Chapter 2

August 9, 12:09 p.m.
Kame Game Shop
Domino, Japan
–

Joey sat in the living room rubbing his hands together. "This new game sounds awesome. Using Duel Monsters is always a treat."

Bakura Ryou was sitting on the floor next to Yuugi, playing an action game in cooperative mode with him. "I'm looking forward more to the roleplaying aspect," he said. "I'm about as much for Duel Monsters participation as Téa or Tristan would be... that is to say, indifferent."

Tristan was watching the game's mechanics, his brow working in almost furious concentration – mapping out how enemies reacted to various objects and strikes – but upon hearing Ryou's remark, he blinked. "Hey, I think it's cool that Duel Monsters are in it and all..."

Ryou glanced over his shoulder and smirked. "But if they'd come up with original creatures to use in their game instead of simply ripping the Duel Monsters holograms KaibaCorp produces, you'd be just as pleased, wouldn't you?"

The American-born teen shrugged. "I dunno. I guess."

"My point exactly."

Téa, seated on the couch next to Joey, smiled slightly. "You seem to have us worked out pretty well, then. For me, I like Duel Monsters, I think they're awesome – but it doesn't matter to me what creatures or characters show up in a game, just as long as I'm enjoying the game I'm in."

"This particular game ought to be a lot of fun," Yuugi noted, "given you could play it almost exactly the same way and end up with a different outcome based on even the smallest of decisions."

The Pharaoh's ghostly form was perched on the couch's armrest again; if not for his lack of corporeality, he would have been sitting fully atop Téa's elbow. "Of course, that could mean the game is set so that even the most minute of improper actions could cause a loss, forcing players to walk a line thin as a razor."

You sure know how to brighten up a day, Pharaoh, Yuugi thought wryly. The letter said the game's structured to permit a vast number of outcomes. What's there to make us think this is anything but a gaming company hoping to get the support of a popular figure or two?

"What is there to make you believe there is nothing beyond it?" the Egyptian returned.

Yuugi ignored the question and re-tuned his ears to the conversation around him. "...the ultimate in roleplaying experiences," Ryou was saying. "You can grab one of those hideously expensive, user-unfriendly rulebooks, or you can play this game instead and not have to dither on the mechanics for a character holding an apple."

"Bah," said Joey. "Get psyched up about the actual game mechanics if you like – I just wanna be playing alongside my favorite monsters. And they'd better have some updated monster lists! I saw this attempt at a Duel Monsters roleplay rulebook that had maybe two hundred monsters available on the outside."

Tristan frowned. "Surely that's more than enough for you, Joey."

"Not when a hundred ninety-four of them are Duel Monsters that shouldn't even exist," the blond harrumphed.

Yuugi turned to give Joey a disapproving look. "Now, Joey, don't tell me you're actually dismissing that many Duel Monsters out of hand."

"Of course not, Yuge. But even you have to admit you'd rather have monsters like Dark Magician and Summoned Skull on your side than... I dunno... Skull Servant and Battle Warrior."

Yuugi tsked as he returned his attention to the game in front of them. "Battle Warrior's in your deck, Joey, that means you find him valuable whether or not he's as powerful as Dark Magician or Summoned Skull. Besides, Battle Warrior and Skull Servant are fusion material for Zombie Warrior. If those two monsters ever get tired fighting–"

"And they probably would after about two seconds," Joey grunted.

"–you could fuse them to create something new. And who knows what sorts of powers it'd have? I'll bet they put a lot of thought into each one. More than just straight attack and defense points," Yuugi said.

Joey almost sniggered. "So you're saying Swordsman From A Foreign Land is suddenly a contender?"

"He always was," Yuugi reasoned. "Give them all a chance, Joey. You're going to have to do that for this game, whether or not you like the monsters you end up with."

"I wonder what roles we'll be taking on," Ryou pondered. "Perhaps we'll be given roles to play... or, more excitingly, we might be allowed to create our own."

"Buncha cookie-cutter adventurers, probably," Joey sniffed. "Same ol', same ol'."

"C'mon, man, you've gotta get more into the spirit than that," Tristan admonished. "What about... being a pirate, or some sort of mercenary? Maybe a soldier – that'd be pretty cool."

Téa turned to Tristan. "You want art to imitate life, Tristan?"

He shrugged in response. "Hey, think about it. What if you were suddenly thrust into the role of a world-famous performer? Then the character you're playing becomes just as fun as the adventure you're on."

She had to fight down a blush at that thought – and indeed, she had to admit it was an exciting one. "Well... yeah, I guess so, when you put it that way."

Ryou glanced over his shoulder again and offered Tristan a slightly disapproving frown. "Now you've gone and got her hopes up. What if she can't take a role like that?"

"Just setting up an example. You, of all people, ought to appreciate getting someone's attention with the possibilities in roleplaying games."

"I'll take whatever role is available, I guess," she shrugged. "We all will. And probably we'll make the most of it, right?"

"Hope so," Yuugi said. Then he smirked. "Just as long as Tristan and Otogi don't cross paths too terribly much."

"It's not Otogi I mind," Tristan clarified, "it's him making moves on Serenity that's my problem."

"And mine," Joey chimed in. "But she's not gonna be around, so neither of you will have to worry about that, now will you?" He shot Tristan a look.

Tristan harrumphed. "No, I suppose not."

Téa spoke up. "Actually, he mentioned something that struck me as odd when I invited him. He said he'd been hearing about this little test run from a couple other people."

Yuugi blinked. "Other people? Like who?"

She seemed reluctant to say. "Two of your not-so-favorite people in the world."

"Kaiba and Mokuba?" Joey asked.

"Mai and Rebecca?" Tristan offered.

Téa scowled, but at Yuugi's questioning look, she gave up the answer. "Rex and Weevil."

Joey scoffed. "The nerve! How could those guys get personal invitations when I didn't get one?!"

"Relax, Joey," Yuugi advised. "They probably knew you and I are best friends. Not like it's any big secret. They save a little postage when they only send one message instead of a whole slew."

"Given how much money they probably have, seems awful cheap of them not to send one to him, though." Tristan chuckled. "Maybe your celebrity isn't as big as you thought, Joey."

"I don't see you gettin' up there an' riskin' your life to duel a bunch of nutcases."

"Guys!" Téa barked. "Would you calm down? It's not that big a deal. Joey's going, whether or not he got an invitation, and I imagine his endorsement could carry the kind of weight Yuugi's would, too."

"Ha. There. Someone likes me." Joey preened.

Tristan simply snorted and shook his head.

"So we're going to see Rex and Weevil in the game, then?" Ryou inquired. "That might be interesting. I wonder if every player is supposed to be an ally of all the others."

"Knowing those two, I wouldn't put it past them to try and double-cross everyone so they could reach the finish line first," Joey harrumphed.

"You're a downer, you know that?" Téa said.

"Matter of fact, I do. But not about this – it's not pessimism, it's just the plain truth, as derived from experience."

"That's an awful lot of big words for someone like you," Tristan teased.

He had to duck when a throwpillow crossed the expanse between him and Joey.

–
August 9, 6:02 p.m.
Kaiba Corporation World Headquarters
Domino, Japan
–

Mokuba's heels swung impatiently against the edge of the seat on which he was perched. "C'mon, 'niisama. It's two minutes after; time to go!"

Seto rolled his eyes, not for the first time, as he tweaked a command line for the computer program he was in the midst of designing. "Mokuba, you've been reminding me what time it is for the last half hour. Need I remind you I have a clock set right into my desk? Right here, with a big display and everything. Being head of a corporation lets me afford things like that."

"Seto, you promised..."

"I promised that we're going to have a day of fun tomorrow, and so we shall. But to balance it out, I need to work a little harder on the surrounding days."

Mokuba pouted. "You're no fun when you work, 'niisama."

"So I've been told. Work isn't always pleasant but it has to be done – if for no other reason, to satisfy this capitalist notion of supply and demand. Worker supply around here isn't always competent, and people demand competence. As do I. So at times, I have to stick to that adage, 'If you want it done right...'"

"Okay, okay." Mokuba sighed. "I just don't like when Roland rushes me home in one car while you come home in another, like, five hours later."

Seto shrugged. "Then tell him not to. He's paid to do as he's told, and paid very well for it, at that." He stole a glance at his younger brother. "It's not like your company is unwelcome on the ride home, no matter what time it is."

"You keep saying nice things about me, Seto, and I'm gonna start thinking you like me."

"Well, have fun with that." Seto closed down the program, satisfied – for the moment – with his progress. He stood up and donned his sport coat. Somewhere along the line he'd come to the realization that he couldn't keep dressing like a teenager and expect to be taken seriously as the head of a multi-national company. So he'd traded in his customized trench coats and limb belts for a dapper white suit and blue tie – the clothier said the tie complemented his eyes, though he couldn't have cared less. "All right, let's get going."

Mokuba's face split into a wide grin. "Really? It's only 6:03."

"Before I change my mind, little brother."

The two made their way to the private elevator installed along the far wall of the office; this elevator had only four possible destinations – the office, the main conference room, the roof, and the parking garage. Seto found it more convenient for direct entry; he didn't like the idea of having to climb into an elevator crowded with bumbling employees and share space – and oxygen – with them, nor did he enjoy waiting to get to the level on which his office was located. He liked least the faint odor of cigarette smoke that permeated the public elevator, an odor that came from the breaths of employees and somehow managed to cling to the walls long after they'd arrived at their destination.

The sensation caused by the rapid descent of the private elevator always gave Mokuba a lurching feeling in his stomach. Seto, on the other hand, found it somewhat exhilarating. It did not drop so quickly that they became weightless, but certainly some weight was lost during transit – then regained twofold as it slowed upon approaching the ground.

Roland was waiting at the entrance. As was his nightly routine, he gestured to the black limousine waiting for the brothers Kaiba, a silent invitation – or, as Mokuba sometimes thought of it, a silent directive – to enter and enjoy the lavish accommodations within during the ride they would be taking. The driver held the rear door open for Seto and Mokuba as they climbed in. Seto settled his briefcase on the opposite seat, then crossed both his arms and his legs in traditional frosty fashion.

Nevertheless, Mokuba settled up next to his big brother, not fazed at all by the cold shoulder attitude Seto tended to display even when no one else was around. The younger Kaiba looked up and cocked his head. "What're you thinking about?"

"This game tomorrow." The faintest frown passed over Seto's features. "I did some checking. Apparently we weren't the only ones who received invitations to play it."

"Really? Who else is playing?"

Seto snorted. "Yuugi. Which probably means he's bringing his cheerleaders with him. Maybe that fusty old grandfather of his, too. And those idiots Underwood and Raptor were both sent invitations. Far as I know, everyone's accepted."

Mokuba blinked in curiosity. "Think we'll be playing with them?"

"I hope not."

"Why not? I think it'd be great."

Kaiba hid a wince and resisted the urge to scowl at Mokuba. The thought of playing a game cooperatively with his greatest rival set his teeth on edge, and his little brother seemed all but oblivious to that. Of course, it's all fun and games to him. Not for me – that would just be rubbing salt in a wound. "I don't. I'd rather it just be us."

Mokuba grinned, having misinterpreted the reply. "Seto, you're the best."

"Naturally." Seto glanced toward his briefcase and took note of a large book resting on the seat next to it. He arched an eyebrow. "What's this?"

"Hm? Oh." Mokuba offered Seto an embarrassed smile. "One of the books I'm supposed to be reading assignments from, actually. I guess I must've left it in here this morning."

"School's important, Mokuba. I can't have you sitting around the office all day complaining about how bored you are when you have homework to do," Seto admonished.

"Sorry, 'niisama."

The elder Kaiba reached across and picked the book up; it was nearly as thick as his compilation album of Shakespeare's works. He flipped through a few pages, seemed intrigued by some, and annoyed by others. "Looks like you have a bunch of fortune-cookie passages interspersed with anything of real educational value in here."

"Maybe it's not useful to someone who's business-savvy," Mokuba retorted, "but some of it's pretty good reading."

"Oh, really?" Seto forced down an urge to roll his eyes at the passage before him.

Those who claim to control the gods are in fact controlled by the gods.
-Alexander Irvine

"Tell me this isn't the kind of stuff your tutor's asking you to waste so much of your precious time on," he entreated.

"Well, not all my precious time... just some of it."

Mokuba's brother sighed. "Might have to have a talk with him."

"Aw, c'mon, Seto. Let him teach me the stuff he thinks I need to learn. Otherwise I'll turn into you and get all boring."

Seto narrowed his eyes at Mokuba. "Boring, eh?"

"Uh-huh."

Then Mokuba threw his arms about Seto's waist and laughed.

And in spite of himself, Seto relaxed a little... and even allowed a small smile to penetrate his features.

–
August 9, 11:58 p.m.
SIC Private Aircraft 1993
Pacific Ocean - In Transit
–

He knew he would not be disturbed within the privacy of his cabin. There were several locks he'd installed on the door to ensure that, as well as instructions to the plane's crew that no interruptions were to take place. Putting aside that they were paid to do what he wanted them to do, it was rather a common courtesy extended to night fliers.

He slipped his private viewing headset on; two screens, one for each eye, showed him – and only him – what a monitor might otherwise display, and the earphones sent noises only he could hear. He began typing out lines of code on his keyboard, lines of code that he intended to enter into the program. It would cause a glitch and lock down the system. The players would be unaffected, of course. There was no use in them losing their lives.

Yet.

But the glitch would be enough to send the program into safety mode. That was where he intended to begin – he was creating a back door through which he could slip freely while the program operated in safety mode, but that no others could find unless they knew two things: that it existed, and where it was.

And from there, all he would need was to create enough chaos among the players that they would fight amongst themselves, while his goals... he hoped... would not be revealed until it was far too late.

A smirk pricked at the corner of his mustachioed mouth.

This was going to be fun.

–
August 10, 5:38 a.m.
Kame Game Shop
Domino, Japan
–

Yuugi was doing his best to tiptoe about the upstairs, but the creaking floorboards made his efforts less than successful. The Pharaoh, again in Shadow form, watched the boy bemusedly. Yuugi, there are more than two hours before your grandfather takes us to Tokyo. It is a one-hour drive. Surely you do not think he would leave you behind at this hour.

Yuugi glanced up at his other as he chose a pair of pants and a shirt. "It's not like that, mou hitori no boku," he responded silently, opting to not disturb his sleeping elder. "I'm just excited. ... And a little anxious."

I can tell. The Pharaoh crossed his arms as he kept his gaze upon Yuugi. I believe your apprehension is appropriate to the situation. We have no idea what may be waiting for us when we arrive in this "Kingdom".

Yuugi climbed out of his pajamas, then into a pair of dark jeans. "You don't have to add to it, mou hitori no boku. I know very well that there's a bunch of unknowns about this thing. That's where the excitement comes in, though. All sorts of fun stuff could happen during the game."

Indeed. Or dangerous instances.

"You really know how to take the fun out." Yuugi harrumphed quietly and pulled on a gray T-shirt.

My apologies, Yuugi, but it is my nature to consider the unpleasant possibilities on equal footing with the pleasant ones. What of the Egyptian God cards? What if someone were to try to take them during our absence?

"They won't know where to look, mou hitori no boku. They could tear this house inside out and not find them."

Do you truly believe hiding them beneath a shingle outside your window is the best place for them? What if they were to fall out?

"I nailed the shingle down. Think up a better place and I'll put them there." Yuugi grinned as he put on a dark jacket. "C'mon, mou hitori no boku. This way, the house is blessed by the gods! What could be better?"

... A fair point, the Egyptian grudgingly admitted.

Yuugi's grin widened, and he donned the Millennium Puzzle. "C'mon, let's go downstairs and have some breakfast."

You realize you will wake your grandfather this way, do you not? The Pharaoh asked.

"Nah. But if I do, it'll be to good food. I'm not about to go hungry in a virtual simulator."

Very well... but see to it that Joey's appetite is sated, as well, before entering. All he and Tristan seemed to wish for on our last adventure was food.

"I'll see what I can do."

–
August 10, 7:31 a.m.
Kyoto Airport
Kyoto, Japan
–

Rebecca Hopkins let out a small sigh as she looked through her personal effects one more time. Everything was just where it should be, of course – she'd gotten her fastidious streak from her mother, who in turn had received it from Rebecca's grandfather. She couldn't remember the number of times both she and her mother had yelped at her father for leaving dishes about the house, his jacket on a chair, or some other offense that threw off their sense of logic and order.

She pushed her half-moon glasses up her nose. The things used to pinch her rather painfully, but ever since getting that corrected, they seemed to have developed a habit of sliding down until she looked like some horribly snooty schoolmarm. Hers was evidently not the only mind that conjured up such an image; her grandfather, who she loved dearly, made a similar remark one day as he was watching her study lines of code for a firewall program.

Though, in her opinion, some firewalls could use the discipline of a horribly snooty schoolmarm...

She smiled in remembrance of the phone call she'd gotten the other day. She'd been just a little disappointed that Yuugi himself hadn't given her the call, but if it was going to be one of his friends, it might as well be Tristan. He was nice enough; she didn't think him nearly as annoying as Joey, and certainly not a rival for Yuugi's attentions like Téa. After the call, it had taken a little doing to get her grandfather – her main source of funding – to say "yes" to such a proposal, particularly at the cost of a few hundred dollars for the plane ticket, but she'd managed to convince him it was worth the trouble. Besides, Yuugi had been thoughtful enough to opine that she ought to be extended an invitation... how could she say no?

She checked her watch. The flight would be cutting it awful close – Tristan said they'd be getting into Tokyo about 9 a.m., and the plane was only boarding its passengers now, with a 45-minute flight in store. Fortunately, she'd managed to get hold of Otogi Ryuuji, whom Tristan said had also been invited, and he'd agreed to pick her up at the airport to make sure she wasn't forgotten.

The final boarding call came. She got to her feet and slung her backpack over one shoulder, then hurried to the gantry.

Just like old times, she thought, semi-ruefully. We're off to save the world once again.

–
August 10, 7:42 a.m.
Room 513, Harashiro Apartments
Domino, Japan
–

The alarm clock had been buzzing for nearly forty-five minutes. And Ryou was only just beginning to rise from the fog of deep, dreamless sleep. His bleary brown eyes blinked once, then twice, then glanced at the clock – and widened quite abruptly.

Oh gods, I'm late! He fell out of his bed, but paid no heed to the pain in his side accompanying that fall, and rushed to find some clothes. How could I have woken up so late?! That clock always wakes me up...!

Then he looked himself over, and frowned. He was not usually one to wear anything beyond boxers and an undershirt to bed, but this morning he was already decked out in daytime wear – though the selection wasn't exactly what he would have chosen. A white-and-green striped T-shirt, with a rumpled mint-colored dress shirt over top, and a pair of jeans... and his least favorite shoes, a brown that reminded him more of things he took pains to avoid stepping in.

He ran a hand through his hopelessly tangled white hair and scratched his head in confusion. How in blazes did I end up in this outfit? I don't remember even getting undressed for bed last night – much less re-dressed like this...

A shudder ran down his spine. The last time I had a gap in my memory like this was...

He didn't even want to think about it. And the clock told him he didn't have that much time to dwell on the subject, anyway. I have to go... I guess I'll just wear this. Probably going to hear it from Téa and Joey...

He sighed, grabbed his keys and wallet, and ran out the door.

Had he remained longer, he might have noticed that his television was still on.

He might have even seen that it was tuned to the local morning news.

And maybe, just maybe, if he'd stayed fifteen seconds longer, he would have heard a report on an apparent mugging that left its victim, a homeless man armed with a pocketknife, comatose.

But he didn't.