No, I'm not dead. God DAMN this was hard to write! Why on Earth did I choose an action type story I don't know.
I wanted to wrap up this part of the story in one chapter but at over 7k words I decided to split it, and I'm glad I caved so I can finally update. This means even more cliffhangers, but it also means that hopefully the next chapter won't be too far off as a large amount is done already.
Sorry for the delay, please enjoy!

Into The Fire

When the elevator doors parted, the car was the first thing he saw.

It sat on the concrete, purring behind Kaiba Corp's glass doors like a dangerous animal in its enclosure. Huge in size and yet compact and sleek like a bullet, this was the security vehicle Kaiba had designed himself for emergency getaways such as these.

In the eyes of an inventor every piece of machinery got turned inside out, and scanning the vehicle's smooth shape, Kaiba mapped it's layout from force of habit. Carving black lines into the metal, old blueprints swimming up in his memory.

From within his broken fortress, it beamed in the sunlight like a beacon of hope. And he peered out at it, gauging the distance.

The gap between the doors and the waiting car was nothing. It's wheels were huge, made for rolling over hills and up stairs, with the added smooth steering and speed for on-road travel. It had managed to drive up the stairs leading to the building, dodge the gaudy Blue Eyes White Dragon statues that guarded the entrance, and sidle as close to the doors as it could without smashing into the pillars.

It was nothing more than a few steps away, but from where he was standing it looked like they were about to cross a warzone. The only cover they had out there was the one that shaded the entrance to Kaiba Corp and the shooters could be anywhere waiting to finish the job, on foot or in a building nearby. And as amateur as they were, they got damned close the first time.

He glanced to the left of him at his brother, supported by Roland's shaky hands and cradling his head, dried blood crusting at his temple like dead jungle vines.

'Too close.'

When they emerged from the elevator, their shuffling footsteps engulfed the room and Kaiba's eyes flew everywhere, taking it in.

The ground floor of Kaiba Corp had been evacuated. With doors flung open and chairs askew, it gaped open and empty like the hollow chest of a carcass.

Kaiba was thankful that he and his injured brother didn't need to strain themselves maneuvering around a flock of distressed workers, but at the same time it chilled him a little to see Kaiba Corp so empty. He stayed in late to finish work regularly, and he was more than used to prowling the deserted building at night, but something about the sunshine that streamed through the windows made the scene strange and unsettling. What used to be a natural process of the day transformed into an abrupt disturbance.

And in the daylight it all looked staged, fake. Like he'd just walked onto a TV set. Like someone had demolished his empire into a fading memory. Even now, it seemed like everything was crumbling around him, and the feeling sent dread burrowing into his gut, deadly and secret like shards of shrapnel.

Fours sets of scuffing, hurried feet echoed through the empty floor as they moved as a pack towards the doors. Pressing forward was their only chance for survival, and yet a small part of him was tugging him back, pleading for him to slam on the brakes and retreat: An illogical scream for self preservation that crawled up his spine in the form of fear.

Fear was nothing new to Kaiba. It dominated memories of his childhood like a dark stain, and he learned first-hand that despite its "necessity" as a survival instinct, it was nothing more than an exploitable weakness hard wired into every living creature and could easily be manipulated to turn your own body against you.

He'd quickly decided it was an impotence he couldn't afford...so he'd analyzed it, studied it's patterns and strategies and forged it into his memory so it could never immobilize him again. Right now it was slithering all around his body, feeling him out for his soft spots like a pervert revisiting an old victim, and with Kaiba Corp's illusion of protection crippled, it clawed it's way in easier than he liked to admit.

The moment the bullets started flying, his illusion of control evaporated around him like the way pixels shattered and disappeared when his Blue Eyes was obliterated from the playing field.

The memory of him sprinting through his wreckage of an office while bullets snapped at his heels like bloodhounds made him grimace. There was something especially pathetic about running from a fight, regardless of the odds.

And seeing his brother hurt like that had shocked him to his core.

In his mind, he built himself like a god, more powerful than anything that might come for him or his family again, but now the curtain had dropped, and he was left trembling under the spotlights while the truth of mortality came crashing back in. It wasn't a common occurrence, but it became blindingly clear whenever his brother was in danger.

It made his pompous image look like a fool's joke in comparison.

Within the impenetrable barriers he had built for himself it was little more than a flicker of doubt, but it allowed terror to jam its knuckles between his shields and force its way into his head.

Gone was his pride, now Kaiba was all defensive instinct: hunched shoulders and heavy breath. The minute he dragged himself out of the elevator, he immediately became aware of the weaknesses of his surroundings, eyes darting to every exposed window around him, every door and shadow. The fresh air seemed to bite his skin, a constant reminder of his exposure. Out here there was no protection, and no control.

He let his fingers rest between his brother's shoulder blades, absently searching for the pulse that tore him from his all-encompassing grief only minutes ago, and reminded himself to breathe and maintain composure. He focused his attention forward, up at the waiting car and the glass doors that separated them from the firing range ahead.

Fugata inched forward and they all jumped a little as the sliding doors parted automatically. At the motion, the right doors of the car, the ones facing them, bounced open and two men in Kaiba's security team wearing black clothes, sunglasses and grim, stony expressions peered out. They sat rigid, coiled tight like springs and ready to jump into action.

One was in the front seat and another in the back, both with one vacant seat beside them. Kaiba realized that with only two seats remaining, his assistants would be left behind.

He heard a cough and glanced over at Roland, who motioned at Mokuba with his head questioningly. Kaiba nodded in affirmation and stared outside, eyes darting everywhere. Everything seemed so still, almost unnaturally so – the courtyard empty, the usually bustling surroundings poised static like a bated breath.

A chill trickled up Kaiba's back and he raised a hand, signaling for Roland to wait and the man froze in place. Quiet had fallen upon them all. There was something about imminent death that turned everyone mute.

Kaiba allowed his gaze to linger on everything he could see, mapping the area out in his mind, over and over so he could detect even the smallest change, the tiniest movement. It was what he told himself. But it was a lie...he was stalling.

Stalling, the way a desperate man on his last legs stalls.

But they were running out of time. So he turned to Roland and nodded again, and the man immediately leaned down to Mokuba and, with his surprising strength, scooped him up unceremoniously into his arms.

"Roland! Wha-" Mokuba squawked indignantly before Roland darted out of the doors and towards the car.

As Mokuba and Roland bounced gracelessly into the shooting range the icy fingers of fear toyed with Kaiba's intestines, shuffling through them like playing cards. The scene from earlier flashed into his mind, of Mokuba sprawled on the floor in his office, and his body jolted involuntarily, like he was seconds away from running out to him.

'I should be out there, he should be in my arms.' He told himself, but even as he did, the searing pain in his leg tore all fantasy of heroism to pieces.

So he waited and he watched, and just like that, Roland reached the car and hurriedly pressed Mokuba into the back like he was shoving the stuffing back into a torn teddy bear. Leather gloves flashed in the sunlight as two hands grabbed Mokuba's shoulders from within the car and pulled him in, and like sealing a wound, Roland slammed the door shut behind him.

Kaiba quietly huffed in relief before he realized that it was his turn.

"Mr Kaiba…?" Fugata muttered quietly, offering his arm. Kaiba considered it for a second before shaking his head and turning back towards the car, feeling already certain that he would come to regret that decision.

He leaned back on his heels and banished fear from his mind, bracing himself for take off. Preparing to leave his fallen castle behind.

In typical fashion, his goodbyes were short. His office was destroyed, the floors lifeless. Now it was just an empty building.

Foolishly, the Kaiba Corp tower had been his only protection from threat and it had, for the most part, failed. Failure made it outdated, a relic of the past. Something to advance from.

And so, Kaiba advanced. From the frying pan into the fire.

Once again, everything of little importance drifted away from him as Kaiba began running. The glass doors slid in and around his peripherals as he left them behind.

He moved as fast across the space as his injured leg allowed him, and every step fell heavy on the pavement and sent fiery sparks of pain shooting up his calf. Rather than yielding, he gritted his teeth and pressed on through the sharp burning sensation, and the glossy black doors grew closer and closer, so fast that he was sure than any second a bullet would come flying through his head. It just seemed too easy. Too simple.

Then suddenly the car blurred before him and the ground seemed to expand beneath his feet, throwing him off balance. His limited energy was finally fully depleted and the blood rushed from his head as dizziness overtook him.

Everything was jumbled. His skull became a vacuum and it felt as if his eyes were being sucked out of their sockets. Pins and needles scattered over his skin. Black blotches appeared in his vision and spread like spilled ink and, without stopping, he clenched his eyes shut.

He only knew he'd reached the car when his legs collided sharply with the door step and a pair of big hands roughly grabbed at his arms, sinking into the fabric of his shirt, and helped pull him up onto the step and then into the shade of the vehicle. Another warm hand, Roland's hand, ghosted over his back, pushing him in, then it drifted away.

The dizzy spell had sapped all gracefulness from him. When he stepped inside he bumped his head on the ceiling as he attempted to straighten his stooped posture and stumbled across the limited leg space. He didn't register that his eyes were shut, merely that he couldn't see, and boxed in by the car's interior, he eventually toppled into his seat when he realized that the door had shut beside him and he had nowhere else to go. The motion made his head whirl like a spinning top.

He heard a sharp order of "Strap in!" from his left, and as the air filled with the metallic clicking of seat belts being fastened, he groped at his side for his in an attempt to follow suit.

He knew exactly where the belt should be, he'd designed the car himself for god's sake. But currently, with the world tilting on its axis, he couldn't locate it.

Blindly, his fumbling fingers ran up and down the side of his seat and he tried to put names to textures: smooth, glossy leather, hard plastic…but no metal buckle.

The engine came alive and the car rumbled beneath his feet, buzzing through the soles of his shoes. Just as he began getting frantic, groping for the belt, he felt small hands grip his shoulders, then lean over him to guide the buckle across his torso and into place at his left.

"Geez Seto. You're really out of it, huh?" he heard Mokuba mutter close to his ear, warm breath brushing his neck. Somewhere behind him came a man's voice in the blunt bite of a command, but Mokuba didn't leave him and he was glad.

The comfort of his brother's presence was the only thing of certainty in the fog of nameless sensations around him, and he anchored himself on the feeling of the boy's warm hands.

The car lurched back as it sped off and thudded violently down Kaiba Corp's stairs, and while his body jerked and bounced in his seat his consciousness remained still and his straining muscles finally began to ease.

"Relax, big brother."

Mokuba's voice was quiet when it came to him. Soft. His tough leather seat seemed to swallow him up. It suddenly occurred to him how exhausted he was.

"It's all over now, Seto. Everything's gonna be okay."

His words were so sweet. Intoxicatingly so.

Lies usually are.

Kaiba drifted.

The soft husk of Mokuba's voice floated around him, words he recognized but for some reason, couldn't understand.

Blurred buildings flew past. The sleek, black car jumped from window to window as they passed, reflected by the shiny glass of corporate Domino skyscrapers.

The car rumbled beneath him.

Darkness clouded in.

Then suddenly disappeared.

All the events of the day rushed back to him. He was shocked into consciousness and suddenly leapt up in his chair, like a prisoner in the electric chair jumping at the first volts.

"Sir, you should avoid moving around until we get to the safe house." In his peripheral vision, Kaiba glimpsed the driver addressing him in a voice so stiffly professional it seemed almost robotic. "You don't want to strain your injuries."

As if in agreement, his calf throbbed sharply and Kaiba gritted his teeth and sunk back into his seat. He turned his head and peered around the black leather headrest to see Mokuba blinking slowly and tiredly behind him, as though he could barely keep his eyes open. His brow was furrowed in discomfort as blood began to dot the bandage that had been wrapped around his head. He looked as exhausted as Kaiba felt.

"Little brother." Kaiba muttered. Mokuba's eyes traced a path up the back of his seat before settling on his face, his movements slow from exhaustion.

Kaiba took the sight of the boy in wearily and asked, "Are you alright?"

Dazed, Mokuba blinked for a moment and gave a small nod and smile. Then he slumped back into the seat, lips drooping heavily into a grimace, and Kaiba took what little relief he could get from that.

The young billionaire shut his eyes and eased forward in his seat again, moving slowly as if the dull headache he could feel building behind his eyes would lash out like a scared animal at any sudden movements. When he caught sight of a water bottle in the centre console of the car he grabbed it with shaky fingers and drank as much as he could before nausea rushed in and he remembered to pace himself. Then he downed the painkillers he was handed by the younger guard seated next to Mokuba, the "medic" of the two.

It was only when he swallowed his last gulp of water and looked forward, out of the windshield that he began to examine the surroundings that sped past. He didn't recognize them.

"Where are we?" he grimaced at the way his voice sounded. The only force behind it was the short breath he took to speak. He hated seeming so feeble.

"Barter Street, West Domino." The driver replied gruffly.

Kaiba understood at once. They were taking one of several routes to get to their assigned safe house. He just needed to remain conscious and hold out until then. He felt a hot sting of embarrassment as he recalled how he passed out earlier, but the emotion was useless to him so he discarded it.

"Police?" he grunted.

"They've been notified." the driver raised a gloved hand and tapped at a black earpiece he wore.

Kaiba's eyes narrowed. "But they haven't shown up?"

"Not yet, sir."

"Tch." He scowled, irritated. With the weight of intense stress bearing down on his shoulders, every shortcoming became an insult. But he was too exhausted for pointless anger, so he simply fell silent.

The car was quiet aside from the humming engine and Mokuba's strained breathing. In the moment of peace, Kaiba allowed his keen observation to return, and staring out of the window he took in Barter Street.

For an outsider it was hard to picture, but Kaiba knew all too well that even the glamorous Domino yielded to the miserable truth of poverty, and it grew like mold on the fringes of the city.

At this time in the afternoon, the streets and roads around them were almost deserted. Kaiba distinctly remembered seeing the shiny glass windows of skyscrapers while he was drifting in and out of consciousness. Now the only windows that they passed were the grimy glass of storefronts and shops, and he could see that in this place the line between thriving and abandoned was a big one.

For every store window cluttered with television sets there were three that were broken, empty and covered with graffiti. For every bustling grocery store there were three dark, abandoned buildings that crawled past the car like cockroaches.

Kaiba hated the sight of poverty. There was a distinctive smell that had crept into his memory from his childhood, of cheap detergent that struggled to smother the underlying filth from an old overused cot, and the mere sight of this place triggered that smell again. He grimaced deeply, so much so that the bodyguard beside Mokuba leaned forward and asked if his injuries were paining him, which he denied.

'Not injuries, just memories…'

He leaned into the firm car seat, settling on the headrest, and retreated into a place in his mind full of numbers and calculations. Here, knowledge and logic ruled, and the ghosts of his past couldn't touch him.

It wasn't memories he needed to worry about.

Instead he focused on the current course of events. So far everything was going to plan: escape Kaiba Corp, take one of several routes to the safe house with protection from his highly-trained security team, and the minute they reached the safe house they would be attended to by Kaiba's personal doctors and he could focus on picking up the pieces. Making something of this mess of blood and bullets.

That was, assuming nothing went wrong.

"Aw crap." Mokuba muttered behind him.

He turned in his seat to see the bodyguard beside his brother taking a hold of the bandages on Mokuba's head that seemed to have come loose.

"I was trying to rest my head, sorry." Mokuba directed towards the man's disgruntled expression. He winced a little as the bandages were pulled tight over his skull, and Kaiba watched every tiny twitch in his features with a cold, mounting fury that held him with a sweet familiarity.

Kaiba decided in that moment that his first course of action after medical care was discovering who was responsible for making his brother bleed. Whoever they were, he was going to burn them to the ground.

His hungry, building rage was interrupted as Mokuba shot a tired, sheepish grin his way. Kaiba allowed a small smile himself and forced his hatred to dissipate – it had no place in moments like these, he had learned that a long time ago.

He watched on as the boy rested his chin in his hand and peered out of the window as the bandages were secured again.

He looked as tired as he did before, but a sense of calm had relaxed his strained features, and aside from the bandages a sense of normality was returning to the sight of him.

Normality...imagine that. Dodged death with nothing but a bullet graze to show for it and he looked normal.

Not a day went by that his brother's unobserved strength didn't stun him.

"It's all over now, Seto. Everything's gonna be okay."

Before he passed out Mokuba had said that to him.

The words hummed in his ears, and watching the boy as he squinted out at the passing roads and buildings, for a moment he dared to believe they could be true.

But only for a moment.

Staring out of the window, Mokuba's eyes suddenly grew wide and he sucked in a shuddering breath.

A chill surged down Kaiba's spine like lightening and he whirled in his seat to see out of his own window. There was a speeding blur of motion – a huge truck surging at him, heading straight for their side of the car. His pulse thrummed once in his temples, like the final tick of a time bomb.

The next few seconds was a chaotic mash of sensations. The sound of impact exploded in his ears. His head snapped violently to the left and a shearing pressure blossomed in his neck as his muscles strained from the movement. His seat belt bit sharply into his shoulder as his body was thrown in his seat like a rag doll.

When he peered through his clenched eyes he saw through a spiderweb of thick white cracks in the windshield that Barter Street was whirling around them. He wanted to reach behind him for Mokuba, to reassure and anchor himself as they spun out of control yet again, but knew there was no way he could.

So he squeezed his eyes shut and gripped the sides of his seat, waiting for it to end with his stomach twisting into knots and a million screeching noises fighting for dominance in his ears. Memories of Mokuba's pale, bloodied face consumed his mind and stained his eyelids white and red.

Finally the car came to a grinding, heaving stop on the far side of the intersection, engines steaming and glass tinkling to the ground.

When Kaiba eased himself up in his seat it felt like his head had been detached, and with every tiny movement his surroundings hurtled around him.

With fingers that faltered in the air and sagged like led, he grabbed at his seat belt and began tugging at it like a frustrated toddler.

In his head a voice sprang up, clear and calculated like an automated response, reminding him that the correct protocol during a car crash was to remain still in case of neck or spinal injury.

Another voice bellowed up from his guts like fire and screamed 'FUCK PROTOCOL!'

'Fuck it.' Mokuba was the first priority.

He called out for his brother, and with his ears still ringing he couldn't tell if the name came out in a whisper or a scream.

Somehow he managed to undo the belt and it whipped back across his chest, freeing him. He immediately turned in his seat to see Mokuba.

When the young bodyguard behind him saw his employer was ignoring protocol and shifting in his seat he lurched forward and began shouting in an attempt to stop him. His words were lost in a sea of keening, crashing sounds that bounced around Kaiba's skull, so he ignored them and instead craned his neck towards his brother's messy black head.

What he saw didn't calm him in the least. Mokuba, with his rosy glow and their father's natural tan, was looking the palest Kaiba had ever seen him in his life. The word "corpse-like" drifted into his mind and it chilled him to the bone. The crash had further unsettled Mokuba's head wound and it was bleeding afresh beneath the bandages. Kaiba didn't even want to think about how much blood he'd lost, or how much he had left.

The plan that he had charted so clearly before crumbled in his palms, and he was so helplessly furious he felt like screaming, but he didn't – another emotional outburst was the last thing they needed. Instead, he swallowed it like his bile and it tasted even worse.

Following Kaiba's eye line to his brother, the guard released his shoulders, hovering over Mokuba instead and dancing his fingers around the boy's skull.

Mokuba's eyelids fluttered and slowly cracked open, his unfocused steely blues rolling first to the guard and then over to Kaiba. They remained on his brother and began to focus as the guard flitted around him, first checking his pulse, then examining his head and then his neck, all the while asking rapid-fire questions that came to Kaiba with more and more clarity as the ringing in his ears subsided.

Through vision that ebbed like a tide, Kaiba tore his gaze from his brother and scanned the horizon past the car's the tinted windows, until his gaze landed on the truck that had collided with them.

It was huge, like a great hulking beast made of metal and steel, like some kind of mechanical mutant. Clearly heavily armored and ugly from the bulkiness, it had withstood the crash with barely a dent to show for it.

Kaiba felt something – a nagging scratch at the back of his skull. Recognition. He had seen this vehicle before.

Then he forced his swaying vision to focus and caught sight of it: the old Kaiba Corporation logo that sat, smugly distinct after all these years, on one of the front doors.

First came the stunning, sickening shock of it. Then the quiet, venomous fury that rose up from his stomach, stiffening his shoulders. The dread that rolled in like a storm. A revolting, familiar sensation.

Long ago abandoned, it rose up from within like blood surging to the surface, old wounds bleeding fresh.

Of course their attackers had chased them down with one of Gozaburo's vile creations. Probably fired at them with old Kaiba Corporation guns as well. It made him sick to think that the bullet that struck his brother down bore the fingerprint of their step-father, perhaps even a fingerprint of his own…

The anger, the dread, it encompassed him entirely. Made his hands shake. He could almost smell the cigar smoke.

After every blow he took to protect Mokuba, every tower he toppled to finally defeat Gozaburo...only for this old enemy to rise again and the remains of his creations, weapons born from his rage and power to hunt them down.

To rescue himself and his brother, to sate his yearning for revenge, Kaiba had risen up and stolen his step-father's legacy from beneath him. He had obliterated everything that Gozaburo had built, and in the process the shards of the man's fallen empire had scattered through Kaiba's life, laying dormant for years. And now they were poised and ready to fire.

And rather than at masses of foreign soldiers or faceless politicians, they pointed straight at Gozaburo's true enemy all along. The man who would one day succeed him in every way – his step son, Seto Kaiba.

And everything he held dear.