!"

Matt Kerns was a lunatic. He'd brought a fucking gun to a pissing contest. Brinkley was the only one with the goddamned brains to call 911, probably the only smart thing anyone had done this entire afternoon, and goddamned fucking Scooter wanted to . . . what? William stared at his friend's face, the look of absolute stunned betrayal plastered on it—"Why you yellin' at me, boss?"— and felt like ramming his fist straight through Scooter's fucking teeth.

Kerns whirled back around, and the look in his eyes was like a window into some forgotten circle of Hell. He stared at Scooter for a second, then found Brinkley. The kid was huddled behind Kaiba, phone pressed against his ear. For as batshit crazy as Kerns seemed to be, he apparently understood at least a little of what was going on.

Enough to be dangerous.

"Put the fucking phone down, you little shi—"

Joey barreled into Kerns from behind, knocking him to the ground. William stared, mesmerized, as Kerns flailed around and belted out unintelligible squawks of fury, while Joey kept trying to pull the gun upward instead of—

CRACK!


7.


As soon as the shot went off—a chrome-borne thunderbolt—the known world collapsed.

Hirutani's pit bull stumbled backward, holding his middle as blood blossomed on his shirt. He stared at nothing, sliding down against the wall opposite the one sandwiching Brinkley up against his best friend. There were no words. No screaming with the pain, no howling for justice.

Just . . . heavy, harsh breathing.

And the sound of so many pairs of shoes hitting the pavement at once that it sounded like a parade.

Kerns stared at his handiwork, then at the revolver in his hands. He took several lurching steps away from Joey, then whirled around and ran with the rest of them. He nearly fell, kept his feet, disappeared down an alley.

Kaiba, barely in control as he was, could do nothing except stare at his friend. Of all people, it was William—the only member of his gang still rooted to the spot he'd been standing—who kept his head. He jabbed a hand in Brinkley's direction. "You!" Brinkley jumped, looking ready to cry. "You'd damn well better be on that phone! Keep talking! Tell 'em to get an ambulance here! Now!"

"I . . . I need—we need an ambulance!" Brinkley all but sobbed, choking back tears. "My friend's shot! He got shot! M-M-My cousin shot him!"

William always kept a handkerchief in his back pocket. He barely ever used it, but his father had drilled the lesson into his head. Now, he was glad it had stuck. He dug it out and knelt down beside Joey. He pressed the cotton cloth against the blond's wound, realizing suddenly that he had no idea what he was doing.

But it was all he could think to do.

The back half of his mind was listening to Brinkley, while the front half tried to reconcile what he was staring at. Could he actually feel the blood flowing out of the man's gut? Or was that his imagination? He pressed down harder.

Joey groaned.

"S-Sorry!" William hissed, feeling the urge to cry himself. This was too much. This was fucking stupid! How had everything gone so completely to shit?! What was he supposed to do now? He'd never prepared for this! He ran a gang of middle-school kids, for fuck's sake! What—

". . . Cool it."

William flinched. He stared up at Joey. He sat there, mesmerized by the cloud of pain so obvious in the blond's brown eyes. They were the only words he seemed able to force out, and William wasn't even sure that he'd actually said them.

They calmed William down, illusory or not.

Calmed him enough to realize . . .

They won't just send an ambulance. They'll send the police. No way the police don't hear about this! That fuckwit shot somebody! I can't . . . I can't be here. I can't be here! Ican'tbehereIcan'tbehere—

William scrambled back to his feet, shoved his way to Kaiba, and pulled him over. "Hold that down!" he screeched hysterically, pushing Kaiba's hands over his friend's wound.

William Hunter ran like the rest of his boys. He ran, abandoning his handkerchiefs. He ran, abandoning his responsibility.

He ran, abandoning his pride.

He never saw the look that Mokuba Kaiba buried in his back like a hunting knife.


END.


Hirutani doesn't technically exist in the second series anime, as far as I'm aware. For those who don't know, he's the leader of the gang Joey used to run with, before he switched schools and met Yugi. He doesn't come off as all that big of a deal in the manga, but I was always convinced that a guy who could rein in Joey Freaking Wheeler (or Jonouchi Freaking Katsuya, I guess) would have to be . . . well, better than the credit he gets.

In an effort to reconcile the back-alley brawler from the manga and the trusty sidekick of the anime, I've invoked Hirutani in this version of the universe, so that Joey has a bit of his old history, even if it doesn't fit with the story we got throughout the early 2000s.

Other than that, well . . . I'm an asshole. I know. I'm sorry.

It doesn't end here, folks. Keep on the lookout.