There's a lot I could say about this part of the story, but I think I'll keep it condensed to this: I don't think I understood Mokuba very well when I started this story. I don't think I understood Mokuba very well for most of the time I've written for this franchise.
But I think I learned quite a lot about him as I wrote the original "Good Intentions" story, and it's made for a very interesting journey.
I think this section showcases what I'm talking about.
There's always more to Mokuba Kaiba than what you see on the surface.
.
Mokuba remembered his brother telling him once that, if you met someone who looked exactly like yourself, you wouldn't be able to recognize them. "You only know your own face in reflection," he'd said, "and so a doppelganger would look foreign to you, because everything would be flipped."
It crossed the young Kaiba's mind that he should tell Seto—once he woke up—how right he'd been, because Mokuba didn't recognize the other boy. Not on any kind of instinctive level, anyway. There were so many little shifts and changes and weird little tweaks that he couldn't think of this boy as anything but . . . just another boy. But he knew who he was looking at; there was no use in pretending there was any other explanation. The truth was staring him in the face, daring him to defy it.
The other Mokuba let out the breath he'd been holding. "You're older than I figured you'd be," he said, in a voice that would have sounded just as foreign as he looked if Mokuba hadn't gotten so used to hearing his own voice on television.
Mokuba affected a casual air, like his double seemed to be doing. "What year is it where you're from?" he asked.
"1999," said the other Mokuba.
"Whoo-boy." Mokuba chuckled humorlessly. "Yeah, okay. That's not surprising, I guess." He waved a hand. "It's well into the new millennium over here." He put his hands against his hips, still moving no closer to the boy. "So. He sent you to slip in unnoticed, did he? Made promises? All you had to do was put an end to a little problem of his? And you figured, well, what does it matter? It's not like he's my brother."
The other Mokuba's face went blank; purposefully so.
It was enough.
"Let's say he did," said the other Mokuba. "What happens now?"
Mokuba quirked an eyebrow. He had no way of knowing that, to his double, he was so perfectly channeling his brother right now that it was eerie; he, himself, felt like a cheap fake. "I think that's fairly obvious, don't you?" He reached down, purposefully keeping direct eye contact, as he slipped a compact pistol from the holster strapped to his right ankle and lifted it up. "You give up the chase, chalk this whole thing up to a lost job, or I blow your fucking head off."
The other Mokuba took a step away, toward the door, holding his hands out to the sides, palms open. "Okay," he said, slowly, fear seeping slowly onto his face. "All right. Fine. You win."
Mokuba kept his weapon trained directly at his counterpart's ribs. Center mass. That was what Niisama always said. He called out, loudly, sharply: "Cole! Ridges! In here, now!"
The door flew open, and two suited men strode inside. One, Cole, immediately took hold of the other Mokuba and pulled his hands behind his back; carefully, but firmly. The other, Ridges, placed himself directly in between the two boys.
Mokuba knelt and re-holstered his gun. "Search him," he said. "Put in him a room on another floor. I want two on him and two outside the door. Eyes on him, 24-7. If one of you blinks, you warn the other. If he makes it within a hundred feet of my brother without my, or my brother's, expressed permission again, put him down."
These commands came easily, immediately, and he didn't have time to reflect on what that meant.
"Sir." Ridges gave a sharp nod. He turned to Cole. "Call the boss. We need to set up shifts."
"A'yuh," Cole grunted.
Ridges turned toward the exit. Then he stopped and put a hand on his hip. "By the way. Sir." He turned to regard Mokuba. "Have you heard from Senator Rigby?"
Mokuba's face was impassive. "Not since Christmas, when he sent that fruit basket."
The other Mokuba looked flummoxed, like they'd just quoted a nursery rhyme or discussed a pizza order, but Ridges nodded and signaled Cole. They left the room with Mokuba's double in tow, all business, no questions.
It was code. If, for any reason whatsoever, any member of the Kaibas' staff wasn't sure if they were talking to Mokuba, they asked that question. If he didn't provide that precise answer, to the word, he was to be considered an imposter and dealt with accordingly.
Before the door closed, he called: "Let me know when you have him set up. I need to speak to him, but I'm not doing it here."
Ridges glanced over his shoulder. "Sir," he said.
Mokuba watched his double until the three of them disappeared from his line of sight. He turned and focused his attention on his brother, still prone on the bed. He licked his lips, ran a hand over his face. "I don't think I'm cut out for this, Niisama."
He held up his right hand, with which he'd just threatened to end another life, and watched it shake.
