Chapter One

Knock. Knock. Knock.

"Excuse me Mr. Kaiba."

Seto looked up from his work, removed his glasses, and rubbed the bridge between his nose. He was starting to get a headache and it was only three in the afternoon. Not a good sign. His eyes flicked to the large wooden door, the entrance to his large office. "Yes, what is it?" he asked sharply. He hated being interrupted.

A bland looking man in a business suit that Kaiba recognized as Mr.Griffiths walked toward him, nervously holding a newspaper. The poor man must've drawn the short straw. Kaiba didn't have time to feel sorry for him. He set down his business paperwork and leveled his gaze at the man.

"Mr. Kaiba, the latest edition of the Domino City Tribune just came out and... and well, I thought you should see it."

Seto didn't move from his desk, "I get the newspaper Griffiths. If that's all you've got to tell me, I suggest you find a more productive way to spend your time. I don't pay you to read the news on company time."

Mr. Griffiths went visibly pale, but didn't give up, "Well sir, I just... there's a story I thought you might like to see... your little brother..."

Kaiba pushed away from his desk and strode impatiently over to the man, towering above him by a good five or six inches. He snatched the paper from the man's shaking hands, which was enough of a hint for the man to start walking hurriedly toward the exit.

Kaiba waited until he heard the door click shut before skimming the headlines. It didn't take long to find what the man had been so concerned about:

Kaiba Corporation Scandal!

And then in smaller text:

Mokuba Kaiba spells trouble for his brother's Corporation

The article was accompanied by an image that was unmistakably his little brother out galavanting with some cheap looking women and looking sloshed out of his mind. Years of practice kept him from yelling out obscenities. He owned everything else in this town, why hadn't he bought out the newspaper by now? They never got tired of running these disgusting lies. Kaiba was sick of it. He stalked back over to his desk and threw the paper into the trash, then picked up his holo-phone, "Thompson, get me the Tribune."

"Right away sir" came the prompt buzzing sound of his secretary's voice. A slightly transparent image of her face was projected on his desk as the call was transferred. Kaiba leaned back in his chair, not really sure why he was calling, but feeling the need to bang some heads together and get some people fired nonetheless.

"Domino City Tribune, how may I help you?" came a spirited voice on the other line. The holo phone registered her as a rather ditzy looking brunette with far too much make-up. Probably an intern. Kaiba cringed inwardly, but outside looking only mildly disgusted.

"I'd like to speak to your editor-in-chief."

"I'm sorry sir," she answered without looking up at the hologram on her end, "but he's busy right now with---"

"Tell him this is Seto Kaiba." He cut her off sharply.

"Oh!" she finally looked up and took in the holographic image, "Oh! I'm sorry sir! Right away!"

It wasn't long before a finely tuned voice came over the phone, accompanied by a business man with looks to match his smooth voice. He looked like all the greedy, disgusting men Kaiba's adoptive father had worked with. His hair was slicked back and he could have just as easily been a used car salesman, except the suit he wore was rather obviously Armani. "Mr. Kaiba, what can I do for you?"

Seto's face was stone cold. He'd had many years of practice to perfect his poker face. One of the first rules of dueling, never let anyone see your cards before you lay them out on the table. "I think we both know what this call is about. I don't know who you've been hiring as a photographer, but to go as far as editing images just to make a headline is a little sad, don't you think?"

The editor-in-chief only smiled at this. Seto knew that look. The smug little snit actually thought he had something he could rub in Seto's face. Something to bring down the mighty Kaiba Corporation. He put his hands casually in his pockets, "I'm sorry Mr. Kaiba, but we're a very reputable newspaper. We don't resort to editing photos... but I have the originals right here. If you like I can send someone over to---"

Kaiba hung up the holo phone with a flick of his wrist and pulled open a side drawer in his desk. He reached in, grabbed a small white bottle and shook out a couple of pills. He swallowed them dry before rubbing his temples. Another headache he didn't need right now.

* * * * *

Mokuba had a headache of his own, but he also had his own ways to deal with headaches. He sat slumped in the corner of his penthouse apartment, slowly turning the bottle of scotch this way and that, letting it catch the light and make patterns sparkle on the far wall.

The place was a mess of bottles, cans, and cigarette butts. Furniture lay on its side and a few of the windows near the balcony were cracked. The sunlight was streaming in, making him all too aware of his surroundings. He pulled himself from the ground and walked with a slow stagger to the balcony. Mokuba's nineteen year old body shook with the effort. He felt much older and the dark circles under his eyes made him look it as well. He leaned heavily on the railing and fought away a wave of nausea.

He looked out from his high-rise penthouse apartment and just watched the people walking hurriedly here and there in the crowded city. They all seemed to have a purpose. They were all going somewhere. Mokuba wished he knew where he was going. When was it that he'd come to this? This point in his life when everything just seemed so useless? It'd been almost a year now. A year since he'd realized he was sick of living in his brother's shadow. Sick of being kidnapped, ignored, and kicked around. Sick of every introduction starting with, "Oh, you must be Seto's little brother."

It wasn't so hard to fathom that he'd fallen so far. Years ago, before all the games had begun, he'd been a leader, a punk among punks. He'd loved that feeling of power, of strength and all those people looking up to him. He had been respected and feared. But he'd given it all up to help his brother. Of course, Seto hadn't cared then either, but Mokuba had been too blinded by childish idol worship to realize. Since their adoption Seto had only had one love in his life and it wasn't his little brother. Seto had been married to his work since he was a child.

Mokuba threw the bottle of scotch back into his penthouse and watched it shatter, the pieces scattered in a very satisfying manner. Mokuba didn't care. The housekeepers would have it cleaned up before evening anyway.

Had he not done enough for his brother? For years he had mistakenly thought that it was his fault. That he wasn't doing enough, wasn't trying hard enough, but that wasn't it. He had given all he had and never gotten anything in return. The starry-eyed days of youth were over and Mokuba had realized just who was to blame.

Seto just never cared. Mokuba had done everything he could for his brother, but he didn't get so much as a smile or a brief "thank you" for his trouble. The only time his brother had ever looked at him was on the far-too-frequent times that Seto's enemies had used Mokuba to lure out his brother. Kidnapping was a frightening thing, especially for a child. But it had happened, no... Seto had LET it happen time and time again. His brother would vow revenge and go on a rampage to find him, but once the threat was over, Mokuba just wasn't important anymore. Did he know how scary it was? When the blindfold was over your eyes and you didn't know if you'd ever see light again? Did he know how much it hurt to have your wrists tied with brittle rope for hours on end?

Mokuba ran his fingers through his mess of long black hair and headed in to the bathroom. He reeked of alcohol and he needed a shower to get rid of the lingering effects of a long night of drinking.

He turned the faucet to hot and stepped in, feeling the water rush over him and the steam clear his thoughts as they jumped around, darting from one painful memory to another. And through it all, Mokuba stood in the shadows, clinging tightly to Seto's coat-tails while his brother took the spotlight.

It was times like these that he wondered if he truly was Seto's brother. They'd lived in that orphanage for such a long time. Anyone that looked at the pair of them could see the vast differences in appearance. Seto with his short cropped, light brown hair, blue eyes, and pale skin next to Mokuba with his raven-black tangle of long dark hair, dark eyes, and olive skin. They certainly didn't look like brothers. And there were many days when Mokuba couldn't help but doubt.

Mokuba jumped as the water began to run cold. Had he really been in there so long? His skin was red from the water's heat and he quickly pulled on a terry-cloth robe.

As he stepped from the bathroom, he noticed the penthouse was clean once again. The furniture had been righted and the broken glass picked up. The only evidence of an unruly party the night before were the cracks in the windows. Those took at least a couple of days to fix. He put his hands in the soft pockets of his robe. He'd been in there longer than he'd thought. The large clock in his living room showed early afternoon. His stomach rumbled after being fed only hard liquor last night and Mokuba decided it couldn't hurt to grab a bite to eat. He slipped into the master bedroom and pulled on a clean pair of cargo pants and a matching t-shirt, then pulled up his long hair into a high ponytail. He'd never cared for the fancy suits and brand names that his brother wore so proudly. He just wore what he liked, and to blazes with anyone that didn't like it.

Cars on the other hand, cars were an entirely different matter. He jumped into the sporty red convertible and felt the engine purr as he turned the key in the ignition. It drove like a dream. He raced through the streets, ignoring the traffic laws. It wasn't like anyone would dare pull him over anyway. They knew his family owned this town and there was precious little they could do about it. Mokuba pulled the racy red number into the front of his favorite restauarant and tossed the keys to the nervous valet, but not without a scathing backward glance and a muttered, "If anything happens to my car..." threat.

He pushed the door open and went to sit at his usual table. The place was crowded, but the Maitre d' knew better than to seat anyone at his table.

"The usual sir?" a well groomed waiter asked. Mokuba just nodded and sat back in his seat, sipping the complementary ice water until something better came along. It wasn't long before the food arrived, cooked to perfection, just as they knew he liked it. He picked up his fork and was about to start in on his meal when someone pulled a chair up to his table. How dare someone invite themselves to his-

"Mokuba." the voice was familiar enough that he put his fork down and took his time looking up at the man addressing him.

"Seto."

* * * * *

What's wrong Moki? Kaiba wished he could ask. What's happened with you? What can I do to help? None of it reached his lips. His pride just wouldn't allow it. That was the talk of weaklings and saps and his sense of pride and his reputation wouldn't let him say it. Instead he threw a copy of the Tribune on the table with much more force than he'd intended and hissed under his breath, "What were you thinking?!"

Mokuba hardly seemed to recognize him. He just set his silverware down and looked at his brother with empty eyes. Seto wouldn't let it get to him. "We've had this chat before Mokuba. Our company has a reputation to uphold. You just can't DO things like this. Our stocks plummet, people won't buy our products if they think we're on the same level they are. Professional standards Mokuba, how many times do I have to say it?"

His brother turned his attention elsewhere, looking into the distance rather than face Seto. "What?"

Seto frowned. "This!" he pointed to the large image on the front page of the news. "What do you think?!" He kept his voice from being loud enough to reach the other tables. He didn't want any prying eyes or ears gossiping even more slop about his family. "You're not even an adult yet and you drink more liquor than someone twice your size, hanging around cheap women and shifty looking men... late parties, the damage alone is staggering! You think I don't go over the financial reports? You're almost a grown man Mokuba and I don't get why you don't start acting like it! You used to be such a good kid..."

Mokuba pushed away from the table and walked past his brother. "A good kid... but never good enough for you."