This one's for Bonnie.
1.
"His name is A'Tuin."
Mokie wandered about the perimeter of the tortoise's enclosure, smiling privately to himself. Noa stayed hunkered near Seto, watching the little creature with an attentiveness that bordered on awe. Every so often, Noa would glance down at the grass beneath his feet, out across the sculpted lawn of the estate's backyard, and touch it with both hands. As though to remind himself that yes, he could feel it. It wasn't fake. It wasn't a dream.
Not that this stopped him from wondering if this whole excursion was a dream. He supposed, if he supposed anything, there were any number of events in his—and his brothers'—lives that would have made far more sense if they had been. And this certainly counted among the strangest. There were any number of reasons why none of this made logical sense. And yet, here they all were.
The sky was overcast, and every so often the three boys could hear the rumble of distant thunder. Mokie had no interest in the weather, however, and so the other two didn't comment on it, either. They all knew what it was: the monsters, given life by and wreaking chaos on behalf of the Doma Corporation.
"He's great," Mokie eventually said, his smile widening as he lowered himself to get a closer look at Seto's pet. "Niisama isn't too interested in animals," he murmured, almost to himself. "I mean, there's Sausage. But he doesn't count, really."
Seto snickered in spite of himself. "S-Sausage?"
"Yeah," Mokie said, nodding. "He's a striped cat we found in the yard one night. Niisama didn't want me to let him in, but he didn't fight too hard about it. So I adopted him. We fixed him up and all. Now he lives in Niisama's office."
"Why is his name Sausage?"
Mokie lifted up his hands and held them out. "'Cuz he's all round and fat, and when he sprawls out on Niisama's chair he looks like . . . well. A sausage."
Seto giggled. Mokie's smile widened.
Roland had outfitted Mokie with a holster to keep his weapon secure, and sometimes Seto or Noa would steal a look at it. Though all three boys were roughly the same age, there was no doubt in anyone's mind who was in charge. Even though this was Seto's home, and Seto's dimension, and even though Noa was technically closer to 20 years old than he was to 10 . . .
Kaiba had assumed authority over the entire situation. He had bestowed a similar authority onto his brother.
"I hope Moku-nii isn't too mad," Seto murmured eventually, during a lull in the conversation. His smile turned nervous, and a little embarrassed. "I thought we were gonna see a real duel earlier. You know." Seto mimed a sequence of punches.
Mokie's smile faltered, and he looked down at his own feet for a moment. "I don't remember how many martial arts Niisama knows. He keeps learning new ones, and I can't keep up." The smile came back. "I'm glad we didn't see a duel. But, I mean. It prob'ly would have been awesome."
Noa licked at his lips as he fidgeted. "I think they held themselves back because they knew if it came to blows . . . one of them wasn't going to live." Mokie and Seto both flinched, but the twin guilt that crossed their faces showed that they'd been thinking the same thing. "I don't know what my father was like here, in this place, but I know what he was like for . . . for Mokie and me. For Aniue."
Seto frowned. "What do you mean?"
"My father . . . the man I knew . . . he was stern. Not the kind of man to smile much. But he was fair. I always thought he was fair, anyway. Only the best for his family. That was his mantra. That was his code. But . . . but it got bad when I died. Er. When . . . the real Noa died."
Seto's face scrunched up. "The real . . . ?"
Noa shrugged. "I'm . . . not Noa Kaiba. Not really." He touched his own arm. Picked at the fabric of his jacket. "I'm . . . a clone. I guess. I don't know if that's right. I'm a digital projection that somehow got a body. Or whatever. But anyway, the point is that my father didn't take that too well. His son, dead. His wife, vanished. Suddenly he was back at square one. The prized heir he'd hoped would forge a future for the Kaiba Corporation was gone, and . . . Aniue bore the brunt of the punishment for that disappointment. It taught him to fight for his life. Always. There's no friendly competition. There's no draw. There's no truce. When you fight, it's to the death. No exceptions."
Seto scratched at the back of his neck. ". . . Papa never punished me for anything."
"How old were you when you guys got adopted?" Mokie asked.
"I was five."
Mokie nodded. "That makes sense, I think." He raised an eyebrow at Noa. "Different tactics. He was too young."
Noa nodded. "Probably. If he was the same kind of man as my father was."
Mokie left unsaid the thing that both of them knew: whatever Seto thought, the Gozaburo Kaiba of this world had been that sort of man. Mokuba, with his wild eyes and icy cynicism, was proof enough of that.
Something about the look on Seto's face in the silence that followed told the other two that he was thinking something similar. Gozaburo Kaiba was many things, and his poker face was impeccable. But his children, each and every one of them, were shrewder judges of character than most.
Mokie's smile came back, as it always did when his brother was in a certain mood, and he patted Seto's shoulder. "What's done is done. We've got other stuff to worry about right now."
"Right, right. The end of the world." Seto looked almost bored; his voice was flat.
Mokie smirked. "Now you sound like Niisama."
2.
"Moku-nii always says I need to take stuff more seriously," Seto said. "He says I'm too irreverent about everything."
Mokie bit back laughter. "Yeah?"
Seto nodded. "Yup. But it's funny, 'cuz you . . . well. I dunno. I mean, you are taking this seriously." The boy gestured randomly at the pistol hanging against Mokie's hip. "But at the same time, you're kinda not."
Mokie shrugged. "I trust my brother. He got us through this once. He'll do it again."
"What happened to you?"
"This Dartz dude, he'd been orchestrating this grand plot for . . . well, I think Yugi said it was for thousands of years, but Niisama's pretty sure that's an exaggeration."
"Pretty sure?"
"It's Yugi. Niisama doesn't think in absolutes anymore."
Seto frowned, then shrugged. ". . . Yeah, okay, that makes sense."
"What's he after?" Noa asked.
Mokie shrugged again. "Who knows? Word domination? The Apocalypse? I think he said he wanted to 'cleanse this wretched earth' or whatever, but I don't remember. I don't care. People like that never tell the truth. They twist everything. It doesn't do any good to listen to them. If you try to make sense of their words, you're playing their game."
"He sounds like a textbook narcissist," Seto said, looking suddenly grim. "Except, y'know, with magic." He twiddled his fingers around.
"That always complicates things." Mokie's face followed the other boy's lead, and went dark. "Speaking of narcissists with magic. Pegasus is really dead here?"
Seto flinched, but barely. "Yeah. After Duelist Kingdom. His people said he was in the hospital for a sudden illness, and they announced his death a week later. So many people showed up to his funeral that they couldn't fit everybody."
Noa quirked an eyebrow. "You don't sound like you believe that story."
Seto shrugged. "Moku-nii says he was prob'ly dead before we ever left the island."
Mokie looked suspicious, and started to say something, then thought better of it. Instead he said, "Duelist Kingdom," in a voice that ran chills through the air. "Even though it . . . wasn't. It still feels like that's where everything . . . started going to Hell."
They walked in a line through the yard, following a trail that none of them could see but all of them could feel, and for a while they each fell into silence, ruminating on their private thoughts. Both Noa and Seto unconsciously kept stride with Mokie. All three would sometimes steal a glance back over their shoulders at the tortoise, but A'Tuin had nothing to add to the conversation either.
He simply sat there, munching at various greens, meditating on the nature of the universe.
Eventually, after staring awkwardly at his own hands for a while, Seto looked around. He looked at once hopeful and apprehensive, and more than a little embarrassed. "U-Um," he said, and Mokie and Noa both stopped on a dime to look at him.
Seto squeaked.
"Yeah?" Mokie asked, smiling in that particular, forcefully accommodating way he had.
Seto blinked a few times. He blushed. Averted his eyes.
"Y-You guys . . . wanna play a game or something?"
3.
Noa did his best to stay calm, but he couldn't deny the sense of foreboding and near-panic that he felt, at just how limited he was. All he knew was what his senses told him. His mind was no longer a metaphor. He couldn't reach out past his arbitrary limits and learn more about his surroundings. He couldn't access the blueprints of the building he was in. He couldn't tap into the security cameras. He couldn't do anything.
At least, that's what the pessimist inside him kept repeating.
Nonetheless, as he watched Mokie and little Seto settle into their third Street Fighter IV match, Noa did his utmost to remain aware. He strained his ears, kept his eyes moving, tried to catch every minute shift in smell and taste and temperature in the room. It wasn't nearly as easy now, in this physical body, to be vigilant. But he knew he had to be.
And it was perhaps that intensity of focus, that desperate push, that told him something was wrong before either of his companions took notice. Noa knew that Mokie was quick-witted and observant. He was a Kaiba.
But, although Mokie heard the man's footsteps before Seto did, it was still twenty seconds after Noa did. They shared a look, while Seto focused on the screen in front of them all, and nodded.
Mokie subtly shifted his weight so as to make it easier to draw his brother's pistol.
Noa continuously eyed the doorway behind them.
This Kaiba Mansion was mostly the same as the one that Noa knew so well—he'd studied it for so long, after all, never mind his memories of living in it—but he still felt like a spy in foreign, hostile territory. The only thing that kept him calm was knowing that Seto—his Seto, their Seto—was nearby.
Mokie was quick, and Noa was observant.
But Seto Sasaki-Yagami Kaiba was a warrior unto his own classification. His reflexes were honed sharper than jagged glass. He caught everything. Sometimes Noa thought back on his attempts to oust that man, that dragon, from power. He marveled at his own folly.
Glancing back at the small, awkward boy playing Street Fighter not a foot away from him, Noa couldn't help but wonder how they could possibly share the same name. The same history. How could this boy be the same entity as the lightning storm that he knew?
But Noa knew. Of course he knew.
"It was you," Noa murmured, without fully realizing he was speaking out loud. His voice was quiet. Heartbroken. Betrayed. "Chichiue."
4.
It wasn't one man who entered the game room of the Kaiba Mansion, but three. Noa would have cursed himself for a fool, if he'd had any sense of self-awareness. But he didn't. Every synapse of his brain had bent toward the men in front of him. Two of them were strangers; just nameless statues in stark black suits, with shades and uniform haircuts and not a stitch of facial hair. They looked like they could have been standing at attention for a military-grade inspection.
But the third . . . short, squat, and radiating such menace that Noa felt physically ill. This man was also dressed in a suit, but his coat had tails, and a deep crimson lining that seemed to bleed through his lapels. Everything about him, from the round little rimless glasses, to the knowing smile, to the hefty white gold rings that studded several fingers, struck Noa with a dread that he hadn't felt in years.
Seto spoke first.
"Daimon."
The old demon bowed his bald, wrinkled head. "Bocchama," said he serenely, sending shivers up Noa's spine. "What a relief to see that you are alive and well."
Seto, who was turned around on the couch and perched there, leaning against the back and gripping the cushions like an animal clawing into prey, grunted. "Why would I not be?" he asked sharply.
"Why, the monsters all about the city, Bocchama!" Daimon looked stunned. "Surely you have seen?"
"Oh, I've seen them," Seto allowed, but all of a sudden he looked almost amused. "I guess I should thank you. If you're worried about them, then that means it's working." He chuckled privately to himself. Noa thought he could tell that the boy was putting on an act, but realized he wasn't sure.
Mokie certainly looked confused.
Daimon blinked. "Working?" he repeated.
Seto rested his elbows on the back of the couch, cradling his chin in his hands, and offered up a coy little grin. "You didn't think they were real, did you? C'mon. You had to have been paying attention." In response to Daimon's clueless stare, Seto rolled his eyes, leaned back and threw up his hands. "Solid Vision!"
Noa shared a look with Mokie, then nodded sagely. "Mm-hm," he offered. "Seto-kun's been very pleased with the results so far." He looked at the suits behind Daimon. "What's with that look? Did you guys really think that dragons were flying around the city? Seriously? How old are you?"
Daimon was clearly flustered. "I . . . t-that is . . . your brother! He said . . . he was on the news just this morning! He said the Kaiba Corporation had nothing to do with this!"
Seto rolled his eyes. "You're losing your touch, old man. It's called lying. It's a PR move!"
Mokie stood up and stepped clear of the couch. His eyes were flinty. One hand was on the butt of his weapon. "You look perturbed," he murmured. "Disappointed, even. What's wrong? Did you think you could use this whole situation to zero in on Kaiba-Corp's heir apparent? Get one over on Mokuba and steal Seto away under the guise of keeping him safe from the boogeyman?"
Seto hopped off the couch next, and crossed his arms.
"Or maybe you're just pissy because you know better. You know your real boss is responsible for the monsters around the city. How dare I take credit for his work. But how can you say that to me without admitting that you're working for him and not for me? How can you come in here and cajole me into a vulnerable spot so you can do whatever bull-crap you have in mind for me, if I'm not going to believe you in the first place?"
Daimon's face was slack. Like it was melting.
Seto's eyes flared, and all of a sudden Noa felt a deep wash of shame over ever doubting this boy's identity.
"Daimon is dead. And even if you were him, you sure as hell wouldn't have been let back onto the grounds. So cut the crap. What are you really here for?"
The man who would be Daimon clenched his teeth.
And his fists.
But he forcibly calmed, reached up and removed his glasses. As he pulled out a kerchief and began to polish them, he said:
"Our mission is quite simple, Bocchama. We're here to bring you to your father."
