A court hearing.
A criminal brought to justice.
Publicity.
Cameras everywhere.
Our faces were well known.
The Yakuza would know who we were.
They already did.
We sent one of their members to prison, for life.
We wouldn't be allowed to walk away unscathed.
We were directly escorted from the courthouse to wherever it was that they had decided upon taking us.
We weren't allowed to know.
We were in danger.
We couldn't risk anything.
The process of making our new identities was long.
Difficult.
Dyed hair, the both of us.
Blond now black.
Brown now platinum.
Coloured contacts.
Honey now emerald.
Cerulean now crimson.
We'd have to keep up with this. An agent would be in to check on us.
To ensure we were keeping up with our disguises, our identities.
I wouldn't be allowed to live as comfortably as I used to.
Taxpayers were the ones who would be supplying us with our living.
That and the jobs we would be given.
I used to run a company for christs sake.
How could I settle for a dead end office job?
I would have to.
Just as Jounouchi would have to contribute, as would I.
I could no longer choose my own hours.
It would be hellish.
But I was glad to be alive.
Our names were changed as well.
Jounouchi Katsuya, now Sawamoto Masa.
Kaiba Seto, now Himoto Akihiko.
We were given the option to either remain together, or separate and live on our own.
Both fearing for our lives, didn't wish to go out alone, silently into the night.
We asked to remain with one another.
At least then we'd have some company.
We were taken from our home country, brought to America.
We both spoke English.
The American government was more than willing to take us.
We were upstanding citizens.
For the most part.
We were settled into a town which had a name that I could not pronounce.
Not properly.
Not like Jou could.
Jou was half American.
Or, well, Sawamoto was.
Sawamoto Masa.
I couldn't get over this name change.
Not so easily.
We were given the bare minimum for living.
Hardly functioning furniture. Two twin beds. A one bedroom, one bathroom apartment.
We'd sleep on opposite corners of the same room.
I'd never be able to do this.
The beds were creaky.
The faucet never stopped leaking.
Our neighbors were too loud.
The pipes groaned all through the night.
There was no cease to the noise.
The first paycheck I got, I planned on getting a music device, some headphones.
I needed something to block out the noise.
I needed something to keep the chatter away.
We were allowed to keep some things from our past lives, clothing mostly, nothing too flashy, nothing that would give us away.
I left my deck with my sister.
I took my locket, my laptop, and quite a bit of clothing.
I wasn't certain what Sawamoto kept, but it wasn't any of my business.
We would keep our things in our respective corners.
Yet we had to share the closet for our clothing.
This meant our things were bound to get mixed together.
I didn't much mind, I wouldn't be caught wearing his filthy clothing, but I wouldn't care if he wore what was mine.
As we unpacked, there was a knock at the front door.
A neighbor I assumed.
I would answer, the smiling faces of two teenagers.
I didn't trust them.
They were at that mischievous stage.
They were my sister's age.
I hardly trusted her.
How could I trust them?
One, a boy, held a tray, cookies.
He would hold them out.
"From mo-ther."
He would pronounce his words in an odd manner, as though he expected me not to understand.
"Coo-kies."
I rolled my eyes.
We were foreigners, but it was rather rude to assume we didn't speak their language.
"I'm not interested, thank you."
Both teens would take a step back, freeze.
They must have realised how rude they had been.
"Narly accent."
The girl would pipe up.
I may not have been the best with my English accent, but I'd like to believe that I wasn't that bad.
At this point, Sawamoto Masa would step in.
His accent was flawless.
American.
Easy to understand.
"If you're going to bother us, you should at least attempt at being respectful."
This would scare the two teens.
Siblings I believed.
They'd both jump at this.
However, neither would apologise.
"Shit, I thought you were both foreign."
It seemed that even to them, Sawamoto's accent was impeccable.
"We are."
I'd reply in a rather flat tone.
"Sort of."
Sawamoto's tone was rather upset, he was half from here, only half foreign.
"What did these two want?"
He'd change the subject.
He'd stare the two teens down.
"Mom made cookies."
It was the boy this time.
It seemed that American's often shared food with neighbours?
Why else would they offer some to us?
Sawamoto would nod.
"We're not interested, you can leave now."
The kid would only shrug it off, take a cookie for himself.
"Your loss, more for us."
With that they'd walk away.
Not another word was spoken.
I was left to dealing with the silence between myself and Sawamoto once more.
We would spend the rest of the day without saying so much as a word to one another.
We were both mourning.
Both grieving our lost lives.
No longer able to keep a straight face.
Sawamoto locked himself in the bathroom after dinner.
Wouldn't come out till midnight.
I assumed that he had been crying.
I had been as well.
In my own bed.
I would no longer see my baby sister.
Nor would I see Isono.
Yet I was happy to know that I left Mokuba in good hands.
That was the one solace I found in all of this.
She'd be looked after well.
Better than I could.
Isono was a good man.
An even better father.
I knew I could trust him.
I had to.
If not I'd sit by, idly wondering what trouble my baby sister could get herself into.