Chapter 6: Looking for a Fight

"Coordinates ahead," said Roland over the radio.

Yori finally stowed her deck, sitting up in her seat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Joey craning for a view. Ahead, a gray metal ship broke the expanse of glittering blue. With a tense jaw, Yori watched it steadily grow until she could see a white-dragon jet on its deck.

Roland released a sigh that she saw rather than heard; his arms relaxed from their death-grip on the helicopter's controls.

"He didn't crash," the bodyguard said quietly.

"No." Yori rubbed her bracelet. "He was captured."

Grim, but definitely better than the alternative. She couldn't rescue a drowned Seto, but a prisoner, she could. She'd have Dante melt any wall in the way.

No one said a word as they descended. Yori released her harness early, ready to leap from the helicopter to face the threat, but even after they settled on the deck and the blades swung to a lethargic stop, no movement broke the surface of the ship. Seto's jet had its canopy up and a boarding ladder at its side, clearly deserted by both its occupants.

"Guess we gotta search," said Joey.

The four of them clambered out of the helicopter, Roland keeping a wary eye on Krisalyn as if he feared she might bolt. She looked a bit ill, but she didn't run, didn't even take the lead. Yori did that, striding toward the ship's tower door until Roland's voice from behind made her restrain her pace.

"It's not wise to separate," he said.

"Then walk faster," she shot back.

Inwardly she winced. First Yami, now Roland. She was snapping at people who didn't deserve it, but her insides were a tangle of emotions she didn't have time to sort out.

First, save Seto. Nothing else mattered until she accomplished that.

Though she waited for the group to be close, she still threw open the door and entered the ship ahead of them. Compared to the blaring open sunlight outside, the bright fluorescents of the ship's interior still seemed dim, and as Yori swept her gaze through the hallway, her bracelet tingled with anticipation, begging to be used. Shadows whispered at the edges of her mind.

She shook them off. There wasn't room to summon a dragon here. Besides, there was no threat yet.

Waving for the others to follow, she began to explore. At first, she stepped quietly, but Joey didn't have a stealthy bone in his body, and between his stomping and the loud click of Krisalyn's heels—heels, of all the impractical things—Yori quickly abandoned the idea of stealth.

They found a door leading downward, already ajar, and they followed it into a metal-and-wire nightmare.

Joey gave a little squeal. "Ain't those body-snatcher pods? Man, this is how the alien movies start!"

In a quick glance, Yori took in the room. Large, empty space, cables across the floor, three pods in the center. Two glowed more brightly than the third. Along the room's far edge sat a series of control panels and screens.

One visible occupant. A slender man with silken hair any model would envy and a velvet suit that should only have been worn by one.

"Zigfried!" Krisalyn cried out, rushing forward.

At least now Yori could see where the girl got her fashion sense.

Eyes wide with shock, Zigfried caught Kris in a hug. Those eyes quickly narrowed as he took in the rest of them.

"You must be Kris's brother," said Joey. From his flat tone, it seemed he didn't know how to feel about that.

"Where is Mr. Kaiba?" Roland demanded.

Yori had a guess, and she'd already slunk over to the pods. As she reached for one of the two brighter pods, Zigfried spoke sharply.

"Nein. Stop zere. A forcible removal is dangerous."

Well, that confirmed her suspicions. Fire flared in her veins as she stared the lowlife down. "What have you done to Seto and Mokuba?"

"Nossing zey did not volunteer for zemselves." Bracing his hands on Krisalyn's shoulders, he pushed back from his sister, betrayal in his expression. "Schwesterherz, du hast sie hierher geführt?"

"Hey," Yori snapped, speaking over the top of Kris's response. "You can have your reunion later. First, you let Seto and Mokuba go."

"I cannot do zat," Zigfried said coolly. "But zere is an empty pod should you wish to join zem."

Roland hadn't moved since entering the room, and he stood with his hands in his pockets in what might have been construed as a casual posture if it weren't for the way his corded muscles strained against his suit jacket. His expression could have been forged in steel for all its rigidity.

When he spoke, his voice held the same steel. "Mr. von Schroeder, your sister has negotiated on your behalf. If you end things here, we'll press charges for corporate espionage but no worse. However, if you don't take the bargain in the next three minutes, your future is going to get very grim. Life in prison, perhaps." He paused meaningfully. "I suggest you cut your losses."

Zigfried muttered what could only be a German curse. His pale green eyes, identical to Krisalyn's, focused on his sister with raw, obvious pain.

If he weren't a slimy kidnapper, Yori might have felt bad for him, but he'd made this bed himself. While he was distracted, she turned her focus to the pod beside her, searching for any kind of power button or deactivation switch. She found nothing; all the controls must have been at Zigfried's panel.

"Es tut mir Leid, Z." Krisalyn's voice broke. "Es tut mir ehrlich Leid."

With another curse, her brother stepped away from her. "Fine," he said to Roland. "You have won. Seto Kaiba always wins, nein? I have been ze fool."

As he moved to the control panel, Joey crossed the room to stand beside Krisalyn. He lifted his hands, then didn't seem to know what to do with them and dropped them, offering her a dim smile instead. Though her expression remained downcast, she shifted to stand closer to him.

Yori folded her arms and bounced one foot, full of a nervous energy with nowhere to go. She'd anticipated a fight, even looked forward to one. A fight gave her something to do, a space where she could operate on instinct and adrenaline without worrying about her feelings. But the enemy had surrendered—Seto and Mokuba were about to be free.

Which left her with no barrier between herself and the lingering fear in her heart, the shadow of a monster she'd not quite banished.

Yami's voice whispered in her memory. It's a harrowing experience to be trapped in the shadows. I am here for you. However you need. I just . . . wanted you to know.

No one had ever offered her comfort like that before. After Haku, after the worst experiences in her gang, after she'd nearly killed someone, she'd never had anyone to talk to about it. She'd always been alone, and she'd dealt with those feelings the way she always did. Shove them down, lock them up, move on.

Clearly a champion strategy, since she was such a paragon of stability.

She should have talked to Yami when he'd offered. Really talked. Instead, she'd run. Even now, with regret pricking her conscience, it still wasn't as strong as the instinct to keep running. If only—

A shift in Zigfried's movements drew her attention. After wrestling multiple times with the same set of switches, he'd moved to a keyboard. His typing now grew more frantic. When his silky hair fell forward across his shoulder, he didn't even pause to toss it back.

"What's wrong?" Yori demanded.

"Ze program will not terminate," he said.

Roland hurried over to the panel, but Yori stayed where she was. She'd never even handled a computer before; she was useless in this situation.

Zigfried waved the man off. "I have an override. Alles gut." Yet after a long stretch of tense silence, he was still working.

"What about a back door?" Roland asked.

"Ich versuche!" Zigfried snapped. "Something inside fights me. Someone . . ."

He finally tossed his hair back and moved to another spot at the controls, muttering to himself. In a string of German, Yori caught the name Kaiba, but it didn't make sense for Seto to be fighting to keep himself trapped.

"What exactly is this 'program,' anyway?" Joey asked with narrowed eyes.

"A virtual reality system." Zigfried grunted, pausing as if to think. "Ze program was half-finished when I discovered it, an ingenious system based on human memory. Ze problem wiss virtual reality, you see, has always been interfacing wiss ze brain. Complex, difficult to communicate, difficult to trick. But by building a world from memories, ze realism is . . . it is . . . angeboren. Innate."

"Wait, so you just invited Rich-boy over to play VR? What, for kicks? I thought this was some kinda elaborate revenge plot!"

Zigfried sent the blond boy a withering glare. "Ze plot, as you so eloquently phrase, is more zan my technology. It is delivering Seto Kaiba to his worst enemy, ze man wiss more desire for revenge zan even I—his fazer."

"What?" said Roland sharply.

"Inside zis program"—Zigfried stood a little taller—"is ze mind of Gozaburo Kaiba."

Yori remembered a Battle City duel with masked Ghouls, remembered their accusations that Seto had murdered his father. She didn't believe that for a second. But Zigfried's words meant Seto was facing an enemy at this very moment.

It meant he needed help, and it meant there was a fight.

"Plug me in," she said.

All eyes shot to her.

She nodded toward the single remaining pod. "You figure out whatever's wrong with the system, but in the meantime, plug me in."


Mokuba ran.

He darted through the unfamiliar ghost of his bedroom, threw open the door, and dashed into a darkened hallway. The Kaiba Mansion felt as real to him as it ever had, but it was the worst version of his home—the one Gozaburo had decorated, not Seto. Empty hallways and cold white lights. No color. No life. He was completely alone, fleeing down the hallways of memory.

Finally, he slid down the banister of the main stairway, stumbling as he hit the marble floor at the bottom. He rushed to the front door and burst through it, anticipating the sunlight, already feeling the heat.

But it wasn't sunlight.

It was his bedroom. Noah stood at the far end by the open French doors, watching him with a blank expression.

Mokuba swore.

In the back of his mind, Seto's voice whispered, Language. Would he even say that now? Did Priest Seth care about anything Mokuba said? If he disapproved, would he just kill Mokuba the way he killed the thieves and vandals of Egypt?

Mokuba's skin had gone cold. His legs trembled. Since there was clearly no escape, he stepped into the room and slammed the door after him. He glared at the wall with a pointed ferocity—the spot where his bookcase should have been—and after a moment, the wall flickered. The outline of a bookshelf ghosted into view.

"S-top that," said Noah.

"If I'm stuck here," Mokuba snapped, "it should at least be my room."

He continued glaring at the wall, focusing on it so hard his eye twitched and his head ached. It felt like pushing against a closed door, feeling the wood bend in the center but knowing it would never escape the frame.

Until, suddenly, the invisible door burst open. Mokuba's bookshelf appeared in full color, along with his posters and the spellcaster curtains around his bed. The ceiling above him trailed glow-in-the-dark stars until they halted abruptly at the center of the room. The room's far side still held the desk with its textbooks and the music stand with its violin.

"You ca-n have that half," Noah said, his tone almost petulant. His gaze flickered toward the ceiling. "Wh-at are those?"

"Stars. Seto put them up for me." Pain scraped Mokuba's throat as he swallowed.

Noah's expression darkened. "If y-ou stop loving hi-m, it won't hurt that he doesn't l-ove you."

Mokuba's hands curled into fists. "Shut up. You don't know anything about us."

Lifting one shoulder in his signature shrug, Noah turned back to the screens. Then they all turned black, and he glitched back a step, as if thrown by an invisible force. When the screens flickered back to life, only half of them showed Seto.

The other half sported a familiar redhead.

"Yori!" With a gasp, Mokuba dashed forward. He wasn't paying attention, and he collided with Noah.

At least, he should have.

Instead, his arm passed straight through the other boy, breaking the image of his torso into a jagged swirl of purple pixels. Noah hissed, his furious eyes locked right on Mokuba's while all Mokuba could do was gape.

Finally, Noah wrenched away, and his form solidified again—not completely, still made of jagged edges and digital colors.

"What's wrong with you?" Mokuba didn't mean to phrase it like that. His stomach fell.

Noah was silent. He slid his hands into his pockets, watching the Seto screens, and his shoulders hunched in the same way Mokuba's had whenever he'd drawn Gozaburo's attention.

"You can tell me." Mokuba tried for a smile. "I mean, I know we just met, and also you've been kind of a jerk so far, but we're . . . We're sort of family, right?"

This was why Mokuba always got kidnapped. Because he tried to make friends with the bad guys—he'd told Pegasus how awesome his Duel Monsters game was and told Marik how cool he looked on his motorcycle. Mokuba was an idiot, and he kept walking himself right into stupid situations that Seto had to pull him out of.

What if Seto didn't pull him out of this one? What if he didn't want to?

"I always wan-ted a brother," Noah whispered.

Mokuba's insides gave a little leap. He grinned. "Well, hey, you've got two. Legally, at least. We—"

"No." Noah's gaze cut to his. "Yo-u're real. I'm not r-eal. I'm just a memory."

He flicked his hand, and the screens in front of them disappeared, replaced by one large window. It showed Gozaburo Kaiba, and Mokuba shrank from his adoptive father's image until he realized Gozaburo's attention wasn't on him. It was on the young child at his feet, a boy with black hair and gray eyes, tugging at Gozaburo's suit jacket with building tears. Gozaburo's glare sharpened on the boy. A nanny hurried forward to pull the child away.

"You haven't visited," she said, her words spilling in a rush. "I only thought seeing his father at least once—"

"You were hired to do a job," Gozaburo said. "Obviously, you are incapable, so you're fired. If I ever see you again, you'll wish you'd never heard the Kaiba name."

With another mumbled apology, she scurried off, casting one backwards glance at little Noah.

Noah. Mokuba's chest tightened as he looked at the boy. Somehow, he knew Noah was five in the memory, and Mokuba knew exactly how it felt to be five years old, looking up at Gozaburo and hoping for love. Finding contempt instead. At least Mokuba had Seto.

Noah stood alone, sniffling at his father's feet.

"Roland," said Gozaburo sharply. "Tend to this while I call in a replacement."

He strode off down the hallway, and Mokuba saw Roland crouch beside Noah just as the memory faded. The window remained, filled by a new image—twelve-year-old Noah in his white school uniform, walking with two other boys his age, all three carrying violin cases.

"Mahler?" The stocky boy on Noah's left mimed gagging. "Why would you choose a Mahler piece? If you want to win the audition, Strauss is best!"

"Strauss is only best," the other boy interjected, "if you want to put the judges to sleep."

As the first boy scowled, the second one elbowed Noah, and they laughed together. Noah's laughter echoed off the school building beside them, bright and unrestrained. His gray eyes danced.

"No, it's genius," Noah said. "Put them to sleep, write in the points, et voilà." His smile sharpened. "But I prefer a challenge. That's why I'm playing Mahler's 5th."

With wonder, Mokuba glanced between the Noah in the image and the one beside him. It wasn't just a difference of hair or eye color. The Noah in the image was vibrant, bursting with life. The one beside Mokuba was one glitch from disappearing entirely.

As one of his friends started grappling with the other, they fell a few steps behind, and Noah took the lead, shaking his head with amusement. As he walked, he dipped one hand into the messenger bag at his side, fishing until he extracted a page of sheet music. He flipped it to the back, scanning the notes, murmuring something to himself.

At the edge of the schoolyard, he stepped onto the crosswalk without looking.

He heard the speeding engine of the car before he saw it.

The blue sedan didn't even hit the brakes.

Mokuba felt the impact in his own spine, a force that shuddered through his skeleton and staggered him back a few steps.

The frantic shouts died away, and the image faded, leaving Mokuba alone with the digital Noah, both of them staring down at the mansion's garden.

"R-oland told you I died," said Noah. "I did. A point-less, stupid death."

Mokuba swallowed hard. "I'm sorry." He glanced at the other boy. "But how . . ."

"I was in a c-oma. The doctors said I wouldn't m-ak-e it. But my father built this program, and he uploa-ded my memories. He saved me. As m-uch as I could be saved."

Mokuba frowned, though he felt guilty for doing so. He should have been happy to hear Gozaburo had one sliver of heart in his chest, enough to do something good for at least one of his sons. But that was just the thing—he'd never seen evidence of even a sliver. As awful as it felt to admit, he didn't think Gozaburo would save his own son's life unless he thought he could get something out of it.

When Seto had been in the control room with Zigfried, something about the chess game had spooked him deeply, made him determined to enter the virtual world. As soon as he'd seen Noah, he'd been convinced it was Gozaburo, back from the dead.

"Noah . . ." When Mokuba's voice faltered, he drew in a breath and tried again. "Gozaburo's here, isn't he? The way you are."

As Noah nodded, Mokuba's heart dropped to his shoes.

But it only got worse.

"Father nee-ds my help," Noah said. "To t-ake over Seto."


Note: An update only seems fitting for my birthday week. :D Enjoy!