Welcome to another chapter! FYI, Marik's ship here is NOT the launch you see in the show. I imagine him having a few ships (like the literal pirate ship we see in one flashback). The ship we're seeing here is the size of a small cruise. Now then, hope you enjoy 😀
Chapter Three: The Box
With the sack obscuring her vision and ropes chafing her wrists, A'isha had no choice but to let herself be shoved down by her shoulders. Whatever she was shoved onto was soft, groaning briefly under her weight.
A cold voice cleaved through empty space, much too close for comfort. "Leave us." The sound of retreating steps echoed, concluded by a muted thud from a door to her left.
That's when it dawned on her - the soft surface, it was a bed. Oh God! At that revelation, deep and steady breaths were her anchor as she wrestled with her rising panic, determined to avoid another round of hyperventilation. She wouldn't let anxiety get the better of her again. And she sure as hell wouldn't let these creeps touch her.
The sack was yanked from her head, light flooding her vision and forcing her to squint until her eyes refocused. She almost wished they hadn't. Marik was sitting there. Right across from her. Knees so close she could feel his damn body heat.
"Ish," he uttered a nickname that had no place on his lips. "Welcome to your cabin."
Her… cabin? Her eyes darted around the room - tiny, bland, zero personality. A sterile blend of white walls and pale wooden furnishings, with only the bed, a desk and a freestanding closet. But something was missing. Amara! Where was Amara? A'isha thrashed against her bindings, trying to scream out for her, but the gag reduced her voice to a muffled whimper.
Marik, the sick bastard, looked perfectly at ease. He leaned back in his chair, threading his hands behind his head. "Why you care so much about that feeble-minded child is beyond me. Two seconds in her poor excuse for a brain was all I needed to know she's nothing but a source of pain and annoyance for you."
Her eyes narrowed on him. If he'd done something to Amara, she'd… she'd— She tugged against her bindings with renewed fervour, her eyes honing in on his gold-smothered neck. Maybe she could add a purple necklace. With her hands.
Marik snorted and stood from his chair, pushing it back silently. "If you allowed your senses to lead instead of emotion, you'd realise your cousin's right here." He gripped A'isha's arm, hoisting her up and far too near to him—
Recoiling from his touch, she stumbled backward, a glass window shaking as she steadied herself against it. And as she whirled back around to face Marik, she realised the bed she'd been sitting on was part of a frame that contained a bunk. And on the top bunk lay the (hopefully) sleeping figure of her cousin.
A hand slammed against the window beside her head, and she spun to see it attached to the rest of Marik's disgustingly close body. His gaze travelled downwards, "Let's remove those, shall we?"
The gag became suffocating, stifling her quickened breaths. He couldn't— He wouldn't— Amara was right there, for Christ's sake!
He rolled his eyes, muttering something in a foreign language. "The tape and rope, girl. Not your attire."
A small dose of relief calmed her breathing, but her glare stayed. Excuse her for thinking the worst of him!
"First, I'll remove the tape," he warned, but she still flinched as he ripped it off. She spat the rag from her mouth in record time, fighting the urge to spit in his face and call him every cuss under the sun. "Now face the window," he ordered, and fresh memories hit her - of the parking lot, his body flush against her, arm curling around her body as he took his sweet time reaching for the phone in her back pocket. If she resisted, he'd most definitely make her relive that sickening moment.
A'isha begrudgingly turned away, finding herself staring out that window, the room's only one. It spanned a whole wall. But more surprising was the view. He'd called this a cabin, and that explained why Alexandria's skyline was shrinking into the distance, the buildings becoming tiny pinpricks against the expanse of the sea. Shit! This was worse than she thought. They were on a ship, meaning he could take them anywhere. Other countries. Hell, other continents! If he even planned to keep them around. He could just as easily chain them to an anchor and throw them overboard.
Marik's fingertips ghosted over her wrists, jolting her from her thoughts. His hands were warm, soft. In another world, she might've described them as comforting, but here and now, the saying 'warm hands, cold heart' fit perfectly.
"I trust it hasn't escaped your notice that even without my servants, overpowering me would be a fruitless endeavour." Her nose crinkled at the reminder of the Millennium Rod, and even worse, at his shameless willingness to use it. She tensed as he inched closer, his chest grazing her back and his lips one measly breath from her ear. "Well?"
When she willed herself to nod, the rope slackened around her wrists. Her glare came naturally as she spun to face him, her elbows knocking into the glass window behind her. She barely fought the urge to throw a fist at his stupid, chiselled jaw. Maybe if she did, she'd knock him out. If not, she'd keep hitting him until she did. Then she'd drag Amara from the top bunk and head for the exit, whichever door that was of the two across the room. But Amara was out cold, they were on a ship crawling with Rare Hunters, and Marik was a mind-controlling maniac. The odds were stacked so high against her she'd need a space telescope to see where they ended. "I can't wait for a front row seat to your trial." Her voice was scratchy. Probably from screaming through that damn gag.
Marik laughed. "I'm pleased my title as The R.H. hasn't crushed your tenacity."
Clearing her throat, she strived for a snarky tone. "You know what happens to pretty boys in prison, right?"
"Ah, so you find me attractive?" Of course he just heard what he wanted to hear.
"I like men, not boys."
He cocked a brow, leaning in so close that she could make out each and every pore on his face. "And by your definition, what constitutes a man?"
Every fibre of her being urged her to step back, but that was basically synonymous with stepping down, and no way would she give him that satisfaction. "Think of your traits. Now think of the antonyms for them."
"Lazy, irrational, incapable, and vacuous?" The heat of his breath burned against her skin. "If that's your contention of what constitutes masculinity, you're in dire need of a paradigm shift."
"I don't know what fancy speak they use on your planet, but no one talks like that on earth anymore."
"I'm talented with my tongue. It'd be a waste not to utilise it." With half-lidded eyes, he tilted his head, parting his lips like an invitation. "Still not interested?"
"Try anything funny and I'll rip off your dick."
Both of his brows shot up, but the slight upward curve of his lips spelt his amusement quite clearly. "I'm of the opinion that coitus should only take place with mutual consent."
A bitter laugh escaped her. "Oh, so now consent matters to you?"
"Consent always matters when it comes to intimacy."
She snorted. "Good to know your Millenium Rod doesn't do all the work for you."
"Why would it need to do anything at all"—he gestured to himself—"when I have this?"
Oh please! So what, he was toned enough to grate cheese on. And his hair was striking against his dark skin. And he had piercing lavender eyes and full lips— She needed to not think about his lips, which had stretched into a nauseating smirk. "You have nothing, Marik."
"Is that so?" His hand snatched her chin, forcing her closer, his lips a mere breath from her own. She'd been The Tall Girl all her life, but the way he looked down his stupidly straight nose at her made her feel so very small. "Because from where I'm standing, I have my staggering wealth, razor sharp wit, incomparable good looks"—his thumb dared to trace her lips—"and now I have you."
She bit at his wandering hand, but he pulled it back just in time, her teeth harmlessly grazing the tip of his thumb. Bastard! He anticipated her actions suspiciously well. Was he in her head along with Amara's? "If you're so pro consent, keep your fucking hands to yourself!"
"Feisty, aren't you?" With his eyes fixed on her, he sauntered across the cabin to the wider of two doors. "Perhaps I'll return once you're feeling more… civilised."
She shot him a mocking smile. "Do me a favour and hold your breath."
Marik mirrored her smile with the ease of an A-lister. "Do me a favour and hold onto your fire." He turned away, chuckling to his lowly self. "It keeps my day interesting."
A'isha maintained her glare, first at him, then at the door as he closed it behind him. The click of the lock echoed like a judge's gavel, sentencing her to her fate. Exactly what that fate was remained to be seen, but if she had her way, it involved a well-executed escape and a well-executed execution.
A snore came from the top bunk. Amara! A'isha rushed up the bunk ladder to find her cousin curled up in the bedsheets, her long, black hair clinging to a patch of drool on her cheek. "Mar," she said, reaching for the sleeping girl's shoulder. But her hand paused halfway there. Marik. Could he still be controlling her?
A'isha's hand changed course, carefully pushing back Amara's fringe. No glowing eye. A sigh of relief escaped her lips, or maybe it was a hiss of dread. There was no telling if Marik's control needed a visible sign, but for now, she clung to that hope.
"Mar?" She shook Amara's shoulder. "Mar, wake up! Are you okay? Tell me you're okay." And not still being controlled by a jewellery-obsessed megalomaniac.
"Piss ooooff," Amara whined, swatting at A'isha's hand before rolling away. The tone, her groggy intolerance; it was classic Mar. And the flat, vacant drone of voice she'd had under Marik's control was thankfully absent. Maybe he really had checked out of her head.
"Amara, wake up! We're in danger."
The girl threw back the sheets and lurched up in bed, scrunching her face like a toddler forced to eat her greens. "What?" she snapped, only for all annoyance to fall from her face in a single blink as she took in the room. "Wait, where are we?"
A'isha's tongue hit the roof of her mouth. How was she supposed to answer that? Or delicately explain to Amara that she'd been mind-controlled by a crime boss wielding a magic stick, something she didn't even seem to recall? "Okay. This is going to be hard to believe, but—"
"Oh. My. Gosh." Amara pushed her way down the ladder and raced to the window, her button nose smearing the glass as she took in the view of the Alexandria skyline. Shit, it was shrinking quickly! "Did Mum surprise me with a cruise? I mean, I did get that B in Geography last week."
Words died on A'isha's lips as Amara rambled on, oblivious as always. She clenched her hands and swallowed hard. Focus. They had to get off this ship. "Amara, this isn't a cruise. We've been kidnapped by the Rare Hunters. We need to escape, and fast."
Amara stared at her for a good three seconds, then snorted out a laugh. "Right! Next you'll be telling me guys don't think about sex every seven seconds."
A'isha bit back her frustration. "Look," she said, gripping Amara's shoulders with hands that shook despite herself, "I know this seems crazy, but every second we spend talking is a second we waste not escaping. Please, Mar—"
Amara dusted A'isha's hands off of her shoulders. "Is this, like, payback for me borrowing your bus money last week? I already said sorry! Let it go already."
A'isha felt an eye twitch. If Amara hadn't 'borrowed' her bus money and made her walk home in Alexandria's worst storm in a decade, she'd have never been mugged and learnt Marik's name in the first place! "Fine. Don't believe me. I've wasted enough time talking to you."
As Amara muttered something about Ahad being stingy for making them share a room, A'isha scoured their small and hopefully very temporary cabin. No vents in the ceiling or the plain white walls, but ew ew ew, there was a camera in one corner. Nothing under the bunk or behind the desk, which matched the chair Marik had tainted with his occupancy. And the closet was drilled to the wall, stocked with nothing but towels and basic toiletries—
Knock, knock.
"I've brought food," a deep voice called from outside. "May I come in?"
A'isha faced the wider door, her pulse thrumming. It didn't sound like Marik, but it had to be a Rare Hunter, and they sure weren't known for their pure intentions. She glanced at Amara, who'd actually stopped talking. Maybe this unexpected visitor would bring her to her senses.
Positioning herself between the door and her cousin, A'isha managed to keep her voice steady as she answered, "Leave the food on the desk and go." So she could get back to finding a way out.
The door opened, and Amara gasped as a burly Rare Hunter entered, holding a plastic tray. A'isha's gaze flicked to the open door. An opportunity, maybe? But a cloaked hand reached in, closing and locking it. Damn! Was someone standing guard outside?
"Apologies for the intrusion, Miss A'isha, Miss Amara." With his tall and muscular stature, a heavy brow ridge that hardened his stare, and hieroglyphs literally carved down half of his face, this man was the definition of intimidating - but his soft-spoken voice gave A'isha pause. "I wasn't sure you'd eaten today," he said, placing the tray on the desk as instructed - slices of bread, spoons, bowls and a metal thermos. "If you have, the soup should stay warm in the thermos for several hours. I'll collect the dishes this afternoon." By then, A'isha hoped they'd be long gone.
"Okay, you can leave now."
If she'd pissed him off or made him suspicious, his calm expression gave nothing away. "Before I go, just know that should you require anything, there's an intercom for your use." He indicated a white device drilled to the wall by the exit. "Someone will always be at the other end."
"Can't we just speak to the guy outside?" And hey, maybe trick him into unlocking the door so she could knock him out, snag a lifeboat, and paddle to freedom with Amara.
The Rare Hunter's gaze dropped, a crease forming between his brows. "The guards are instructed to keep the door locked," he said, confirming her suspicions and crushing her hopes at once. "Your requests must come through the intercom." He lifted his eyes to meet hers, and by the way they creased, she got the sense he was trying to smile. This whole nice guy act must be an attempt to drop her guard. "I'm Odion, the second-in-command of the Rare Hunters and, aside from Marik, the primary person you'll interact with during your… stay."
From the corner of her eye, she caught Amara giving him a little wave.
A'isha only glared at him - like a normal person.
Finally taking the hint, Odion knocked on the door with a large fist. The guard let him out, and the door closed behind him with a click, just as a horrified squeal left her ears ringing.
"What the hell?" Amara squawked, slapping her manicured hands to her cheeks. "Either this is the best prank ever or you're totes not kidding, and I'm pretty sure you wouldn't know a good prank if it hit you in the face."
"I wish I was pranking you, Mar, but this is real." The words tumbled out, rushed and desperate. "Now, will you help me find a way out?"
"But I have so many questions!"
A'isha hesitated. How to explain the shitstorm they were in? "Long story short"—she weighed her words carefully—"one of the creeps who mugged me let it slip that The R.H.'s name is Marik. Marik didn't like that, so he and his goons showed up at our house, knocked us out with chloroform, and now we're trapped here." Okay, so she'd left out some magical details. She didn't know how to explain them, and Amara needed to stop asking questions and start thinking about escaping. "You with me now?"
"I think so," Amara drawled, nodding slowly. "You can fill in the gaps once we've busted out."
Despite everything, A'isha couldn't help but smile. "Deal. Now let's Shawshank it up in here!"
Marik reclined in his plush leather office chair, feet perched on the slick glass desk – modern and new, a stark contrast to the archaic ways of the Ishtar legacy. He relished the live footage on his laptop of A'isha pacing her cabin, trapped. She stopped at the floor-to-ceiling window, scrutinising its edges, her breaths fogging the glass as she perhaps considered shattering it. A futile thought - it was bulletproof.
"It's no use, Ish," Amara whined, flouncing out from the bathroom. He wouldn't be surprised if the only thing she'd investigated in there was her reflection. "The walls are solid, the door's guarded, and even if we somehow got out that window, I suck at swimming and it's the middle of December! I don't wanna end up like Jack."
Marik rolled his eyes in tandem with A'isha. Why she insisted on caring about that deadweight was beyond him.
"Unlike Jack," A'isha said, her eyes smouldering as she glared at the window, "I will not let go and you shouldn't either! There must be a way out of this box." He smirked. He'd designed this ship himself. There was no way out without his say-so, but watching her come to that realisation would be quite the spectacle.
Four inconsistent knocks thudded off the pristine white walls of his quarters. It wasn't his brother, Odion, who always knocked twice in quick succession. Another Rare Hunter had dared to disturb his fun.
"What is it?" Marik demanded, straightening in his chair.
With palpable trepidation, a Rare Hunter tiptoed inside, a smartphone trembling in his grasp. "Master, we have Lady Benu on the line," he stammered, raising the device as if it were an olive branch.
Lady Benu, second-in-command of a rival group, The Cobras, was a constant thorn in his side. A year ago, he had infiltrated the renowned Louvre in pursuit of Slifer The Sky Dragon, the God card his sister, Ishizu, had futilely secured there. He'd anticipated the locked vault, but not a sneak attack from Benu, a woman he'd only heard whispers about. Before he could react, she'd disarmed him of the Millennium Rod, and he'd shaken with rage as she'd held a flame to Slifer, forcing him to barter for it. Her team's precise movements, their calm demeanour, and an undeniably smug face she'd concealed behind a damn balaclava – it all made his blood boil. He was The R.H., infamously powerful, yet he'd been rendered helpless in mere moments. It would not happen again.
Marik glared at the Rare Hunter cowering before him, still holding the smartphone. "And you deemed it necessary to interrupt me for her call, why?"
The fool kept his head low. "She claims to have a business proposition for you—"
Marik's laptop speakers erupted with a loud bang. A'isha, driven by desperation, had hurled their cabin's only chair at the window in a futile attempt to break free. Despite her impressive show of force, the window remained unscathed, but her tenacity was commendable, he'd give her that. A wave of satisfaction washed over him; as expected, his plan had gone flawlessly. A'isha was no longer a threat, and as an added bonus, would perhaps alleviate the sense of monotony aboard his ship.
After handing over the smartphone, the Rare Hunter bowed his way out of the room, and as the door closed behind him, Marik afforded himself a deep breath, steeling himself for a conversation with Lady Benu. "Speak," he ordered through the line, leaning forward in his chair.
An airy laugh came through the speaker. "Why hello, Mr R.H. Still sore over buying Slifer? If you ask me, ten million was a steal."
Marik's grip on the phone tightened. She was testing his patience. "You have five seconds to convince me not to hang up."
She didn't miss a beat. "Open the top right drawer of your desk."
His eyes narrowed. Had that vexing little bird snuck aboard and rifled through his belongings? Cautiously, he reached for the handle and pulled open the drawer, where among meticulously organised documents, he discovered a Duel Monster card: Zera The Mant. Even as his eyes widened, a pang of frustration rooted itself in his chest. Once this call was over, he'd see to it that not even Benu would be capable of infiltrating his ship. With two captives aboard, the last thing he needed was mediocre security. "Surely," he began, "you know Zera The Mant is useless without Zera Ritual."
She huffed out a laugh. "It's a good thing I have it with me, along with lots of other shiny, rare cards."
Marik could just picture her, clad head-to-toe in her signature black attire, smugly flicking Zera Ritual between her gloved fingers.
"So, Blondie, why don't you meet me and my employer for dinner this Saturday? We'll strike a deal."
"Why should I trust you?"
She snorted through the phone. "If I wanted you dead, I'd spike your coffee, not leave an early Christmas present."
Silence came over the line as Marik weighed his options. Trusting Benu was undoubtedly a risk, but he had to admit that once he located the Pharaoh, Zera The Mant could certainly prove useful against him. "I choose the meeting location," he insisted, seizing the upper hand. "Any other terms will be relayed to you within the next twenty-four hours."
"It's a date," Benu teased. "Oh, and don't forget your plus one. Preferably someone with people skills. And lady parts. I'm sick of being surrounded by men comparing sizes."
Glancing at his laptop, Marik watched A'isha pace back and forth in her cabin, staring daggers at the window. A sly smile formed on his face. "Rest assured, little Benu, I'll bring someone who measures up in every way that matters. Prepare to be impressed."
Sleep had abandoned A'isha. Unlike Amara, whose ability to doze off in seconds was almost alien, she'd tossed and turned all night on the uncomfortable lower bed. She could shut her eyes to the cramped confines of their tiny cabin, but it was impossible to shut off her brain to the suffocating weight of their situation. Their kidnapping replayed in her mind like a horror film, each moment scrutinised, every decision dissected, a dose of doubt whispering that despite scouring the cabin countless times, she'd missed an obvious way out. The constant hum of the ship's engine didn't help. It was just another reminder of where they were and why. Was this all her fault?
As the first light of dawn leaked through the closed curtains at the foot of the bunk, A'isha's thoughts were interrupted by three sharp knocks, echoing through the quiet cabin. Her brow furrowed, heart quickening. Who could that be at such an ungodly hour?
Leaping from her bed, A'isha was halfway to the door when it swung open and Marik barged in, no regard for privacy or personal space. She should've known. He flicked the blinding light on and left the door ajar, taunting her with a glimpse of freedom like a carrot dangled before a hungry rabbit. A rabbit in front of a ravenous wolf.
Anger surged through her as she crossed her arms, taking in his appearance - fully dressed and groomed, jewellery and all, as if ready to take on the day before it had begun. Why was he here? And how could anyone look so put together before the sun was even up? His presence was offensive enough as is. "You said you'd return once I'm feeling more civilised. I'm not, so piss off."
Marik's Millennium Rod, tucked beneath his belt, shifted as he leaned against the wall. Even if he hadn't been blocking the door, he could probably use it to stop her dead in her tracks if she made one wrong move. His gaze locked onto hers, a challenging glint in his eyes. There was no doubt he knew what she was thinking. "A shame," he said, his suspicions going unspoken. "I'm here with a proposition you'd be loath to refuse."
What was he up to? "Unless you're proposing to release us, I'm not interested."
"Not even if said proposition involves leaving my ship?"
Those words became the new carrot, but no way would she bite. She looked at the top bunk, seeking Amara's input. The girl was upright in bed, but the tell-tale glow beneath her dishevelled fringe indicated that she wasn't truly awake. A'isha spun back to her captor. "Let her go!"
Marik scoffed. "And put my ears through unneeded affliction? I think not." He pushed off the wall and took a step closer.
Her leg twitched, tempted to retreat, but her defiance took the reins, refusing to abide.
"Answer my question, Ish."
"Don't call me that."
"I'll address you however I please, and I'll only ask nicely once more." He took another step closer, daring her to retreat. "Answer my question, my dear captive, who has played right into my hands from the moment we met."
A'isha's fists clenched, aching to be unleashed upon his smug, pretty boy face. Instead, she mustered every ounce of courage and closed the remaining sliver of distance between them, looking him dead in the eye. "Go to hell," she growled through her teeth, "and take your gaggle of name-blurting morons with you."
Marik grinned, flashing white teeth. "Ah, such a fiery spirit. I do enjoy your tenacity." But in an instant, his grin vanished, and another step closer forced her to either suffer an inch of space between them or step backward. She did the latter, only to hit the curtain-covered window. With deliberate and unsettling intent, he pinned his hand above her, trapping her in place. The coolness of the glass seeped through the curtain, but Marik's chilling words were what truly sent shivers down her neck, "Even my patience has its limits, and you don't want to know what happens when you wear it thin." Abruptly, he withdrew, and his voice carried an air of expectation as he continued, "I'll return later today. I hope that by then, you'll have found the sense to be more cooperative. If not"—he let those words hang in the air—"I have no shortage of ways to persuade you." Turning on his heel, Marik closed the door behind him, the click of the lock a mocking echo through the room.
A'isha slackened, tension passing from her lips in one long, shaky exhale. Then she straightened, correcting the brief lapse in her composure. Regret reared its ugly head. What were the odds of Marik later seeing that through his CreepCam?
Amara laid back into her pillow, that sickening glow fading from her forehead; the girl's face crumpled for a moment, before settling back into peaceful repose. The temptation to wake her, to seek comfort, tugged at A'isha's resolve. But the risk was too great. It could lead to Amara learning of Marik's takeovers of her mind, and revealing his control over her would only serve to freak her out or think A'isha was messing around.
With a heavy sigh, A'isha quietly retreated to the closest thing to a refuge in this box - the tiny bathroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it, allowing herself a moment to collect her thoughts among the white fixtures. The cramped space, which seemed to be free of cameras, still offered little in the way of comfort, but at least it shielded her from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears.
Her mind raced, a whirlwind of fear, anger, and frustration battling for dominance, but she had to keep a clear head, to find a way out of this labyrinth that Marik had thrown them in. He'd made it abundantly clear that defiance would come with consequences, and as much as it pained her, she couldn't afford to underestimate the lengths he would go to assert his power.
Minutes slipped away, and A'isha gathered her resolve, wiping away any trace of vulnerability from her face. Weakness wasn't an option; she had to stay strong and focused, because this wasn't just about her own survival - it was about protecting Amara. Let the arrogant jerk think what he wanted; she would find a way to outsmart him. "We'll get out of this mess, Amara. I won't let him break us."