A/N: Is it a bird? Is it a plane? No, it's Masquerade, moving aside to make room for a Seto-centric chapter. Yes, we have arrived at chapter eleven at last! It's taken a time to write, I must confess, because being busy every weeknight does detach somewhat from writing time. It's fun, though- mostly! Anyways, I have an announcement! It's HALF TERM!! Whoo! That means I have a week off. And that means that tomorrow I shall write my other bits of coursework so that by Tuesday my desk will be officially clear; which means I will have more time for writing. If only I didn't have a social life, then I could spend all day, every day, in front of a computer. ;-) At any rate, I'll try and get at least one more chapter up this week, because, you see, after this week, we hit… (Deep breaths now) the exam period, ahhhhhhhh!! Well, revision. Then in December it's the mocks, and in May the real thing. In short, there is going to be a heck of a lot of work coming my way until the summer, and so updates will be even more spondaic. So I'd like to be wrapping this up fairly sharpish- and, as there's only chapters twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen and an epilogue to go… Wow, we're practically done!

In other news, this chapter caused a lot of problems. When I was blocking it out, it didn't seem to be flowing well; and so, being me, I decided to chuck in some flashbacks. Of course, it wasn't until they were done that I recalled they were planned into chapter thirteen. But, by then, they were pegged in and it just wouldn't work without them! (Sweatdrop) Ah well. I'll just have to figure thirteen out later… Enjoy the chapter, folks!

Disclaimer: Same as usual. Oh! And spot the blatant Shakespearian misquote… if you dare! Mwhahaha…

Eleven- A Psychic

His trench coat flapped behind him as he marched purposefully, angrily ahead. The reason for his anger was, for once, not another living person but at himself. How dare they summon him in this way? More important, why on Earth was he obeying their commands?

He had no other choice. And that's what made him angry.

This would be the absolute last time.

"You look like an open-minded man!" A voice called out to him. Startled from his brooding, stormy, thoughts, he whipped around, and saw a woman standing on the corner of the street. She caught his eye, smiling. "Step this way, sir, and let us see what your palm holds for your future!"

Seto glared at her. He hated fortune tellers. Absolutely abhorred them. And here was this woman, probably not long out of her teens, standing on a street corner and having the audacity to call to him in public about her trade. He did not drop his angry, cold stare as he fought to bite back an angry remark, tainted by his black mood.

She met his gaze levelly, her mismatched eyes looking right across the street at, and into, and under his. One was a deep, chocolaty brown, and seemed to smile with the slight curvature of her thin lips. The other was hazel; brown, amber or green, appearing an autumn yellow; that shimmered like a jewel submerged in water. The slight smile, encouraging, strained, or threatening, seemed to be stretched over concealed small, neat teeth. Her skin was slightly dark, giving the impression that the sun loved her and shone only for her, keeping her skin beautifully bronzed. Her hair, however, was thick and dark, falling to her shoulders, rippling like a dropped silk sheet, two shorter bands of hair framing her face, whispering in her ears. She sat idly on the pavement, back against the wall of the alley, knees tucked up beneath her; clad in jeans that were scuffed and almost white, wearing into holes in certain places. They were flared, almost covering her small feet, and the black converse shoes they inhabited. She wore a simple green t-shirt with the 7-Up logo emblazoned across her chest, and over it was the only thing that would perhaps have marked her trade- a long, patchwork coat; mainly yellow and green and gold, but with some russet brown and red patches sewn in on a whim. She gazed at Seto with those odd, unblinking eyes, as if she already knew all about him. "Only five hundred and fifty five yen, for a look that could save you some trouble some day…" She gestured at the up turned hat before her. Dark, emerald, green, it was the sort with a wide brim and a wider peak, the sort that ballooned like a mushroom. It was devoid of head, currency, or dust. Totally empty, like the words she spoke. "It could even safe you making a grave error. It could save many lives… maybe even your life…"

Seto stalked off down the road without so much as dismissively snorting. He hated fortune tellers.

The psychic watched him going, resting her chin on her hand. Then she sighed, and stood, brushing dirt from the worn patches on her knees. "Pity… I thought he might remember…" She murmured, shrugging, stooping down and picking up her hat from the ground. It had a dent in it, and so she hit it out. "If only he'd been a little more open minded. The city will burn for him…" her strange smile suddenly widened. "Hmm, looks like his curtains will to…" A smile tugged at her lips, and she walked away, in the opposite direction to Seto. Beneath the darkness caused by the peak of the cap, her eyes flashed like a beacon.

Or a warning.

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"I hear he completely destroyed the house."

"He heard they had died, and went berserk."

"The furniture was all torn up and thrown about by the time anyone thought to go and find the boys."

"His poor brother, cowering in a corner!"

"Surely, his parents must have known…"

"No, no, she always was quite dippy… And he always looked at the world through rose-tinted glasses."

"Besides, wasn't this the first time?"

"He claimed he didn't know why he did it. The little one just kept crying for his mother. Scared to death, the little shrimp."

"Either way, the problem of the matter is- what do we do with them now? It seems if we are to get our money we must have the children…"

"Well, I certainly can't take them! I refuse to have my house ruined!"

"That child is a menace!"

"I disagree. He's quite talented. If we could merely manipulate his abilities…"

"We could be better off for it!"

"Well, rather you than me! His parents are dead; how long do you think you'll last?"

"Ha, you wait and see. He's a little goldmine!"

"He's a liability..."

Seto shuddered, drawing his black clad knees up to his chest. He did not want to go with any of these people. He wanted his parents. He wanted to feel safe again. He hated seeing them swallowed by the black, gaping, maw of death. He wanted Mokie to look at him without fear in his eyes. He wanted to go home.

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Seto's path took him past the Game Shop, and, for the briefest of seconds, he paused, watching a lazy flame curl up at one of the back windows. He shrugged slightly. He could already tell that no more then the back room would really sustain any damage; and to be honest, he didn't care. He had more important matters to attend to.

But, for some reason, the urgency of his steps increased.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

The smoke told them long before anything else what had happened. It bounded up the street to meet them, tugging their wrists, dragging to come and look at its handy work.

"No way…" Yugi whispered as they continued on, about to round the corner onto his street. "It can't be. Not another fire…"

Ryou remained silent. If only Yugi knew. It could well be. If only if he knew.

They rounded the corner, and Yugi dropped the bags and ran; ran towards where his grandfather stood in front of the Game Shop, flames billowing out of the downstairs windows like some sort of sickening bonfire. A fire crew was dousing it now, and it looked like only one or two rooms would be damaged. Unfortunately, one was the shop. Their stock, their livelihood, was going up in smoke.

Ryou muttered condolences, not knowing any other action to take, and felt more useless than ever, as he slowly approached where Yugi and his Grandpa stood in silent abhorrence at the sight before them. What could he say? 'Don't worry, it happened to me'? What comfort could he lend? He had none himself. What could he do? Nothing. He had no leads, no clues, no path to take. He could do nothing. Sighing, he looked down at his feet, and the answer presented itself to him.

It was a small white card, a business card; and the picture upon it was a simple graphic of a fire, as if taken from a children's book. It could have been the card of the fire-fighters, but somehow, Ryou knew it wasn't. These last few days had awakened a new sense in him, a new perception of the world, and a sudden understanding without really knowing what he knew. Some instinct was telling him to pick up the card, the card emitting such feelings of dread, because there was nothing else he could do. He had to rescue Amane. He had to look at the card.

He stooped over, snatching it up between two fingers. It was smooth, plastic, and, somehow, it felt very, very cold under his touch. Ryou flipped it over. In smooth, flowing typeface was the simple name that carried such consequence- The Pyromaniac. And, beneath it, was a handwritten annotation, all in English:

Masquerade-

Come to my warehouse at the forgotten end of town at 3:00PM sharp. It's easy to find- it's right at the end of the row, on the left. Your sister, Amane, will remain in my care until that time; but after that her safety cannot be assured. Nor can that of our mutual friend, Penelope Hightman. Please don't be late, Ryou, or at 3:15PM the city will burn.

Ryou frowned a little, thinking how hard his job was sometimes. But, it took no more than a second for him to begin pelting down the road, looking for somewhere, anywhere, where he could don his mask and take to the skies.

"Ryou!" Yugi yelled from beside his Grandfather. "Where are you going?!"

"To sort this out!"

"You can't be serious!" Grandpa shouted after him. "Ryou, what do you mean? There's nothing you can do! Come back!"

And yet, their words were not heeded. Ryou had already gone. But Grandpa was wrong. There was plenty he could do.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Here! Take the little brats! I can't handle them anymore!"

Seto said nothing, but clung to a nervous Mokuba's hand as the black porche, brought with a dead man's money, speed away with out remorse or regret; or the slightest doubt. It would not look back, and neither would Seto. He was tired of being used. He was tired of living to the fickle whims of other people. He would be who, and what, he wanted to be. These people, this strange orphanage, so far from home, would not change him or mould him. Seto would do that himself. He remained silent, and the man bent down to look into his eyes.

"Hello, Seto- welcome to your new home. Would you and Mokuba like to come inside?"

Seto considered, wondering how they would be treated here. Orphanages were rarely portrayed as bright and cheerful places in the media, seen as deceiving as the media itself was. He shrugged.

"And will this be home?" He asked, quietly. The man touched his shoulder sympathetically.

"Yes." He said, sincerely. Then he smirked. "You'll see, Seto. Once you're in our family, you're in it forever, no matter what. I think you'll like it here Seto. There's a lot of other children, just like you." He nodded over to a small climbing frame in the garden. A girl with dark hair and two different coloured eyes jumped down from it and ran back into the house when she realised she'd been caught.

That threw Seto slightly. "Like… me?"

The man nodded, his smirk becoming ever broader. "Yes."

"You know nothing about me." Seto said, suddenly frightened. "I…I wrecked my house when my mom and dad died!"

"We know everything about you." The man assured him. "And home wreakers…you could say… are our speciality." He caught hold of Seto's spare hand, and, smiling encouragingly, began to lead him onwards to the next part of his life. And Seto went with him, taking himself and Mokuba away from their past for good.

One decision can divert a life as surely as a dam diverts a river. Where the water flows instead to reach it's ultimate end is something nobody knows; and those on it have no choice but to ride the current and hope it leads them home, or to try to swim against the tide.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Amane was not particularly comfortable at that moment in time. Who would be, trussed up like a parcel and thrown into the footrest of the backseat of a car, where they could not be seen from anyone outside? She was wedged in so tightly that the bonds around her were hardly necessary, and, as they zoomed along to some unknown destination, she had to admit her situation was not looking too hopeful. She hoped Ryou wouldn't do anything stupid. But, mostly, she was worried about Penelope.

The girl kept shooting worried, guilty looks back at her. Wherever they were going, it didn't look like Penelope wanted to. Amane was certain it wouldn't be good, for her, her brother, or Penelope. How could she trust this man? The thing was, she wasn't sure she did. With a sudden mental jolt, Amane found the realisation that Penelope was as scared as she was. As lost for what to do as she was. It was out of Penelope's hands. They were in trouble, stepped in so far that, should they wade no more, returning was as tedious as going on.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

"Seto. Seto! Wake up!" Mokuba begged. "Wake up, Seto! You'll get in trouble!"

Seto opened his eyes slowly, lifting his head off the desk; one of the papers sticking for a second and then falling, tumbling back down. He rubbed his stiff neck, looking around, a little confused.

"Seto, if you don't get it all done, he'll hit you again!" Mokuba informed him fearfully.

Seto nodded, picking up the pen again, rubbing his tired eyes. Then, he squeezed it unnecessarily hard, till the plastic began to protest. "I don't know how much more I can take of this…" He muttered. "I hate it here. We were better off at the orphanage."

"That's not true!" Mokuba insisted, whispering so they would not be heard. "At least here we're free…right? That's what you always said, isn't it?"

Seto swallowed slightly, moving his numb ankle which their dear stepfather chose to chain to the desk to make sure Seto did not shirk his work. "…Sure, Mokuba. That's right."

"Good." Mokuba said, still young enough to be suitably comforted by words alone. "So, once you're done, you'll come and play, right?"

"I won't have any time to play, Mokuba. That's why he took all our toys and games, remember?"

"I remember." Mokuba said, dully, his façade of cheeriness no longer able to hold up. "He's horrible and I hate him."

"I know."

"…" Mokuba dared to go over and hug his brother, who continued with the work before him. "Seto, I want to go home."

There was no answer.

"Big brother? I want to go home…"

"I don't even know where 'home' is." Seto answered, quietly.

"Home is where the heart is." Mokuba answered, simply. "So you go where you left your heart."

"Oh?" Seto answered, amused despite himself at the boy's innocence. "So home is in your ribs?"

"No!" Mokuba giggled. "Home is where your heart is."

"Where?"

"It's a really special place." The little boy told him conspiratorially. "Where you can play all day and it's always fun, you can eat what you want whenever you like- lots of food!- and there are no bossy people telling you what to do. Everyone's friendly and no-one tries to split us up. You're always safe there, and nothing bad ever happens. That's 'home', see?"

"I see." Seto answered, squeezing the pen again.

"Can we go there?" Mokuba asked. "I want to go home."

"Me to." Seto admitted. "…We'll get there someday, alright?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Maybe not tomorrow."

"Well…" Mokuba said, slowly, but then went and climbed onto his lap again. "I guess that's okay. But when we get there, big brother, you can't start messing everything up like…"

"That won't ever happen again. I promise. Even if it means we're stuck here for a while, I promise." Seto suddenly lifted his head up off his brothers, and pushed the young boy gently from his lap. "I can hear him coming! You have to go!"

"Seto…"

"Do you want to get in trouble to?"

"No…"

"You're not supposed to speak to me! Go on, go hide in your room! Don't let him catch you!"

"But what if he…"

"I'm going to protect you. Don't worry. Now go!"

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The building stood before him. It seemed innocent enough, a skyscraper pointing a defiant finger up to the sky, saying that it would defy gravity and any other physical or ethical rules it wanted. The windows were tinted, to prevent the commoner on the street from looking in. The Japanese branch- or one of them. They were all over the world, a pestilence, a rash that could not be scratched breaking out all over the world. It could not be ignored, and it would not go away on it's own. Without hesitation, Seto Kaiba walked in, not sparing a glance at the elaborate surroundings within the office block, not noticing how the thick carpet completely deadened the sound of his feet. He walked in, and stopped.

"Seto! I was so worried you wouldn't come! How nice to see you."

"You should know by now I don't back down from a challenge." Seto stated, looking into the woman's eyes without flinching. "Not unlike your son, as it happens. Not that you'd know."

That remark cost him, as she swung up a hand to slap his face, but he caught her wrist easily, smirking.

"Middle age making you weak, Miss Motto?"

"Don't call me that." She hissed. "And don't you dare mention that… that… kid to me ever again!"

Seto remained silent for a long time, staring at her in disgust. Coldly, he let go of her arm. "You despicable woman. You are the worst kind of scum. I suppose it was you that burnt your father's shop, to?"

"How dare you accuse me of such a thing?!" She shrieked. "You think you're so wonderful, Seto Kaiba; but I warn you-"

"Actually, Seto, that's why we called you in…" A voice drawled calmly. Seto was not surprised by the sudden appearance of the voice or of it's owner, who, just as he had appeared in Seto's office, had appeared in the lobby; perching jauntily on Miss Motto's desk. "It really wasn't us. Perhaps you'll come up to my office?"

"No."

"Oh, how petty." The man sighed, sliding off the desk. "Fine, we'll have it out here… You see, we have a problem at the moment. This horrific bout of fires we've been having…"

"Why are you doing this?" Seto asked, calmly.

"We're not!" The man insisted. "That's the problem! Well, no, actually- the problem is this 'Masquerade' guy. There's a villain out there, and as long as Masquerade's around, we're not getting paid to deal with it."

"So you want me to deal with him?"

"Not with the fire guy. With Masquerade."

Seto folded his arms. "We've had this conversation before. I've agreed to unmask him."

"I know…" The man said, patronisingly. "But, you see, I just don't think that's good enough anymore… So we want you to issue an ultimatum."

"And what's that?"

"The usual." He dismissed, waving a hand. "He's either for us or against us."

"What does that make me?" Seto smirked. Suddenly, the man was upon him, holding his face in an iron grip, squeezing his jaw.

"That, my ambiguous friend, makes you lucky to be alive." He grinned, releasing his face and patting his face before stepping away at last. "But don't worry. Do this for us, and we'll leave you alone."

"And if I don't?" Seto asked, wearily.

"You know what happens if you don't." He replied, easily. "We never did really get over you abandoning us, Seto. Make it up to us now, eh? Don't disappoint me."

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Ryou moved on and on, not caring to preserve energy with his usual trick of air-walking, but actually flying, high and hard and fast. Faster than he ever had before, so fast that the mask stuck to his face and the winds around him were becoming warm. Indeed, as he ripped through the air, it responded in his wake, gathering together and the sudden turbulence resulting in a dry storm, thunder rolling and lightning bounding down over the city, winds howling and roaring; the sky as much in turmoil as Masquerade himself as he headed towards the deserted areas of town. He had to get there, there was no two ways about it.

But then, why was he slowing down?

With some alarm, he noticed he was not only slowing down, but falling. Not falling, uncontrolled, to the ground, but with intent and purpose. Only it was not Ryou's intent, and he abandoned his focus on his goal to try and pull himself out of the invisible grip that he now felt tightening horribly around him. His descent began to speed up, and, level with the tops of the buildings now, he was reeled in all the faster; before finding himself tumbling through an open window into a large, abandoned warehouse that he believed had once belonged to Kaiba Corp. Indeed, as the invisible hand dropped him callously down, he found himself looking up through the slits in his mask at none other then Seto Kaiba himself.

Masquerade felt a little confused. Still, if anyone was able to develop the technology to ground him, it would be Kaiba. But now was not the time to deal with this.

Nodding his goodbye at Kaiba, perhaps conveying the respect that, yes, the young CEO had caught him at last, he turned towards the window, only to see it slam shut. He slowly turned in surprise.

"Not bad, am I?" Seto said, mockingly. "Considering how rusty I am…"

And then Ryou realised. Kaiba had powers to.

He was in deep, hot, water; endless as the ocean. He had to get out of here.

"Impressive. I…" Masquerade spat out. Then he shook his head. "I can't deal with this right now! I'm leaving…"

"I can't let you do that." Seto said, calmly, planting himself in front of him. "I need to expose you."

"And I can't let you do that." Masquerade answered, shoving past him. "I have something more important to do right now." He began to move away, and then, there was that grip again, tightening around his chest. He doubled over slightly, and then Kaiba was before him, looking down on him, disgust evident in his eyes.

"I think you'll find this rather pressing." Seto remarked, smirking. Masquerade glowered beneath the mask and shot up into the air like a cork from a bottle, sailing straight up and over Kaiba. Or that was the intention. When his arc reached it's peak, the invisible vines caught him again, and threw him hard. He collided with one of the huge rack of shelves, empty now, and slammed into it so hard it wobbled in it's ancient bearings, sending a showering of dust over Masquerade as he crashed to the cement floor, dust shooting up on impact and joining the grime circulating in the air. The air was bad here, it didn't like him; and as Masquerade groaned, the only thing that dragged him back to his feet was the idea of Amane, and rescuing her.

And Kaiba was in the way.

"You…" Masquerade barely remembered to disguise his voice, rage making it creak and strain. "Just chose the wrong day to cross me."

Kaiba did not look very concerned. "Haven't you seen yet? You can't compete with me."

"I can try." Masquerade immediately leapt up into the air, and threw himself at Kaiba, kicking him in the eye before the formidable guy had time to react. Using Kaiba's head as a spring board was an easy trick, as he flipped lightly away, being sure to land a blow in his back on the way past. But Ryou was holding back. He didn't really want to hurt the guy…

Seto turned, eyes blazing ferociously, one blackened and bleeding.

"And I thought we could settle this like adults." He hissed.

Masquerade decided the best tactic was to avoid him as much as possible, and called the air to him, flying up into one of the dark corners, high up on top of one of the colossal shelves. It was a long way up, and from here, the whole place looked different, cavernous. He would never have been able to find the door on the ground anyway. It was a real industrial thing. He crawled along the top of the shelf, because here, at the bottom of the roof's curve, there was not enough room to stand. At least the blanket of dust that coated it like snow muffled his movements somewhat.

Kaiba stood still, silent. Somehow, that worried Ryou more. He seemed like an animal about to pounce. As a precaution, he whispered to the air and suddenly, around Kaiba, a whirlwind cropped up, forcing him to lift an arm to shield his eyes. Masquerade took advantage of the distraction, throwing himself over the chasm between him and the next metal rack, plummeting on to it.

Seto heard the clang of landing, and opened his eyes even against the dust and dirt flying at him, impairing his vision and breathing. He pinpointed the location, and concentrated on that large storage rack, metal and heavy.

Masquerade felt the metal groaning and straining beneath him. He looked down, and saw the gargantuan shelf buckling, warping, twisting. He came to the sudden, idle conclusion that he hated telekinetic powers. Just before the shelf collapsed entirely, he threw himself into the air, and back out into open view. Before he could move another step towards the door, Kaiba spotted him and yelled up.

"Why not come down here?"

"Why not come up here?" Ryou responded, irritably, landing on another shelf and beginning to make his way towards the door.

Seto watched the figure moving along high above him and sighed. Why did everyone have to be so argumentative…?

Masquerade felt the disturbance in the air rather then heard it, so good was Kaiba at his art. He ducked just in time as the broken fragment of metal, twice his size and ten times his weight, one of the shelves, whistled over his masked head, so fast the air seemed to stay in two parts for a second, and imbedded itself in the opposite wall. Annoyed now, Masquerade yelled down at his adversary.

"I thought you wanted to expose me as a fraud, not kill me!"

Kaiba shrugged. "It makes very little difference."

"It does to me!" Masquerade pointed out, looking maliciously down at him and squeezing his fingers together.

Kaiba felt the air being pulled away from him, out of his lungs, up his throat, through every orifice of his face. His lungs were being squeezed unbearably, he was driven to his knees as they twisted and squirmed, flattened, looking to suck in air that wouldn't reach them…

A sharp impact came in the back of his head, knocking him down onto his face, but, thankfully, he was allowed to breathe again. He stood, glaring at the projectile, a portable music player of some sort, now never to be used again. He hated it even more that, if it hadn't had been thrown, he might have suffocated. But this was beyond pride, now. Now, he was just annoyed.

He stepped onto the bottom of one of the sets of shelves, jumped, and swung himself up onto the next; only just reaching even with the bonuses of his height and his leap. He stood again, and repeated the process as he moved up onto the next, and the next, and the next…

Masquerade watched him climb.

"This guy just doesn't know when to quit." He muttered, summoning a gale force wind to blow Kaiba from his precarious position and then to lower him gently to the ground. He was almost at the colossal sliding, metal, door now.

He was certainly not expecting it to explode off it's runners and fly back, shunting him straight into another group of metallic shelves. He groaned, lying on the floor, coughing.

That had really hurt.

All too late, he felt that terrible, cold grip tighten around him. He was too weak from the last attack to fight it. He was punched into the roof, sending splinters of wood cascading down, before being lowered none-to-gently down to the floor.

Seto loomed over him. Masquerade looked up at him. He was trapped, and in pain. Helpless. A sitting duck.

Kaiba considered him. It had not been a bad fight.

"I need to talk to you." He stated, simply.

Of all the things Masquerade had been expecting, that had not been it.

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"They're after me?" Masquerade asked, in astonishment. "But… Why?"

"You're bad for business." Seto stated, calmly.

"…I don't understand."

"Then allow me to explain." Seto answered, wryly, and stood. His monologue was simple, and matter-of-fact, completely monotone bar the tiniest break of anger now and again. "It's perfectly simple, Masquerade. As you're probably aware, you are not the only one in the world with… talents. Special strengths, 'powers', if you will. Although most are not so open about it, admittedly. At any rate, it was some one hundred years ago that the first heroes, tired of the persecution they suffered at the hands of those who branded them 'freaks', grew tired of humanity. They were perfectly happy to be saved by those considered to be demons, but would have no dealings with them. Gradually, less and less of those with the skills wanted to use them. They saw no good in the world anymore, nothing worth saving. As a result, there needed to be some other reason for them to do their work. That reason, as with everything, was money."

"They're… heroes-for-hire?"

Seto nodded. "That's how it started. They called themselves The Trust, and delivered letters to their respective governments informing them that their services were no longer free, and that if they wanted to be protected, they would have to pay for it. Of course, the governments refused to pay- at first. They quickly found that their police forces alone just weren't up to the job."

"Wait." Masquerade interrupted. "Are you insinuating that they… caused the problems?"

"Perhaps." Seto shrugged. "Nobody knows. The only certainty is that the 'Superheroes' quickly found themselves hired; and, gradually, they faded out of society all together, their work secret, their talents hidden…"

"And we're all forced to work alone." Masquerade murmured.

"Well, join them, if you like." Seto countered.

"Never." Masquerade replied, firmly. "Not for money. They're as much villains as they are heroes! Doesn't it strike you as… immoral?"

Seto shrugged again, a bad habit he had acquired from Mokuba. "I don't care for the ethics of it. But I refuse to let them control me anymore. So join them, if you want to. I'd recommend you do."

"Why?"

"Because, if you don't, they'll kill you." He stated, simply.

"…Did you have to tell me so melodramatically?"

"Yes. Or would you rather I hadn't warned you?"

"I…" Masquerade placed his head into his hands. "I just… Never wanted it to be this difficult."

"Be that as it may…" Seto began, suddenly advancing towards him. "There is another matter to be discussed."

Suddenly feeling threatened, Masquerade rose to his feet. "And that is?"

"I swore I would unmask you."

"You…"

"It's not personal." Kaiba responded, pinning him easily to the wall without so much as lifting a finger and slowly advancing towards him. "If you want to waste your time saving people, you go ahead. I agree with the Trustees in that there's nothing worth saving, but that's it. Myself, I'd prefer people not to know that we even exist. Since you showed up, there's been a witch hunt. I don't want powers, and I can manage fine without them. I didn't use them to get where I am. But if people knew, do you think they'll understand that? So, you see, it would be a lot better all round if you were shown up as a fraud."

"Let me go, Kaiba." Masquerade said, steely, unable to move anything but his arms in that cold, iron, grip.

"Think about it. If the Trustees thought you were a fraud, maybe they wouldn't come for you. And perhaps they wouldn't come for me."

"Let me go!"

"I can't do that."

"Please!" Masquerade begged. "Please! The Pyromaniac- setting all the fires- he has hostages, Kaiba! Hostages!"

"I couldn't care less about your moral fibre. I'm just out to expose you." He began to reach out for the mask, but Masquerade got to it before he did.

"You want to see who's under here?!" Ryou demanded, in his normal voice. "Fine!" He ripped the mask off over his head, and looked up defiantly into his captor's eyes.

"Bakura?!"

"That's right. And the hostages he's got? My sister, Kaiba." Ryou said, softly. "Please… I thought she was dead for so long… and he's going to set fire to the city if I don't get there. I have to save her. You always do it for Mokuba. Please, I'm asking you… Let me go…"

Seto remained silent. Bakura didn't understand. If he let the guy go, he'd never be left alone. They would make his life hell. They would get to him through Mokuba for certain. He wanted to let him go, he had never wanted to be in this mess in the first place, but he couldn't. It was impossible.

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"Ha, you wait and see. He's a little goldmine!"

"He's a liability..."

Seto shuddered, drawing his black clad knees up to his chest. He did not want to go with any of these people. He wanted his parents. He wanted to feel safe again. He hated seeing them swallowed by the black, gaping, maw of death. He wanted Mokie to look at him without fear in his eyes. He wanted to go home.

With sudden, single minded determination, he moved over to the small, sombre table that provided refreshments, and for the family members there, suitable motivation for them to bother coming to the funeral. How Seto wished the hateful people would go away… He didn't mind the people that had been friends with his parents so much, but these people hadn't even known them. Checking no-one was watching, he lifted up the corner of the table cloth and ducked underneath.

"Mokie?"

The little boy looked up at him with watery eyes, and Seto flinched as he saw the fright in them. "Mokie, it's okay, I'm alright now…"

His little brother chewed his lip as though he doubted it, unable to forget how he had hid behind the door as furniture and all the possessions had flown around the room, Seto so consumed with rage that he suddenly gained these powers. It scared Mokuba. It scared Seto.

What am I? He wondered, often.

Licking his dry, salty lips, he held out a hand, a gesture of peace, to his brother. In it was a small piece of pork pie, finger food. Mokuba took it tentatively, in the same way he'd taken everything Seto had provided in those three hellish days where they waited for someone to come, but no-one did. Their parents did not come home, because they were dead. No-one came for them. No-one cared enough to come.

"I'm sorry." Seto whispered again. "It won't ever happen again. Ever. I promise."

Mokuba uttered no word of forgiveness, but crawled over and huddled against his older brother, all grievances forgotten, and howled. Seto held him close, eyes stinging, tears threatening to spill over; but he refused to let them fall. He had to be strong for Mokie, he had to look after him now. He could not let his emotions get the better of him. He could not lose control again.

"We'll be okay, Mokuba." He said, firmly. "We'll be okay."

The little boy shuddered, still not voicing his thoughts although he was a perfectly fluent speaker.

"I won't do it again." Seto repeated, as much for himself as for Mokuba. "I won't let it happen again. And… and… I'll take care of you, Mokie. We don't need any of those guys. We'll run away, get jobs, earn money… We'll be okay. I promise."

"Okay." Mokuba said simply, and slowly sagged into a silent, dreamless sleep as his brother clung to him, the last scrap of his family. Seto bit his lip. Sleep would not come for him. He'd made his promise.

Now he had to figure out how to keep it.

Seto looked down at Bakura's face, which stared back at his, looking for some shred of humanity that had long since disappeared. But Seto never did anything indecisively, at least not openly. He had been pleaded with. He had also been threatened.

He had made his decision.

He turned his back on Bakura, dropping the power over him.

"Go."

Bakura stood, but then hesitated. "Will… you be okay?"

Seto smirked. "I can handle it."

Bakura nodded, and headed towards the gaping hole that used to be the doorway.

"Bakura? This isn't over. Also…"

"Yes?"

"You forgot your mask."

"Oh."

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The Trust, that's what Kaiba said they were called. A society of heroes that sold out, and that, surely, if they are not paid, would resort to any measures. They know that they can overpower the 'average man', and they use that not to the advantage of others, but to an advantage of their own. I could never do that.

And yet, I wonder if they hold a point. Has mankind gone so stale that there's nothing worth saving anymore? There's so much pointless evil, and suffering; and so many of us that do nothing about it. How much can one man do alone? It takes everyone, I guess, or there's hardly any point in trying.

That's what some people think. The cynics. One man can make a difference. Maybe he can't change the world, but he can maybe change his. Maybe he can change someone else's. It's just a matter of choosing to.

I try. I don't succeed, but I try. Kaiba, it seems, does not, and no more does the Trust. I wonder how Kaiba fell in with them- and if he really believes that there's nothing worth saving. How can he say that? He knows Mokuba is worth saving, just like I know Amane is; and so is everyone else in this city I've come to call home. Maybe I shouldn't have told Serenity. But I had to tell someone. Home is where the heart is; and home is something we'd do anything to protect, and to rescue the people within it.

I'm going to stop this chaos.

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A/N: And there we have it. If you're thinking that there was absolutely no reason for Seto and Ryou to fight, well… you'd be absolutely right! I have to admit, I was blocking the chapter and realised we never got to see them clash and so added it in purely for the sake of it. But come on. I bet you all wanted to see it to. Oh! And if things in this chapter seem a bit vague, don't worry- they'll be cleared up in the next chapter that Seto features in, which is number thirteen. I have to feel a bit sorry for Ryou, this time- in this whole chapter, he only had a crummy monologue and appearances in four scenes! The rest was all Seto… Ah well. Old habits die hard. XD

In other news, well done to Dragonlady222 who saw this coming aeons ago. :D

Now then, I think it's high time I shut up… but there is just time for some rhetorical questions, right? Now Serenity's in on the secret, what will she do? And what secret does she really need to confess to Ryou? (As if we don't know!) As Pyro begins to set fire to the city, what will his hostages do? More importantly, will Joey actually have a role to play? Things tumble to the ground in A Superhero Story Chapter Twelve- An Ally or Two… (Dig the marginally different title!!)

Thanks for reading, and see you soon!