Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The night Yuto was taken, the moon was a waning crescent. He could blot it out with his thumb. He cocked his head back, closed a single eye, and jutt his thumb right over the lunar sliver. Blackout.

Shun snorted. "Bored?"

"Tired," Yuto corrected. "I didn’t sleep very well."

"I can tell," Shun said. "You look like shit."

"Thanks," Yuto yawned. "When's this duel going to be over with, you think?"

Shun grimaced. He peered through his duel visor. "If Allen keeps stalling? Never."

Ruri had Allen on the rocks, and she knew it. She was grinning wildly in anticipation, her eyes sparking wittingly while Allen glared at his cards, willing them to form a cohesive play. His field had been swept clean last turn, barely managing to shield his life-points, and it appeared as though his last draw had not offered anything to remedy his vulnerability. Meanwhile, Ruri’s ace, Lyrilusc- Assembly Nightingale, loaded with five xyz materials, dealing a thousand damage directly each turn, floated gloriously in front of her.

"Bad hand?" Ruri asked, her tone ripe with gentle mischief.

"As if!" Allen retorted.

Ruri grinned into her hands, suppressing a delighted giggle.

Allen squinted accusingly. "I'm thinking."

"I'm thinking you've lost," Shun retorted. "Just give it up. It's midnight."

"And we’ll be here until morning if we have to!" Allen bit back.

Ruri laughed. Yuto loved that laugh. "Take your time. I have nowhere to be,” she said.

This duel was unprecedented as it was; running into Allen was purely coincidence. Yuto, Shun, and Ruri had planned for a relatively relaxing afternoon-- visit the movie theater, endure a tragically awful horror flick, and then call it night. And the film had gone to plan flawlessly, the movie exceeding their expectations in its pure awfulness. The special effects had been janky and jarring, the performances mediocre, and the plot had been cripplingly predictable. Its hilarity had put tears in Yuto’s eyes and cramps in his sides from laughing, which was saying something, because Yuto had only been half-immersed in it. After Ruri had reached over and gently rested her hand over his own, his concentration had effectively shot, his focus spent trying to memorize the warm, soft feel of her skin against his.

When the movie ended, night had firmly settled in. They’d been heading home, promising to reunite at Spade Duel School grounds in the morning. But fate had other plans. They crossed paths with Allen as he came strutting out of a convenience store, weighed down with sugary energy drinks and card packs. On sight, he gracelessly integrated himself into their group, where the inevitable banter "Spades versus Clovers" banter began. And also just as inevitably, playfully innocuous comments quickly escalated into classless insults.

None of it bothered Yuto much; he had a Teflon attitude when it came to jabs at his deck or school, and he was accustomed to Allen's juvenile jabs. As annoying as he was, he was predictable, and mostly harmless. But things got perhaps just a tad too heated when Allen told Ruri his deck would "turn her deck into roadkill" and that's why she was "too chicken" to challenge him.

Naturally, a comment like that couldn’t slide. A duel began.

Their dueling arena of the night turned out to be an outdoor tennis court--they rustled enough coins between the four of them to feed the overhead lights. Shun and Yuto had sprawled out on the bright green concrete, spectating the match that had, originally, been quite interesting. But as it dragged on, and the pair began exchanging more cheesy quips than actual moves, it became evident that neither of them were particularly vexed with the other and had resorted to goofing around. That is, until Ruri had asserted her lead. Then, suddenly, Allen had started taking the duel very seriously.

Yuto had taken to lying on his back, noticing the way the oppressive glare of the court’s lights scrubbed away the stars, studying the weak glow of the moon. He closed his eyes, wishing that the pair had agreed to settle this in the morning.

“How come?” Shun asked.

Yuto cracked open an eye. “How come Allen’s stalling? I don’t know. His pride?”

“Not that,” Shun said. “What’s up with you? Why didn’t you sleep last night?”

“It’s...I don’t know. It’s stupid,” Yuto said.

“Clearly not,” Shun deadpanned.

“It's childish,” Yuto said. “I shouldn’t have even brought it up.”

“Are you afraid I’m going to make fun of you?” Shun asked.

“Of course, not,” Yuto said.

“Then spill.”

“It’s just that...” Yuto sighed. “Fine. I’ve been having this weird recurring nightmare for the past couple of weeks. Usually that stuff doesn’t really bother me, but with this one,” Yuto inadvertently shuddered, “I wake up in a cold sweat every time.”

Shun frowned. “What’s it about?”

Yuto grappled for the words, unsure if he could properly articulate it.
The curtains of his nightmare opened to the same exact scene upon the very same moment: Yuto was bound to a long, metal table, tethered at the wrists and ankles, petrified as marble. A dusty light poured from a dim bulb scarcely cut the encroaching darkness. All he could hear was the pounding of his pulse in his ears.

Then she would appear, soundlessly. Yuto didn't know her in his conscious life; she was a figment. But asleep, he felt a keen sense of recognition to her, although he couldn't surmount a name. Her dark, magenta hair, the hue of a ripe bruise, fell across her back in a tangle. When he tried to discern features of her visage, her face would melt. Contort.

She always began by offering him an undecipherable, muzzy smile. It never failed to instill him with fear. Then, lazily, she'd drag the edge of her fingernail from the tip of his forehead, tracing over the grooves in his windpipe, circling his Adam's apple. She charted out the shape of him methodically, unnerving, amusing herself while humming a broken tune. And it was then that Yuto would begin to beg, because he knew what was coming next.

His pleading never proved fruitful. The dream ended the same way every time.

He detailed this to Shun, who listened raptly. "And then," Yuto said, "she starts cutting me into pieces. Slowly. With a meat cleaver."

Shun grimaced. “That’s…”

“Bizarre, right?” Yuto asked.

“To put it lightly,” Shun agreed.

Yuto groaned. “I just wish I would stop having them. They’re starting to wear me out.”

Shun frowned. “You think it means anything?”

Yuto paused. “Not really,” he said. “It’s just a nightmare.”

“Sure,” Shun paused. “But what if your subconscious is trying to send you some important psychic message?”

Yuto eyed him. “You don’t believe in that stuff.”

“Obviously,” Shun said. “But Ruri does. She’s got a book on dreams and what they mean. Says they can be hints at what’s to come. Or something like that. I don’t really get it but,” he shrugged, “she seems to be into it.”

Yuto sat up. “Are you saying you think that I’m going to get dissected in the future?”

Shun waved him off. “No. Don’t be stupid.”

Yuto laid back down. Shun reclined back with him, cushioning his head with his hands.

“If anything, it’s probably, like, a metaphor for something. You said it was a girl that attacked you, right? Maybe it means you’re secretly afraid of women.”

“What?”

“Or worse,” Shun said. “You’re a masochist.”

Yuto twisted around, staring at him incredulously. And for an uncertain moment, looking into Shun’s unyielding, stoic expression, Yuto thought Shun was being serious.

Shun smirked, nudging him. “I’m joking. I do that sometimes.”

“I definitely wasn’t ready for it,” Yuto said.

Shun rolled his eyes. Yuto cracked up.

“Look,” Shun said. “Call me next time you have that nightmare.”

“In the middle of the night? I’m not going to wake you up over something this stupid.”

“And I’m telling you I don’t care,” Shun scrutinized.

“So, I call you and then what?”

Shun threw up his hands. “We talk? It’s not rocket science, Yuto. I’ll tell you it was all a dream and then you can go back to sleep instead of walking around like a zombie the next day.”

Warmth bloomed in Yuto’s chest. Yuto found himself turning away. “Shun, that’s--”

“Fine,” Allen relented. “I place this card facedown and officially end my turn.”

“No monsters?” Ruri asked.

“You don’t know what I’m planning with that facedown,” Allen said.

He had nothing planned. Ruri drained the rest of his life-points. Her victory symbol appeared in their respective visions, and the field faded into a shower of ones and zeros.

“Finally,” Shun stood, offering Yuto his hand. Yuto accepted. “About damn time.”

“You got lucky,” Allen quipped.

“She had you pinned five turns ago. Go home, Allen," Shun said.

He scuffed the toe of his shoe with a dismissive kick. Then, he turned his attention to Ruri. “Expect a rematch.”

Ruri smiled. "I’ll look forward to it.”

“You won’t get so lucky next time. I wasn’t even dueling that seriously,” Allen said.

“We’ll see,” Ruri said.

Allen grumbled, then turned to leave. "See ya, Yuto.”

Yuto waved.

The lights that illuminated the court shuttered off. The remaining trio shuttled off, pushing past the gate and out onto the sidewalk. A chill had settled into the summer air. A promise of autumn.

“Yuto, you want someone to walk home with you?” Ruri offered.

“Thanks, but it’s alright,” Yuto said. “I don’t live too far from here.”

“Okay then,” Ruri smiled, and Yuto melted. “See you tomorrow at school?”

“Where else would I be?” Yuto smiled.

They exchanged their goodbyes and parted ways.

There had been a part of the dream that Yuto hadn’t been able to muster the courage to confess to, as just the act of recalling it ignited his shame. It was what evolved the dream from unsettling to terrifying. The strange girl, the lead of his nightmare, never just sawed him into pieces. Their relationship was more complicated than a fly-and-spider complex, which confused him. Because in those tense moments before she revealed her blade, before she began carving through tendons and marrow, she’d be gentle. Never apologetic, but sympathetic--she’d lean in close, her hair cascading onto him, her fingers running through his hair.

She’d kiss him. And it would be so tender, so sincere, that his resolve would crumble. He could no longer believe that she was a monster. Yuto would be convinced that this was his fault, that he deserved this, that he was just an obstacle obstructing her path. Of course, she’d had to butcher him, he’d rationalize in his sleep, what would the alternative be?

But that was the sort of nonsensical thinking only bred when asleep, and it certainly didn’t hold-up when he awoke, coated in a sheen of sweat, scream lodged in his throat.

Something about that kiss was so deeply unnerving, perhaps more unnerving than the butchery itself. Thinking about it punched holes in his stomach.

You’re a masochist, Shun taunted in the back of his mind.

Yuto felt his entire face flush, burying his face in his hands as he cringed inwardly, trying to banish that cursed intrusive thought.

Because he’d been so immersed with his inner turmoil, he hadn’t noticed that he was being stalked until it was too late.

Chapter Text

When Yuto first woke up, his consciousness swam in numbness. He was unplugged from himself, his body just out of his reach. He felt like a ghost hovering over himself, drifting in a chemical cocktail of anesthetics.

Attempting to push up and past the haze proved to be a more gargantuan task that Yuto anticipated. He scraped together every ounce of physical autonomy he had left, begging his muscles to cooperate, but after several, excruciating moments of effort, Yuto only managed to partially crack his eyes open.

He couldn’t keep the world in focus, the room around him overwhelming white. It blotted together, shapeless and bleached, like fog. Yuto couldn’t exactly move his head to get a look around, and after being effectively blinded, he found himself closing his eyes again, opting instead to refocus his attention elsewhere.

The noises around him felt as though they were being forced through a funnel, warped and echoey, but it was still somewhat distinguishable if he really concentrated. There was a wheeze of a ventilation system breathing overhead, the tepid bleating of a machine ticked in an elephantine rhythm somewhere to his left, and farthest away from him, Yuto could pick up the voices. The words were inaudible, but he could detect a couple unique tones. When he heard the clatter of shoes against the linoleum floor, the voices drew closer, and closer, and closer.

The hinges of a door protested when it was swung open.

Yuto instinctively sucked in a breath, holding it.

A pair entered the room, but Yuto could only grapple onto snippets of their sentences. Like a radio chatter caught between a talk show and the grind of static, the words were chopped up, inventing a new, garbled language. He captured bits of medical jargon, fragments of sentences, the clatter of carts and tools.

"...inclusive...platelet count...contaminates..." A voice off to his left spoke.

Another responded. "Later date...Akaba doesn't..."

Pen scratched paper somewhere to his right. "Understood.”

“...#0107...?" A hum of agreement.

Yuto felt the sterile touch of a latex-covered hand, followed by the cold swab of some sort of cloth against his wrist. The piercing scent of alcohol permeated through his mental fog. A sudden prick of a syringe, one thicker than the typical needle, pushed deep past his skin. A hot, intrusive pain trickled up the length of this arm. In spite of himself, he recoiled, muscles spasming, gasping. He’d tried to flinch away, but something prevented him from moving.

The movement around him stopped.

“H-hey!” It was like attempting to talk with a broken jaw. “What’s...where...I can’t…”

There was a hushed exchange between the two. While Yuto was busy trying to decipher it, the pinch of yet another needle bit into his arm. He was powerless to it. The darkness claimed him once more.

When he woke up again, he was far more lucid. A dull migraine pulsed through his skull, blood pounding in his ears. When he tried to prop himself up with his left arm, eyes opening to a too-bright world, a pinching pain shooting up his arm. Yuto gritted his teeth, the cot underneath him protested as he sat up, rubbing his arm gently.

There was something in his arm.

Sitting underneath the skin, cloaked in a yellowish bruise, was something. He could make out a little, black square of some sort. It left a notable bump on the skin, but it clearly wasn’t embedded shallowly. Yuto scratched at it, unnerved, until the skin around it grew pulpy and irate. The device didn’t move.

Everything had been confiscated from him. They hadn’t even left him with his socks. His deck, his duel disk, his phone, his wallet, his keys--gone. The clothes he’d been wearing had been swapped out for a light blue cotton t-shirt and matching pair of shorts that cut just off above the knee. The material acted and felt like a hospital gown, feeling inadequate and thin, dripping off his frame one size too large. Yuto chose to focus on those inconveniences rather than dwell on the realization that a stranger had undressed him while he was blacked out.

Swallowing hard, he swung his feet over the cot, his bare feet meeting the cool touch of the tile floor.

The room he found himself in was all white, a pair of fluorescent lights glaring overhead. Yuto had seen closets bigger; it couldn’t have been bigger than six by eight feet. Jammed in the northeast corner, suspended two feet off the ground by twin beams, sat the plain cot. A thin, pale green sheet and a modest, cylindrical pillow dressed it. Adjacent to it was a crude toilet, stalled in by a single, thin wall, no taller than four feet, to preserve the bare minimum of privacy.

On the southside of the room, sitting square in the middle of the wall, sat the faint outline of what he assumed to be a door, although there was no handle. When Yuto attempted to pry it open with his fingertips, he couldn’t garner enough purchase. His fingernails slipped right past the cracks. At the bottom of the door, there seemed to be some sort of slot, but Yuto couldn’t open that, either. Flush to the wall, hanging right above the door, appeared to be some sort of speaker.

Encompassing most of the western wall most oppressively, was a large, rectangular mirror. At least, Yuto initially thought it was a mirror-- peering into it revealed his weathered, shell-shocked face. But the more he studied it, he began to suspect it wasn’t a mirror, but rather, a one-way window.

Was he being watched? Fueled by this new perturbance, Yuto looked up, searching for any other tools his alleged kidnappers might be using to spy on him. There didn’t seem to be any visible camera, but he wasn’t certain that they weren’t there, hidden.

He turned again to his reflection and stared back at himself wearily, hair tangled and sticking about randomly, eyes bloodshot and shadowed. The entirety of his body was marred with scrapes and cuts, but the worst of his injuries was the purple-green bruise blotting his lower jaw, the spot tender. During the excursion, he must’ve bitten into his bottom lip as well, the flesh puckered and swollen. It was strange to see himself this way, pale and wild, as if he’d challenged a hurricane to a duel and just barely scraped by.

Yuto clawed through his memory, attempting to retrace his steps. He’d remembered the duel at the tennis courts. He remembered waving good-bye. He remembered convincing himself that he wasn’t a masochist...

He remembered not hearing footfalls pursuing him until it was too late.

Yuto cringed.

The memory felt blended. It had been a whirlwind of swinging fists that’d failed to connect, a forceful chorus of hands, a blow to his jaw that’d knocked him to the concrete. It had been the sickly sweet stench of chloroform on a rag that had been forced into his lungs, turning his limbs to putty. A classic knock-out.

Yuto pulled away from the window, wishing with every fiber of his being to get out of its line of sight, which was quite impossible given its size. Yuto returned his attention to the door, leaning against it this time, listening hard.

Nothing.

Yuto knocked against it with his knuckles, hard. “Hey! What the hell is this?! What’s going on?”

Nothing.

Yuto persisted. He knocked until the bones in his hands throbbed, until his voice cracked, demanding answers. He was confident that none of his concerns were going to be addressed, but he thought, surely, someone would come to the door to quiet him.

But no one came.

The reality of the situation came all at once. He’d been dropped into it’s deep end, completely submerged, the water icy-hot. All the air left his lung in an instant, a cold sweat sweeping him.

This had to be a joke, right? An elaborate, cruel prank. Right? Right?

Yuto had heard about kidnappings before, had seen the faces of missing persons etched on the back of milk cartons and plastered to billboards. But that type of tragedy didn’t befall people like him. Yuto wasn’t wealthy. His father wasn’t politically or socially powerful. None of his friends fell into that category, either. If ransom wasn’t the motive, then was it something more illicit? Something darker? Human trafficking? Were his organs fated to end up plastic-wrapped and iced, sold off to stoke some unnamed black-market economy? These were all happenings that had seemed fictitious to him before, plot-points in an overzealous, edgy copypasta, but they were steadily becoming genuine possibilities.

But something wasn’t adding up. This was clearly premeditated. The room, the outfit, and the implant in his arm all seemed to testify someone had devoted forethought into this. Surely, if they had plans to take him apart or ship him off somewhere, there wouldn’t be this much preparation. Would there?

But if Yuto allowed himself to believe that, then what was the motive? Was there even one that was logical? Was he in the hands of some delusional criminal? Had he been imprisoned by a sadist who derived some sick pleasure in plucking teenage boys off the street?

And how long would it be before anyone noticed he was gone? He wouldn’t be at school the next morning, but a single absence wasn’t enough to really raise any real concern. Perhaps the Ruri and Shun would notice, but it still wouldn’t be until much later during the day.

What day was it even? How long had he been out?

Where was he?

Yuto leaned his forehead against the door limply. He inhaled deep. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

Panicking was only going to make him sick, and certainly wasn’t going to solve any problems. He had to think critically about this--had to look at the cards he'd drawn, so to speak. It was a limited hand, admittedly, but he had to look at what he did have: he was awake now, he wasn’t dead, and he wasn’t in any serious pain. That was good, at least.

He resided himself back on the bunk, crossing his legs underneath him, eyes glued to the door. Yuto was exhausted, but there was no way he was going to let himself sleep. He had to steel himself for whatever came through those doors, he decided. Whenever they came through, Yuto felt confident he’d be ready for it.

He was okay, he assured himself. He was going to make it through this.

When the lights in his room suddenly went out, Yuto was startled so badly that he nearly fell off the cot.

Sometime in the middle of the night, despite his valiant attempt, he lapsed into a quasi-sleep. Or at least, he thought he did. The darkness in his room was complete; there was no way to distinguish the difference between eyes open and eyes closed, so much so that he flirted with the idea that he didn’t sleep at all. The lights were off, and then as suddenly as they had been removed, they returned, startling him just as badly.

His vision swam with ink blots, the burning of his eyes searing down to his very sockets. Exhaustion weighed him, his muscles sore and his head heavy, but his mind was wired. In an instant, he was to his feet, shoulder squared, trying to look as intimidating as a drowsy, debilitated, unkempt teen in a hospital gown could possibly look.

If the lights were back on, then that must mean whoever took him wanted him up, right? Which meant they’d be here, right?

Yuto began to count the seconds in his head. The seconds collected into a full minute. Minutes began to stack. Fifteen minutes passed. Thirty. Forty-five. An hour.

The slot at the base of the door clicked open, and a tray was promptly slid in.

“Hey!” Yuto called, diving onto his knees, desperate for a glimpse of his captors. “Wait!” But the slot had already fastened shut before Yuto could even decipher the color of their shoes.

He pounded on the floor in a bout of frustration, uttering profanities under his breath, before turning his attention to the tray.

It contained the contents of what appeared to be a meager breakfast. Two slices of toast sat on a paper plate, completely dry. A protein bar wrapped in garish red cellophane sat to the side of it. A stout, blue-capped water bottle, the container itself no bigger than his fist, was offered to wash it all down with.

Yuto immediately didn’t trust it. He pushed the meal off to the side with his foot.

Whoever yanked him off the streets was clearly not above drugging him. After floating around in a chemical stupor for an indeterminate amount of time--time in which he, terrifyingly, didn’t know what had happened to him. He wasn’t about to roofie himself over toast.

Regardless, hunger wasn’t a current infliction. Whether it was because of residual drug side effects or Yuto’s ever-increasing anxiety, the only thing putting pains in his stomach was nausea. Even if he was stupid enough to eat any of that, he wasn’t confident it would stay down.

Thirst was another story. His throat was chafed, the inside of his mouth as arid and gritty as desert sand. The water bottle was a sweet siren calling to him, as Yuto was assuredly dehydrated by now.

But he could hold out. He would have to. Anything to stay alert. Anything to stay coherent.

Tired of sitting on the cot and still wary of the glass, sat up against the northern wall, continuing his staring contest with the door.

Boredom was going to claim him before dehydration did at this rate.

Yuto wished they hadn’t taken his cards. There wouldn’t have been any discord if they had just let him keep it, especially if they planned on leaving him isolated for so long.

He wondered if all his belongings had simply been disposed of. His clothes, his cards, his wallet with his I.D in it were technically considered evidence now, oddly enough. There wasn’t any logical reason for his abductors to saddle themselves with any unnecessary connections to his disappearance. An unexpected surge of sadness squeezed in his chest when he thought of his cards sitting in a trash heap: mulched, buried, and forgotten. Yuto was well aware that the cards were just prettied pieces of cardboard, the bulk of which he could painstakingly recollect but...it wouldn’t be the same. Most of them were a gift from his mother; they were the cards she had used even before he touched them. They wouldn’t be the cards he held when he earned his first victory or when he’d endured his first loss. Their corners wouldn’t be soft and rounded the same way from the countless times he shuffled them. His deck wasn't just composed of monsters, traps, and spells, but of memories--sentimental talismans that marked the passing years.

Gone.

Yuto couldn’t help feeling foolish for thinking so, but out of all the cards, the one he mourned was the loss of the most Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon. Dark Rebellion was his oldest, most reliable companion.

He never imparted anyone with this knowledge, not even Shun, because he knew fully how insane it sounded. But something about that card seemed...sentient. Yuto didn’t exactly believe he had psychic abilities of any caliber, or if such a power really existed in the first place, but while dueling, he swore he could feel Dark Rebellion. And it wasn’t just the tangible touch of the card itself, but rather, an essence. It wasn’t just an aura Yuto believed Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon possessed, but a personality, too. Yuto could practically feel its desire, its eagerness to get out onto the field, its enthusiasm to win, its loyalty to him. Yuto was comforted whenever he special summoned it, their hearts one.

It was all his imagination, he was sure. There was no other plausible explanation for Yuto’s abstract, ‘supernatural’ feelings. Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon was just a painting on a card, like any other. However, it didn’t stop Yuto from feeling irrationally guilty for betraying it. It had protected and fought for him for years, yet in a single incident, he’d been unable to return the favor. It left a bitter stain on his heart.

Without his cards to mindlessly shuffle through or play himself against, he tried to invent duels to mentally run through. Duels against Shun, duels against Ruri, duels against Kaito, duels against fabricated opponents. He'd let them pin him each time, his back against the wall, life-points whittled down to the last scrapy three-hundred points. He’d be pegged for doomed, and his opponent would get cocky. But just as it seemed hope was lost, Lady Luck would grace him. Yuto would pull just the right card, and in a bombastic maneuver, Dark Rebellion would manifest from the extra deck in a show of strength. His foe’s life-points would disintegrate. The match would belong to him.

Locked in his reverie, Yuto lost to none. All but Ruri, Yuto concluded. Even when Yuto applied all his force and wit, Ruri slipped through the chinks in his defenses. She’d disarm him, strip him of his strength, deplete his life-points. When she realized the match belonged to her, she’d light-up all at once, like a star peeking through the void of night. She’d smile wide, nose scrunched, eyes astral with joy. “I won!” she’d declare, as if trying to convince herself. “I won! I won!” Her merriment would be contagious.

Yuto wouldn’t be able to help it. He’d smile, too. Losing against Ruri never felt like a loss.

He reminded himself that he wasn’t thirsty.

No one came to the door for hours. When they did again, it was for the same reason: the slot opened, a tray was pushed through. This time, Yuto had been able to catch a glimpse of a hand--a pale flash of skin--before the mechanical slot snapped shut again.

Again, a modest meal sat upon the tray, except this one looked particularly unappetizing. There was a sandwich wedge cut into a triangle--two slivers of white bread holding together a plasticky sheet of bologna. Canned carrots, gray and marinating in a pool of thin juice, sat in a paper cup. An energy bar identical to the one served earlier was offered. Another water bottle, same as the last, sat mockingly in the corner of the tray.

And again, Yuto pushed the tray aside. He couldn’t be tempted. Detail was crucial to him now--he knew less than nothing. The little crumbs of clues extrapolating his situation only fed more questions. Yuto was convinced that the only reason that had yet to come for him was because they were waiting for him to dose himself. If he allowed himself to be tranquilized again, dead to the world, he'd never be able to gauge the situation, or answer the important questions: the where, the what, the why. Not knowing was a death sentence. You had to know the cage to break the cage--he couldn't escape as blind as he was.

But how long could he keep it up though? His lips were so chapped they were beginning to peel and crack. Part of him believed that he was simply delaying the inevitable. Surely he wouldn’t be allotted to deny himself sustenance after a certain point. The few actions that Yuto had observed since his arrival seemed to suggest that whoever had taken him was interested in keeping him alive. Eventually, they’d have to force him to drink. Yuto for certain couldn’t fight back if he was drugged, but he wasn’t positive he’d be more equipped to do so if he debilitated himself.

It was astonishing how quickly his thirst was escalating. It had been a persnickety discomfort when he first woke up, but it had evolved with an ugly desperation. Progressively, it was getting harder and harder to deny it existed. The bruising in his arm, the aching of his head, and his exhaustion combined culminated to nothing in comparison to his rigorous demand for water.

Maybe he’d allow himself just a little sip. A small taste. Just enough to hold him over, but certainly not enough to incapacitate him if it had been tampered with.

Yuto tentatively grabbed one of the bottles as if he was afraid it was going to burn him. He turned it in his hands, its contents splashed benignly with his movements. Peeking through the plastic, the water didn’t appear discolored. The cap was still fastened at the top, sealed. He confirmed this with a twist, the seal cracking as it was released. Cautiously, he wafted it under his nose. It had no odor.

When was the last time he'd had anything to drink? It had been at the movie theater, and he had no way of knowing exactly how long ago that had been. He’d split a fountain drink with Shun, and they had bickered about what kind of soda they’d both wanted so fervently, they dramatically compromised by mixing a shot of each and every option they had. A suicide, as they called it: a chaotic bombardment of the citrus lemon-lime and tart orange, the brashness of rootbeer and the buttery aftertaste of cream soda, undercut by the faux sweetness of diet cola. One would expect that flavors would conglomerate into one, all sloshed into a unified, instant-diabetic-coma concoction. But it didn’t. All the flavors hit at once in a confusing assault of fruit and syrup like a sugary fever dream. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t good, either.

Yuto didn’t think he’d ever yearn for it, yet he found himself longing for that bizarre sweetness.

Warily, he took a sip, holding it in his mouth, asserting an astronomical sense of self-control by not guzzling it all at once.

It didn’t taste peculiar. In fact, it tasted heavenly, but Yuto’s paranoia had yet to be put to rest. He swallowed with a wince. Waiting, he counted the seconds in his head, half expecting his nervous system to collapse at any given point, but nothing happened. All the measly sip had done was amplify his desire for water.

So he took another, more generous swallow. And then another. When he’d emptied the bottle, he opened the other one and drained it, too.

Chapter Text

If Yuto considered every time the lights went out at the end of the day, and subsequently, the return of the lights as the mark of a new one, then it wasn’t until the beginning of his fourth day in the room that the door finally opened.

The days in between were spent in anxious tedium. As brain numbing as the silence was, the uncertainty of his prolonged isolation was alarming. Yuto was consistently tense, his insomnia rampant, his imagination filling in the cracks where information was missing. When the anxiety of waiting got too bad, he meditated again, inventing the same faux duels. When that inevitably failed to quell his nervous energy, he paced. Back and forth, from the north end to the south end of the room. The length wasn’t spacious by any means, but it was better than sitting stagnant.

He’d made peace with the water. That’s not to say he trusted it; Yuto refused to drink anything that didn’t go under a thorough scrutiny first. If it even remotely looked like it had been tampered with, he refused it. The same logic applied to anything they offered him to eat. Anything not securely in a wrapper made him nervous, which only left him with the vitamin bars. They provided him two of those a day; one with each meal. He’d been accustomed to savoring them, dividing them up into pieces that he slowly ate in intervals, determined to make them last. It did very little to soothe his returning hunger, but it deterred the worst of it. They tasted mostly of chalk, but they were vitamin bombs, so he was at least appreciative that it was keeping from completely self-destructing.

Even if the other food items he was offered weren't laced with sedatives, it looked capable of making him sick on its own, and Yuto wasn’t spoiled when it came to food. He’d willingly endured his fair share of corner store cuisine--microwavable, salt-saturated concoctions that were conceivably radioactive. But the food they were trying to coax him into eating either seemed two molecules away from being plastic, expired, or both. Yuto would feel guilty offering the stuff to a stray dog. He ended up tearing up everything he was too wary to eat into pulpy pieces before dumping it into the toilet, flushing it away.

Consequently, he realized that there might be a point where he’d eventually get desperate enough to eat it, just as he did with the water, but he had yet to cross that threshold. It was his intention that he’d be out of this situation before it came to that.

At this point, surely someone had noticed he was gone. When he didn’t show up for school, his friends would’ve messaged him. They’d be worried when Yuto inevitably didn’t respond. Shun knew where he lived; when Yuto didn’t answer the door, he’d resort to busting it open in his usual, Shun Kurosaki rashness. When he’d find the apartment empty, it would set alarms off in his head. He’d begin to worry. If Yuto knew Shun, and he did, then Heartland police officers were already looking for him. Surely missing posters with his image on it were being stapled to telephone poles and pinned onto bulletin boards.

However, Yuto wasn’t placing his utmost trust in the Heartland police. Although it would be an enormous relief if law enforcement arrived, the notion struck him as too good to be true. Yuto wasn’t an expert on forensics, or how investigations were conducted, but he wasn’t sure how clear of a trail he’d left behind. There were no witnesses to his kidnapping as far as he knew. As loyal as his friends were, they weren’t psychic. Meaning that there was a significant pocket of time that his abductors could’ve dedicated to eradicating evidence, scrubbing away fingerprints, dumping his clothes, and burning away paper-trails. If the people who’d taken him had the forethought to construct an elaborate prison room, he doubted that they’d be so thoughtless to leave enormous chunks of evidence behind. If the police were going to come to his aide, Yuto realized, then they most likely weren’t going to arrive quickly, if at all. Yuto thought back to the faces of missing persons he’d caught printed in the corner of newspapers or plastered up on public billboards, their photos grainy and sun-bleached, their last seen dates hopelessly long ago. The police weren’t flawless.

Which meant that the responsibility of escape fell on him.

He was painfully aware of just how unaware he was of his situation. Yuto didn’t know what was behind that door, what building he was in. He didn’t even know if he was still in Heartland. He didn’t know what his abductors intended to do with him, or if they intended to do anything at all, but he doubted they had good intentions.

But what he did know was this: he was lucid and in a relatively healthy state. His bruising and wounds were healing nicely, and despite his lackluster sleep schedule, Yuto remained alert. However, he had an icy suspicion that this condition was ephemeral, especially if he stayed for much longer. Although it was ideal to get a sense of the situation before he made a dramatic move, if his previous days of nothingness served as any indication, he wasn’t going to get the luxury of being able to calculate a stable plan. As soon as that window of opportunity opened, he had to jump through it. If he didn’t, he risked being too late, and he shuddered thinking about what that could entail for him.

And on day four, that opportunity came.

The lights snapped on upon the fourth morning, jarring Yuto from his light sleep. He’d immediately sat up in his cot, already tense, laser focused on the door. Already, every nerve in him felt caffeinated, alert and ready. Instantly he was on his feet, awaiting movement.

Yuto hadn’t really suspected that day four was going to deviate from the monotony of the days prior. He felt it was necessary to expect the unexpected, although he’d been tiptoeing around the terrifying notion that they were intending to isolate him indefinitely.

He took in a generous breath, held it in his chest, and waited.

All of a sudden, there was an electrical whirr, a tiny buzz off to his right. It was coming from the mirror. Yuto twisted, catching his bewildered expression in the reflective glass, watching it change before his eyes. The reflective surface of the glass went from being opaque to transparent, revealing the figure of a woman standing on the other side. Yuto bit down his surprise, cooling his demeanor, curling his hands into fists.

She stood only a hair about five and a half feet, thin and pale, her eyes shrunken and beady like that of a bird’s. A swath of short-cropped, ebony hair hugged her face, the locks at the brow of her head jutting up awkwardly like horns. She wore a large, bleached lab coat, the buttons undone, revealing her thick black turtleneck underneath and her I.D. She analyzed him through a thick, round pair of cat-eyed spectacles.
Coming up behind her were two hulking men, all muscle, expressionless. They were dressed in identical uniforms, black from collar to trousers. Around their waists hung thick leather belts, which were loaded with a variety of instruments that made Yuto’s blood pressure spike: handcuffs, tasers, guns.

The strange woman presented him with a visceral smile, her eyes sparking with a dark mischief. With the tip of a pedicured finger, she rapped at the glass, like a pestering child does to a fish in a bowl. Her painted lips motioned around words, but Yuto heard nothing. His lack of a reaction must have indicated to her that he couldn’t hear her, and she drifted off to the side, tampering with something Yuto couldn’t see. There then came a crackle–the sound of the speaker sparking to life.

“Yoo-hoo?” the speaker gave her shrill voice a tinny overlay. She over-enunciated her vowels in a way that irked him, her tone thick with faux pep. “Hello? Can you hear me now?”

Yuto glared. It did little to extinguish her enthusiasm.

“What’s with the sour face? Aren’t you happy to see a shiny, new face? It must get rather lonesome after a while,” the woman said.

When Yuto didn’t respond, she sighed, her smile never moving an inch. She clicked her tongue–an exaggerated tsk tsk. “Not much for chatter, honey? A shame.”

Honey? Yuto’s stomach churned. “Who are you? What is this? What are you planning to do with me?”

She cocked her head to the side, amused, as if she were watching something particularly cute and stupid, like a puppy chasing after its own tail. “The devil is in the details. Don’t worry, honey. It will all be clear in time.” She shrugged, “Or not. It doesn’t matter. Your understanding is not essential.”

Yuto curled his fingers into fists, his nails biting in his palm.

“Now, what is essential is your cooperation,” she interrupted. “It would be best for me, and you too, I suppose, if you cooperated with my fellow coworkers here.” She gestured flamboyantly to the men who shadowed her. “They won’t do you any harm. Unless, of course, you force their hand. But it would be best if you weren’t roughed up too much. It’s too soon for that.” She laughed. The sound was akin to molars grinding on glass.

Yuto began to design a battle plan. If he could find an opening, perhaps he could slip away. As bulky as those two guards appeared, there were only two. With a little luck, perhaps they’d underestimate Yuto’s abilities. Arrogance left a person open for error. Yuto understood well that this line of thinking was wistful at best, delusional at worst, but hope was all he had. Hope and his fists.

“Can I count on your cooperation?” the woman asked.

Yuto fastened his eyes to her as she stood, patiently awaiting his reply. Instead of speaking, Yuto forced a smile on his face, a grin as wicked and sardonic as hers, laying the drama on thick.

Her left eye twitched. “Have it your way,” she said. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” The glass suddenly reverted back to its original state, and for a split second, Yuto caught a glimpse of just how manic he’d forced himself to look, and was almost proud.

The time between the conclusion of their frustrating conversation and the lock unhinging on the door could not have stretched out for longer than a handful of seconds, but the moment crawled out for an eternity. A dozen independent thoughts emerged at once, running through his head. He understood fully that the encounter could end grotesquely. Yuto hadn’t ever gotten into a genuine physical altercation with another person. He was a civilized man; he resolved his conflicts with duels. Aside from that, it had never been his prerogative to inflict pain upon others. Yet here, backed against the wall, caged, confused, knowing full well how bad this could be, he felt an odd sense of acceptance, as if he’d conquered the grievance. He was wound tightly; he was ready.

The door swung open.

Yuto met them at once, charging and swinging, searching for purchase as the duo of uniformed men grappled him at once. They seized him by the wrists, forcing him to the ground. Yuto bucked and twisted, stalling their advances. They dominated him in physique and strength, but Yuto wasn't done fighting yet, and if he was going to go down, he was going down bloodied.

In their effort to get him to force him onto his stomach, one of them made a dire mistake-- he loosened his hold. Yuto slipped his right hand out from the clutches at once, freeing the limb.

Years ago, there had been a string of robberies in Heartland. Someone was targeting women, stealing hand purses and jewelry. The crimes happened on a relatively small scale and occurred nowhere near the neighborhood Ruri and Shun lived in, but it piqued Shun's protective paranoia, nonetheless. Despite the fact that Ruri was quite capable of defending herself, he checked out a dozen outdated, self-defense instructional videos--the kind produced in the 80's, with the compressed trance music and staticky video quality. It was cheesy and overbearing, but Ruri had tolerated it because she loved her brother. Yuto had tolerated it because it was, somehow, still better than sitting at home alone.

Shun had also invited him to the viewing so that Ruri could "practice the maneuvers with someone" after she got the basics down. To which Yuto, as much as he admired Ruri, had to decline due to the fact that he liked his spine where it was thank you very much. As sweet and petite Ruri appeared to be, he’d seen her pick up Allen once when he’d sprained his ankle going down the stairs on his roller-shoes. She was no twig.

Something that had surprised him that day, however, after suffering through bad jingles and intolerable acting, was how very humble self-defense was. He'd half-expected for the videos to teach Ruri to basics of drop-kicking and clothing-lining--maneuvers one would expect to see spandex-wearing wrestlers decimating each other with. But self-defense wasn't spectacular. It was the art of finding the chinks in the armor that was the human body, hitting fast and hitting hard, before running. These ‘Achilles’ heels’ were the throat. The groin. The eyes.

Yuto remembered the way Ruri's face had scrunched in disgust as the video instructor detailed how to gouge a human eye, and he’d felt her tense up on the couch beside him. She'd formed her fingers into the position, her index and her pointer together, hooked, staring solemnly at her hands. "I don't think I could do it. That's awful," she'd said.

Yuto had glanced up at Shun, who'd been sitting upright, ramrod, his eyes held fast to the T.V screen. He'd shrugged. "Sure you could," he'd said.

Ruri had given him an exasperated look. "Wouldn't it just be enough to just buy pepper spray? You can buy it in in those cute little bottles now--it comes on a keychain. We could all get one. Would that make you feel better?"

"And if you don't have it on you, then what will you do?" Shun had pressed.

"I could always try dueling them," Ruri had said, half-joking.

"Not everyone is a duelist,” Shun said.

"But you understand what I mean, right? I don't think I could hurt someone like that. Even if they were trying to hurt me," Ruri had confessed. "You know what I mean, right, Yuto?"

"It does seem...kind of extreme," Yuto had agreed. "I'm not sure I'd be able to do it, either."

"Of course, you could." Shun had turned to him. "In that kind of situation, you don't think. You just do. You’d do whatever it took. It’s not a choice.”

He’d been right. There was no choice.

Yuto swung for the eyes.

He hit right on target.

At once, he felt his fingernails dive into the warm cavern of an eye-socket, the noise sick and juicy. Yuto wretched his hand back, and the contents spilled out with him. It oozed down into Yuto's fingers, pooled in the palm of his hand, and dripped onto the sleeve of his shirt.

It was tears. It was vitreous fluid. It was blood.

The howl the man made was subhuman, raw, like a banshee stuck in the jaws of a bear trap. He reeled back, screeching, hands cupped around the damaged eye. "You little fuck. You little fucking piece of shit--" His voice was warped in his agony.

The other attacker recoiled, shocked. His hesitancy and horror only lasted a fraction of a second, but Yuto didn't let the moment pass. He reared up, fist colliding with a windpipe. He choked, sucking in a desperate breath, reflexively letting go of Yuto's other arm. Free, Yuto back-peddled, scrambled to his feet, and leaped towards the door.

The woman in the doorway eyes widened when she realized Yuto was rushing through. With his momentum, he lunged into her with the blunt of his shoulder, launching her out of the doorway and onto the hallway floor. She toppled gracelessly. Before she fell, she clawed at him, anchoring him down. He fell with her, bones greeting the floor, but Yuto was above feeling pain. Yuto was adrenaline, hot and pure. He retched himself from her grip, ricocheting down the hallway and away.

By the time she hollered for assistance, Yuto was already out of her sight.

On autopilot, his thoughts sizzled down to a single desperate objective: get out. The hallways stretched in front of him, blizzard white, each turn revealing identical stretches of plaster and linoleum. Yuto scavenged for some sort of marker--an exit sign, a room label, a potted plant, anything--but there was nothing to distinguish one hallway from another. To make matters worse, Yuto couldn't pause to think rationally; he could hear the clamber of footfalls gaining up from behind. Blindly, he darted from one windowless hallway to another, praying to whatever deity that might be listening to lead him out.

There were unmarked doors in every hall. In his panic, he pulled at the handles, desperate to find some secret staircase in the mess of identical halls. If worse came to worse, perhaps he’d be able to hide out in a supply closet. Reevaluate the situation. But every door he encountered was locked tightly, refusing to budge.

There was no way his movements weren’t being monitored, and judging by the thunderous footfalls that shadowed him, his detainees were approaching rapidly. Yuto rounded another corner, and–

Relief inflated him like hot air into a balloon. An elevator. At least it was something other than a locked door.

Yuto began spamming the button. It’d been his secret hope that the elevator would already be prepared to disembark, but naturally, he wasn’t equipped with such luck. The joy he’d felt upon its discovery began to wane when, after a moment's pause, he couldn’t hear the mechanisms in the elevator churning. Was it even coming down to get him?

In his haste, he hadn’t noticed it: the black box adhered next to the elevator, providing a small slot where a card was intended to go.

He…needed a card key?

Unfortunately, Yuto had never little time to digest the new information.

There was a pinch, a small dig into the small of his back. It was a millisecond of discomfort. A prelude.

Then, pain.

The most brilliant, jaw-rattling agony Yuto's ever been subjected to, his body locked and convulsing immediately. He went scarecrow rigid, teeth sinking into the flesh of his tongue before face-planting haphazardly. Lying on the ground, twitching, blood bubbling past his lips, he watched his vision fizz at the edges with black. Yuto's coherent thoughts, his desperation to keep fighting forward, to not give in, were snuffed out by the harrowing excruciating affliction of electrocution.

When the electricity finally ceased, he felt blissfully relieved, limbs jellied. Upon greedily gulping for missed air, he inhaled his own blood instead, and he choked, gasping. He couldn't keep his eyes straight in his own head, the colors of the world bleeding and swimming, white walls blending with white tiles and white ceiling. Every nerve in his body wept with numbness, ringing and groggy, unable to do anything but throb.

When he felt the pressure of someone's knee pinning his back, his hands being roughly fastened together, his survival instincts reignited. He kicked and writhed anew, his movements messy and muted.

It was a pathetic display, but it must’ve inspired some annoyance, because it earned him a jab to a rib cage and a gruff demand to keep still. When Yuto naturally disobeyed, he was hit again. He heard the bone crack and he wheezed.

"Don't break him. You'll mess with my numbers," the woman whined.

"He took out Higurashi's eye," a gruff voice called behind him.

"Never mind that," she said. “We're already behind schedule. I don't need anomalies in my data because you were unable to detain a child properly. "

"Never mind?!" the gruff voice said.

Wrists tied together, and with so many people hovering around him, Yuto began to struggle again. He couldn't just lie there. He didn't care if they shattered each of his ribs, or tased him again. He had to get out, he couldn’t be here, they were going to hurt him--

The man who'd restrained him roughly took a handful of Yuto’s hair in his first, pulling him up at the scalp. In spite of himself, Yuto yelped, his eyes meeting the black irises of the man he’d recently punched in the throat. “Stop. Fucking. Moving.”

The woman groaned, exasperated. “It’s water under the bridge. I needed him in the lab weeks ago. Move.”

Still pinned under his knee, the man released his head, his face meeting the ground once again. A rough cloth was suddenly forced around his eyes, the action swift, quicker than he could begin to properly resist being blindfolded. His line of vision was replaced with a velvety blackness, and his breath quickened as he came to realize just how helpless he really was. It only increased when he felt himself being lifted up and thrown over the shoulder like a burlap sack to be carried away to God knows where.

Yuto kicked and screamed the whole way.

Chapter Text

To: Abaka, Leo

Subject: Memory Analysis

Examination of [Category: Flashbulb] memory files have been conducted on the following unit(s):

File No. 0021 (Extraction source: Specimen: #0101)

File No. 0022 (Extraction source: Specimen: #0118)

File No. 0023 (Extraction source: Specimen: #0107)

File No. 0024 (Extraction source: Specimen: #0137)

Reviewing the combined forty-hours of extracted memory footage (with the objective being to source and locate instances of supernatural or otherwise scientifically inconceivable events during the formative years of Specimens #0101, Specimen #0118, #0107, or Specimen #0137) have yielded largely inconclusive and negative results.

With one outstanding exception being the rare instances in which the following subjects are believed to possess what could informally be described as a ‘bond’ with the following Duel Monster memorabilia. These units include: Odd-Eyes Pendulum Dragon, Clear-Wing Synchro Dragon, XYZ Dark Rebellion Dragon, and Starving Venom Fusion Dragon respectively. Strangely, there seems to be a collective absence of a memory that denotes how each specimen acquired their adjacent card. This could be the result of any of the following errors: failure to transfer short-term to long-term, infantile amnesia, or pruning. It could also suggest a supernatural explanation, but we do not possess the necessary data to prove or disprove this theory.

This ‘bond’ is not exhibited between any other Duel Monster artifact, despite the fact that all four specimens in question have had long-term engagement with the game itself.

Furthermore, it was requested that patterns in behavior be identified. Particularly for displays of violent, megalomaniac, manipulative, destructive, or otherwise dysfunctional tendencies. Review of the files in this regard also do not conclusively reveal any innate maladaptive personality traits or behaviors.

#0137 exhibited several instances of misanthropy, rage, and social incompetence. However, it would be irresponsible to suggest that these traits are necessarily ingrained. Rather, they appear to be manifestations as a result of a turbulent upbringing. Regardless, it is worth further exploring.

Similarly, #0118 displayed a consistent disregard for the law, partaking in petty larceny, trespassing, and resisting arrest. The government and authorities of #0118's place of origin suggests that the motivation behind these transgressions were for self-preservation as opposed to a hedonistic intolerance for order.

#0107 displays a tendency to be withdrawn, but not outside of what is typical of introversion. I’ve detected certain instances of anger, but these incidents appear to be rare, self-contained, and do not result in the harm of others or of #0107 himself.

There are no outstanding or concerning anomalies in #0101's behavior that suggests delinquency or immorality.

In summary, noting the margin of error, the results seem inconclusive. If I could be so bold as to be casual: the memories do not in themselves feel different from that of any other human being with the exception of a few, minor anomalies.

Sincerely,

L.C Employee No.599

[To: L.C Employee No.599]

Re: Memory Analysis

Refrain from referring to them as "human".

They aren't.

Akaba, Leo

Violated perfectly described how Yuto felt.

Yuto curled himself up on the cot, soreness radiating at every corner of his body. The gusto that had fueled him hours ago had dimmed, replaced by the wooly feelings of numbness and tingling. Before they had dumped him back in his room, they had sedated him with something. It wasn’t like the previous injections he’d been subjected to that completely robbed him of his consciousness. Rather, it was something that made everything around him feel slow and wilted, leaving him pitifully aware about how he was being dragged and prodded without being able to object. Yuto felt warm with humiliation, shame wounding his chagrin.

What a miserable failure that was. He involuntarily replayed the moment in his head, desperate to figure out how he could have attempted it differently, but he couldn’t produce a different outcome. Wherever he was, they were fully staffed, equipped, and armed. The surrounding halls were labyrinthine, and all he had found for means of exit was a locked elevator.

And surely that little stunt wasn’t going to go unnoticed. Yuto doubted they were ever going to underestimate him like that again, which meant that Yuto had probably squandered his best chance to escape. He tried not to dwell on the long-term repercussions of his failure, but all he had left to do was obsess over it. It was either that or stare at the wall.

If anything, at least Yuto was clear about one aspect of his capture: he was a lab rat. For what experiment, he didn’t know. It’s as if he was deliberately given just enough clarification on the matter just to instill a hardy, new sense of terror in him. Like everything else, it was probably done on purpose.

It was all strange. So unyieldingly strange. The experience had stripped him. He felt naked.

Yuto remained blindfolded for the bulk of the experience, so he didn’t know exactly where he was taken to. All that he knew was that he tried to wrestle off the guard who picked him up, an action that was graciously rewarded by the arrival of more guards, who bruised and bent him until he relented.

He’d been secured to a large chair, his wrists anchored to the arms of the chair, his ankles fastened. When Yuto arched his back trying to twist out of the restraints, they further secured his midsection with another strap, effectively pinning him.

Yuto heard several people, their footfalls and muttering filling the room with white noise, but it was only the woman he previously knocked over that addressed him directly.

“That was quite exciting,” she told him, speaking close to his ear. “It looked like it hurt quite a lot. I do remember warning you, however, so I can’t say I feel any sympathy.”

“Get away,” Yuto demanded. “Let me go.”

“After all the trouble we went through to get you here? Can’t say I feel inclined,” she said.

“Dr. Daguchi,” a new voice piped up. “The tourniquet.”

“Thank you,” the woman replied. Yuto had felt something squeeze his arm.

“Daguchi?” he echoed, trying to rip the afflicted arm away from her grasp. His wiggling was then ceased by a heavy pair of hands.

“That is indeed my name,” she replied. “Stay still.”

He was helpless to prevent what he assumed was his blood being drawn. A lot of it. And after preemptively being electrocuted, pummeled, and tethered down, Yuto’s will to fight was consequently diminished. He let himself finally be still, exhausted and hurt.

It then became clear to him that blood wasn’t the only type of sample they wanted. A numbing agent was applied to the outside of his right arm, filling the room with an overwhelming, chemical fog. Unfortunately for him, the strength of its odor did not mirror its strength in desensitization-- Yuto felt the precise movements of the scalpel and they scraped away samples of his skin. It took every ounce of self-control not to scream or thrash. Yuto kept his jaw tightly locked, so much so that the strain had caused an ache, glaring into the blindfold, exercising most of his attention on keeping his breathing even. The last thing he wanted to do was give them the satisfaction of him screaming out.

They poked and prodded him for a while more, collecting little pieces of him callously, leaving Yuto dizzy. When they satisfied themselves, they disinfected and bandaged the wounds they created and left him for a length of time. Perhaps it was to tuck away their samples, or to let him recover a bit-–he didn't know. They weren't so kind as to remove the blindfold, leaving him stewing in the dark, listening to himself wheeze through the sharp pain of his assuredly cracked rib.

When Dr. Daguchi returned, she came alone, her assistants gone. Yuto heard the whirr of electronics coming to life, the scrap of furniture being relocated. Quickly after she situation herself, she returned her attention back to him. Having already felt like a lab rat, the feeling was further exaggerated when she began strapping appliances to him. Some sort of vest was strapped tightly over his chest, along with some sort of metal headband. He felt the sticky suction of diodes as they were carefully arranged on his temples and his forehead. Naturally, he protested during this entire experience, demanding answers, but she ignored him, continuing to tighten straps and relocate diodes until she was content.

Finally, the blindfold was removed. Dr. Daguchi sat in front of him on a chair, half of a dozen holographic screens opened around her, none of which Yuto had been able to decipher. The apparatuses fastened to his head and chest appeared to be connected to them somehow. As jarring and bright as it had been, Yuto’s eyes couldn’t help but land on the black, rectangular object she was twirling in her hand: a stun gun.

Yuto decided that her smile was permanent. “Hello again, honey. I’m afraid we’re not done for the day. Which is exciting for me. I can’t speak for you, however.”

“What is all this?” Yuto asked.

“I’m going to be asking you a couple of questions. I implore you to answer honestly. In fact,” she then gestured to a single screen out of the many, “you don’t exactly have a choice. This machine right here is a lie detector--nine times more sensitive and ten times more accurate than the polygraphs currently being used by the police. You so much as consider being dishonest, I will know.”

“Why are you doing this?” Yuto asked.

“First question,” Dr. Daguchi said. “How old are you?”

“Fuck you,” Yuto said.

Her eyes fared--not with irritation, but with excitement. She picked up the stun gun, jabbing into his side.

When Yuto felt its bite, he yelped. It Didn't the same punch to it as the previous tasing, but it still hurt, his muscles tensing and twisting.

Dr. Daguchi had simply smiled, placing the stun gun back on the table calmly. “Oh, honey. This isn’t a hard one. Besides, I already know the answer. These are just control questions to calibrate the machine.”

A cold sweat had begun to snake down his back. “How?”

“How what, honey?”

“How do you already know that? Have you been stalking me?” Yuto said.

Dr. Daguchi’s grin only widened. “How old are you?”

“What the fuck is all this? Why am I here? What do you need me for?” Yuto demanded.

Dr. Daguchi had no qualms zapping him again. “Keep testing your heart like this, and we might have to do this all again,” she giggled. The sound cut right through him.

Yuto coughed, writhing in his restraints. “Jesus…”

“How old are you?” she asked, again.

He relented. “Fifteen.”

“Was that so hard?” she asked, coy.

Yuto scowled at her.

“Next question,” she said. “When is your birthday?”

“April 4th.”

“Where were you born?”

“Heartland.”

She’d tapped around on her equipment, humming pleasantly to herself. “Excellent. Now, to the good part: have you ever experienced issues with uncontrollable or destructive anger?”

Yuto frowned. “No.”

“Do you feel that humanity is inherently destructive?”

“Not...no, not all of it,” he said. “What kind of question is--?”

“Do you think the world would be better without humanity?”

“What? Of course not,” Yuto insisted.

“Have you ever experienced black-outs, gaps in memory, or episodes in which you were unable to recall where you’d been or what you’d previously been doing?”

“No,” he said.

“Have you ever believed to have had supernatural abilities, such as telekinesis, electrokinesis, telepathy, super strength, or weather manipulation?”

“This is crazy,” Yuto said. “What’s this even for?”

“I’ve already told you, honey. You don’t need to know.”

He grit his teeth. “Stop calling me that.”

She batted her lashes at him, obviously entertained. She then clicked on the stun gun, the electric teeth buzzing crudely. Leaning forward, she brought it dangerously close to his neck. Yuto reflexively flinched, straining to get away, but was largely unable to. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Or what?” she challenged. “You’ll hurt me? How cute.” She drove the stun gun into the sensitive skin, holding it in place a little longer than she usually did. Yuto wasn’t able to breathe, his vision molting. When she’d finally released him, he sputtered, spitting. He reopened the wound on his tongue, the swollen flesh oozing again.

“Your rebellion is entertaining, but it does have its limits. If we weren’t so behind schedule, then perhaps I’d toy around with you, but alas,” she’d said, ruefully. “There's no time to play.”

Yuto spit up blood. “You’re sick.”

She regarded him plainly. “You’re quite ballsy, aren’t you?” Yuto half-expected Dr. Daguchi to zap him again for his petulance. Instead, she pulled a handkerchief from her front pocket and proceeded to gingerly wipe the blood trickle from his mouth. The action in itself was so tender that it made Yuto’s stomach flip, leaving him wishing he’d been electrocuted instead.

“I must admit, I didn’t expect you to put up a fight. From what we’ve observed of you, you seemed more like the docile type. Keeping to yourself, keeping quiet. But you’ve got quite the feisty side to you.”

Yuto grounded his teeth, forcing himself to keep quiet. “Maybe that's why your little act this morning caught me by surprise. To think, you--a little wallflower--an eye gouger,” she hummed to herself, tucking her heincheif back into her coat pocket. “Apart from that, I’ve also been told that you haven’t been eating well, either. It’s a mystery where you got the energy to put up such a fight.”

She drew close to him suddenly, brushing away strands of hair. Lovingly. Slowly. Yuto shivered, saying nothing. “I enjoy surprises. To an extent. And I can assure you, honey--I’m never surprised twice. I guarantee I will never underestimate you again. Ever. And if you insist on keeping up this same stubborn charade, I can promise you, I’m full of surprises myself.” Her gentle movements had then become irate, her fingernails drilling into his scalp, causing Yuto to wince. "Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

He nodded as much as his restraints would allow, his throat constricting.

“Wonderful,” Dr. Daguchi renewed her smile, her impossibly white teeth glowing with malignance. “Now, allow me to ask again: have you ever believed to have had supernatural abilities, such as telekinesis, electrokinesis, telepathy, super strength, or weather manipulation?”

“No,” Yuto said.

“Have you ever experienced supernatural or otherwise inexplicable phenomena?”

“No.”

“Are you positive that all your memories belong to you?”

Yuto blinked. “What does that even mean?”

“Are you positive that all your memories belong to you?” she asked.

Astonishingly, repeating the question had clarified nothing. “ Uh, yes? Who else would they belong to?”

She jotted something down. “Good. Have you ever heard voices?”

“No.”

“Do you believe in reincarnation?”

“No.”

“Do you believe people have souls?”

Yuto paused. “Maybe?”

“Maybe?”

“I mean, I would like to believe so,” Yuto said.

“Interesting,” she mumbled. “Would you agree that you are an avid duelist?”

Yuto felt whiplashed--it was impossible to piece together what kind of survey this was with the topics switching around so bombastically. “Yeah,” Yuto replied. “I mean, I was carrying my deck and duel disk when I was,” he selected his words carefully, “trying to walk home. What happened to my deck? Did you throw it away?”

“How long have you been a duelist?” she asked.

Yuto sighed. “Since I was little.”

“What inspired you to pursue dueling?” Dr. Daguchi asked.

Yuto shrugged. Or at least, he’d tried to shrug. "My mother, I guess. But, everyone plays duel monsters. It’s just what you do.”

“You have no other internal motivation to play the game?”

“It’s fun?” Yuto offered.

Dr. Daguchi seemed disappointed. “Do you believe duel monsters have souls?”

He pulled at his bonds weakly. “They’re cards,” he said.

“Obviously” she’d stated, plaintively. “But do you believe they have souls?”

Yuto hesitated. “No,” he said.

Something on Dr. Daguchi’s monitor blinked, and her grin warped into a smirk. “Oh? Is that a lie?”

“What? Of course not, they’re playing cards. They can’t have--”

She pressed the stun gun under his chin, her thumb resting on the button. Yuto was forced to look upwards, perspiration pricking at his forehead. He swallowed, hard, breathing carefully out his nose to keep from panicking. “Honey. What did I say about lying to me?”

He surprised himself with how even he kept his voice. “I’m not lying,” he insisted.

She rewarded him with a quick zap. His teeth ached in his skull. “Do you want to think about your answer a little more?”

“Inanimate objects don’t have souls,” he said, curling his fingers around the arm of the chair. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

She dug the stun gun into his skin a little farther. Yuto tried to look anywhere but her face. "You’ve never felt any sort of connection to any card? Never felt the presence of an energy, an aura, a will? A vibe?”

The memories of holding Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon in his hand, feeling infinitely and instantly comforted by simply holding, sprung to mind. Apparently, his facial expression had given him away, because Dr. Daguchi had grinned. “Is something coming to mind?”

“I guess sometimes,” Yuto bit his lip, “with Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon, I...it's got to just be me imagining it.”

“What exactly is this feeling?” she probed.

“It's nothing,” Yuto insisted. When her finger twitched over the finger over the stun gun’s trigger, Yuto quickly changed his answer. “I mean, it’s like...I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. It’s just this feeling that it’s… aware?”

“Finally, something I wanted to hear,” she said, writing it down.

“But that’s not real,” Yuto insisted. “It’s something I must’ve made up.”

“Of course, honey, of course,” she said. “Next question: do you possess abilities or skills that you don’t recollect learning during your current life?”

The questions continued in the same, unusual fashion, leaving Yuto unable to find a foothold. He grinded over the encounter in his head, unable to connect the seemingly unrelated and sporadic inquiries. He settled upon deciding that she was insane, along with whoever else was invested in this experiment.

But as bizarre as the interrogation had been, it was the activity that followed that was easily the most difficult to wrap his head around: the lightbulb.

When she felt satisfied with his answers, she unhooked the apparition around his chest, packing away the lie detector. The halo and the diodes remained tightly fastened. She vanished for a minute, leaving him alone with a tirade of guards who eyed him while he squirmed. Returning, she didn’t have another fancy tidbit of equipment, but rather, a common bulb screwed into a self-contained base.

She placed it on the table in front of him, smiling expectantly. “One last test,” she said. “And then I’ll leave you alone for the rest of the day. How does that sound?”

Yuto eyed the light suspiciously, paranoid that the lightbulb was going to detonate or find some other way to hurt him.

“What kind of test is this? Yuto asked.

“All I need you to do,” she tapped the bulb with the point of her nail, “is turn the light on.”

Yuto frowned. “My hands are tied up.”

“I’m aware.”

Yuto wanted to scream. “Then how am I supposed to--”

“Concentrate,” she prompted, which failed to satiate Yuto’s confusion.

“Concentrate?”

“Concentrate on turning it on,” she said, her words deliberately slow, as if Yuto was the stupid one.

“You want me to turn it on with my mind?”

She gestured to the bulb again. “Go ahead.”

Yuto wasn't particularly interested in getting electrocuted again, but he was at a loss. “How exactly…?”

“Just give it an honest attempt.”

Unsurprisingly, no matter how many times Yuto squinted and focused on it, he was unable to turn it on. It didn’t even flicker.

Sometime after the lights went off, Yuto inevitably fell into a turbulent sleep. That hauntingly familiar nightmare visited again.

Again, he found himself tightly fastened to an operating table, the light from the crude bulb pouring over his restrained form. It had always been an unnerving predicament, but given that Yuto had spent the better part of the waking day immobilized and tormented, it added a terrifying level of hellishness to the dream. The bite of the restraints was too real, the helplessness too acutely recreated.

She materialized, hushed, to his side. She always did. But this time, Yuto detected a hesitance to her that she’d never exuded previously, causing Yuto to start.

“What’s wrong?” he snarled, bitter and afraid. “Don’t feel like chopping me up today?”

Her visage was more warped than usual, features twisting and melting into impossible colors, like the tuning of a macabre kaleidoscope. It was harrowing to focus upon, as anything and everything about her was, but even in the dream Yuto’s patience had met its limit. His terror mutated into anger. “Everybody else has no problem just helping themselves. Go ahead. Just fucking do it.”

She remained still: no cloying touching, no patronizing smile, no metal cleaver.

“Well?” Yuto challenged.

Something about his inquiry stirred her from her stupor. She flinched, giving him a hard look. She radiated something new, something quieter, and yet more pernicious than her typical lust for dismantlement. Was this…sympathy? Surely not.

Then, she collapsed her head into her hands and wept.

Immediately Yuto felt wracked with guilt, the waves her sorrowing spilling into him, soaking into every pore. He shrank, his anger and fear drowning in her agony. He opened his mouth to apologize, only to find that his voice had been robbed of him.

He lied there, muted and miserable, while she cried endlessly into her hands. Her despondency sunk into him like fangs.

Yuto woke up wishing she’d just cleaved him apart.

Another set of three days passed without incident. Yuto had noticed that the meal trays he had accumulated before he’d been removed from the room to be stabbed at and interrogated had disappeared. The half of the energy bar that he’d meticulously saved by wrapping it and tucking it under the cot had been left alone, however. At the very least, they were allowing him to stash food, which suggested to him that they weren’t interested in starving him. At least, he liked to believe that’s what that meant.

Yuto began scratching tallies into the wall with his fingernail. He picked the wall space right beside the cot to begin his count, painstakingly chipping away paint and indenting the plaster to make deep, jagged lines. He spent the better part of an hour making a mark for each of the days he could remember being awake for, taking his time on the tally that marked the present day. Part of his impulse to do so was inspired by sheer boredom, but it was mostly motivated by a fear that he’d forget how long he’d been imprisoned if he didn’t mark the days. The days so easily melted together. He didn’t want to completely lose his sense of time.

At the very least, it provided him with a sense of control.

Yuto knew something was amiss when his typical breakfast offering didn't arrive the following morning. The meals seemed to appear in a relatively punctual manner, and given they were one of the few events that actually seemed to happen--aside from sudden, invasive medical sessions--its absence was noted.

A cold, foreboding sense that something awful was brewing gave him the chills.

The door opened.

This time, there was no theatrical introduction at the odd window or any snarky warnings. It was unceremonious and chaotic. The door was thrown open with such an intense force, it bounced off the resounding wall. Four guards, now properly equipped with vests and plastic face protection gear, tasers out and poised. Yuto immediately bounced up, stumbling back, pressing himself against the edge of the wall, helpless.

It became clear that they weren't going to let him through this time. They gave him an ultimatum-- either cooperate with them, or get electrocuted.

Yuto weighed his options.

He wasn't really a fan of getting electrocuted.

Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be handcuffed, hands restrained behind his back. And just like the time before, they tied a blindfold, too. Then, none too gently, they jerked him out the door, hands on his shoulder and small of his back ever-present, goading him forward faster than he desired. He swallowed thickly, clenching and uncurling his fingers in and out of the palms of his hands.

Finally, they arrived, and they stood still.

He could hear someone move about. And then, he heard a voice he regretfully remembered.

"Did he give you too much trouble?" Dr. Daguchi asked. "Or has somebody learned to behave himself?" She sounded as though she was directly in front of him.

Yuto scowled, and she chortled.

"Enough of the blindfold," Dr. Daguchi's voice exclaimed. "It's not as though #0107 didn't give himself a tour."

The blindfold was undone, and Yuto recoiled at the bright light. They were poised in front of a door.

"I have a name," Yuto asserted.

"Whatever you say, honey. How are you feeling? Enjoying your stay?" she asked.

Yuto scowled.

Dr. Daguchi's eyes gleamed mischievously. "No matter. You are I are going to have fun today."

Yuto scoffed. "What's next? Going to have me try to bend a spoon with my mind? Write a timed essay?”

Dr. Daguchi laughed, exercising her fingers into a pair of rubber gloves she produced from her coat pocket. “You’re quite the comedian.” She snapped the glove against her wrist.

Yuto shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Then, what are you doing?”

“Think of today more as a game,” she said.

Yuto didn’t like the sound of that. “A game?” he echoed.

"Don't worry," she said. "You'll get the hang of it quickly. It's a lot more straight-forward than Duel Monsters, I can assure."

More straight-forward than Duel Monsters? That didn't narrow it down.

She waved to the guards. "Restrain him inside the room," she said, pointing behind her. "Get his shirt off of him, too."

Yuto immediately bucked backwards; he wouldn't stand to be humiliated further. "No!"

"It's adorable that you still think you have a choice,” Dr. Daguchi said.

Despite the bruises, incisions, and scraps, Yuto fought. He kicked and flailed as the guards on either side of him dragged him into the room. Yuto grappled for purchase, driving his heels into the ground, clawing at the door’s frame as they tried to force him through. His vigorous attempt at escape, just like all his other attempts, was entirely and devastatingly fruitless. When the guards grew tired of dragging him, one opted to pick him entirely, leaving Yuto unable to swipe or dig into anything.

The room was sparsely furnished. In the far-right corner was a cart, its contents hidden by a drape. However, its enigmatic presence barely registered to him against what sat threateningly in the middle of the room.

It looked like a torture device pulled straight from the medieval era. Its base consisted of a large, rectangular platform, which was a host to a string of restraints. At its most northern end was a large pole, approximately two feet in height, which was infused with two iron cuffs. Directly behind the restraints, positioned on the floor of the device, were two sets of straps, set about a foot apart from each other, which Yuto assumed were designed for the ankles.

Yuto spit out a string of profanities as four pairs of hands eventually goaded his kicking and punch-swinging body back to the ground, tearing his shirt from over his head before they started dragging him off to be chained up. Yuto fought at every painful step, searching for an opening, but they were clearly aware of his previous escapades and didn't let up, even when screamed and wiggled as they coerced his wrists into the cuffs and worked the straps around his ankles.

The cuffs were cinched so tight that it strangled his circulation. Much to the despair of his already crumbling pride, his ankles fared the same fate. Forced to kneel, his fingers and toes prickling with the beginnings of numbness, all Yuto could do was gnash his teeth and pull fruitlessly at his restraints to keep from completely dissolving into dread. Neither the strips nor the cuffs gave way.

Dr. Daguchi entered gracefully, stepping directly ahead of him, her expression as plastic and manic as it had been every other instance she's appeared. She examined him, deduced that he'd been properly restrained, and dismissed the guards. As they filed out, she placed that same halo unit he'd been forced to wear during his interrogation, snapping it around his skull snugly. The diodes returned as well.

"There," she breathed, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "All ready to go. Are you excited? Because I certainly am."

Yuto never wanted to strangle someone so badly in his life.

"This room we're in," she stretched her arms out wide, like a ringleader introducing a circus act, "is one of my favorite rooms in the whole building. Want to know why?"

Yuto glowered.

Her zeal was not dampened. "It's admittedly not too pretty to look at. And the cameras up there," she pointed to the corners of the room, "certainly don't give us much privacy. But that's not what I love about it. Come on now. Guess."

When Yuto refused to guess, she fashioned an exaggerated pout to her face, slouching like a snowman caught under the glare of the sun. "You're no fun, honey," she said. If he wasn't so deeply terrified, Yuto might've rolled his eyes.

Then, her mood rebounded. "I suppose I'll just tell you then," she leaned in close, playing bopping the tip of his nose. "When that door is shut, it's completely soundproof. I've tested it. You could be in here screaming and screaming and screaming and no one would be the wiser. Impressive, isn't it?"

It took an insurmountable amount of self-control to remain stoic.

"I can't put my finger on why. It just...brings me so much joy." She stepped back from him, hands clasped together with a childish joy. "Now, as promised. On to our game."

Dr. Daguchi circled him just outside of his peripherals, slow and menacing like a shark. She cherry-picked items from the cart, the clink of metal against metal quickly overridden by the sharp click of a switch being flipped. A steady hissing noise filled the room. Then, it was followed by the thick, sharp scent of kerosene.

The hairs on the back of Yuto's neck stood straight up.

Yuto twisted in the cuffs, unable to see her properly. Out of the corner of his eye, it looked like she was holding some sort of pole? "What are you...?"

“The objective of this game is simple,” she said. “Break free. When you do, the experiment will end.”

Yuto peered down at the metal pestle that secured the bar, the durable slab of metal infused into a heavy base with four, thick bolts. The pole didn't so much as waiver when he thrashed. "How?"

Dr. Daguchi's measured footfalls crept closer upon him, her shadow slipping over him like a great wave. The distinct, burning smell, twinged with a metallic undertone, became increasingly odorous.

The blood began to pound in his ears. "What are you doing?" he demanded, his tone laced with a new edge. "Why are you doing any of this?"

Her ominous, domineering silence was infinitely more pernicious than her patronizing snark. Leisurely, she slipped into his view, displaying what she had in her hand with a pleasurable, sick pride.

It was a brand. The kind they used on cattle. It's tip--an distinguishable emblem--was aflame with a threatening, magma-orange glow. Despite the heated end being poised a few inches from him, its heat still brushed against his skin. A prelude of what was to come.

Yuto physically felt the color drain from his face in an icy-hot flush. "You're not...you're not--" he tried to swallow his encompassing panic, but it got caught in his throat. "Don't!" he stuttered. "Get away.”

"Allow me to ask," she drawled on the syllables unhurried, taking her sweet time on each note. Using the tip of her fingernail, she ghosted meaningless patterns onto his back. "Do you have a preference where you'd like to be burned first? Certain areas of the back are more sensitive than others. I'd choose carefully."

He fought against his restraints harder. They didn't budge. "This isn't–no! Let me go!"

"Like I said," she walked around behind him, and Yuto curled in on himself as much as he could, "this is all up to you."

"But I can't get out!" Yuto retorted, voice fraying. "This is impossible. This is, this is..!"

She sighed, her tone ripe with false sympathy. "I'm sure you'll find a way if you want it bad enough."

Yuto felt dizzy. "That's not how it works!"

Dr. Daguchi shrugged. "Let's not stall any longer, honey."

"Wait! No, I can't--!"

"Remember now. This ends--"

"This is fucked! Get away from me!"

"--when you want it to."

He slammed his eyes shut.

She brought the brand against his back.

Report No. 0002

Project RAY

Phase Two: ala. Operation Sympathy

Experiment 1

Subject: #0107

Objective: The objective of Operation Sympathy is to test the subjects capability of generating a specific and rare neural osculation response, Zarconic-Ray Epsilon Waves, or ZRE waves, which are responsible for producing supernatural responses such as superhuman strength, electromagnetic manipulation, telekinesis, etc. These responses would then be recorded using the ZRE detection band to be analyzed.

Experiment 1 of Operation Sympathy involves restraining the subject with their back exposed, where the subject would then be repeatedly burned with a heated rod.

#0107 was subjected to a heated rod five consecutive times over an hour-long period. It appeared as though the subject made several attempts to escape, pulling and pushing at their restraints, however, they were unable to break free. No ZRE response was recorded. Albeit there was enough evidence to suggest that #0107 was under the significant stress and panic that was hypothesized to be the prerequisite of the production of ZRE. Such included the vocalization of panic, increased perspiration, and hyperventilation.

Doctor Aia Daguchi ended the experiment when the health of the subject came into question. #0107 wounds were treated before being lightly sedated and returned to their room, where their health will be further monitored in preparation for Experiment 2.

Chapter Text

Leo Corporation Employee #599, informally known as Reiji Akaba, currently delegated the better part of his working days to regulating, categorizing, cataloging, and recording data and artifacts regarding Project RAY. This included sifting through memory files, penning manuscripts, destroying extraneous evidence, and overseeing the experiments as they progressed to ensure their quality and efficiency.

Reiji spent the vast majority of his time relegated to a single room: his office. It was a glorified shoe box, a cube of space that was scarcely large enough to contain his slew of monitors and his desk. However, Reiji did not require much more space to do what were essentially secretarial duties.

From his office, Reiji had access to all the cameras throughout the lab. Although his main prerogative wasn't necessarily security (there were other people designated to that role) recording and monitoring the subject's behavior was part of Reiji's responsibilities. This also allowed him to overview the experiments as they occurred on the floor below him without necessitating his physical presence, which was the most practical approach. It prevented Reiji from posing as a potential obstacle during the proceedings, which frequently had a habit of getting, to put it mildly, messy. Reiji would hate to be in the way.

It was simply convenient.

The previous three experiments in Operation Sympathy had yet to reveal any sort of Zarconic-Ray Epsilon response. Project RAY was entering its seventeenth day, and yet nothing of importance had been unveiled.

Experiment 4 involved exposure to subzero temperatures, the idea being that if the subject's body temperature dropped dramatically, it would trigger a ZRE response. The subject was to be locked in a small pod, which was fundamentally a less potent cryogenic chamber. Their temperature and pulse would be monitored through their chip. Potential ZRE would be recorded through the band. However, subjects could only stay in the pod for a limited time before the cold became lethal; there was a ten minute maximum, and even that posed a significant risk.

Reiji doubted the upcoming sessions were going to be any more lucrative than when it was performed on subjects #0137 and #0101. All it currently was efficient at yielding was frostbite and mild hypothermia. Reiji was skeptical that #0107's trial was going to produce a different result, but there was always the chance that it would.

At the very least, Reiji hoped something significant would happen. His father’s patience was beginning to wear.

Reiji’s relationship with his father was odd. His father had always been enigmatic and distant: a mirage. The man seemed to place himself right outside of Reiji's reach, so tantalizingly close, yet never close enough, as if his father sat on the back of the top shelf in Reiji's life. No matter how many accolades Reiji beautified himself with--trophies and titles commending his abilities as a student, as a duelist, as an engineer--it earned him no warmth. His father showed his approval through his silence, only becoming vocal to reprimand him.

It had jaded him when he was a juvenile, brimming with naivety and neediness. But now, nearly seventeen, on the cusp of adulthood, Reiji understood that his father had only ever had his best interest in mind. Reiji was his heir: the inheritor to a multi-million dollar company. There was no room for incompetence, and Reiji liked to think there wasn't an ounce of that left in him. His father's budgeless parenting made Reiji the perfect heir. Reiji was independent and unyielding: the poster child for excellence. His father had planned that from the beginning. It was true what they said: his father is a brilliant man.

Reiji might have found peace after coming to the realization, but that certainly didn't mean that Reiji believed that the nature of their corporal relationship was going to change. Which is why, one month ago, when his father had summoned him to his office for a private discussion, Reiji had been nonplussed.

Naturally, Reiji had expected it to be business related. And he supposed, in the end, it had been--just not the kind of business he'd been anticipating.

Reiji invariably felt a healthy dose of apprehension whenever he stepped into his father's office, but upon that afternoon the office had been a tomb. The blinds to the massive windows behind his father's desk were shut tight; only slivers of light that slipped through the blinds casting long, ghostly shadows. It felt colder, somehow, than any other room, sending goosebumps down Reiji’s neck. His father was turned away from him, revealing to Reiji only the black back of his large chair.

"You called for me?" Reiji asked.

His father didn’t bother to turn around. "Did anyone follow you up?"

Reiji frowned. "No."

"Good. Lock the door behind you.”

Reiji obeyed, then took a seat.

The silence between was thunderous.

"If I could ask," Reiji straightened his posture, "what have you called me for?"

Reiji remained imperturbable when his father extended the silence. "Is it about Leo Corp? LDS?" Reiji prompted, coolly.

"No," his father said. Carefully. Slowly.

Reiji had always regarded his father as infallible and flawless, a man larger than life, so it was jarring when his father turned in his chair to reveal someone that looked human for once. Leo Akaba appeared weathered, clothes unkempt and wrinkled. The shadows cut hard into his visage, emphasizing his sleeplessness. His eyes swam with something vulnerable--grief, regret? Reiji wasn’t able to decipher it.

Reiji concealed it beautifully, but the image had left him stunned, like a bird that smashed itself into a window believing it was just another piece of the sky.
"This is about your sister," his father said. "And who killed her."

The sister. The true and only chink in his father's armor. It was the one thing that had embedded doubt in Reiji in regards to his father's judgment--solely because Reiji had begun to doubt that his sister ever existed in the first place. He couldn't seem to find evidence of her, even after he'd exhausted all his talents sub-legally shuffling through birth and death records. Admittedly, his father brought her up so little that it hadn’t left him many clues to go on. She remained a mysterious and theoretical branch on his family tree, and Reiji was unsure what to make of her.

“My sister?” he echoed.

They stared at each other, eyes locked. His father was calm, but not relaxed, like when the air holds its breath before a hurricane.

“I need you to listen,” he said. “I will not repeat myself. Understood?”

Reiji nodded. “Of course.”

His father inhaled deeply.

Paused.

Then, he made a series of impossible claims, with each assertion more bombastic than its predecessor.

His father had told him that he was the only survivor from a universe that had collapsed and divided. He told Reiji of duelists who possessed unprecedented, supernatural abilities, who could commune and fuse with duel spirits. He spoke of this great evil, a subhuman, dragon monstrosity and its unquenchable yearning for destruction. His father quieted when he detailed how his daughter infused herself with the power of these supposed Natural Energy cards, vanquished this evil and revived the universe into four, distinct pieces--but at the cost of herself.

But this evil was not truly dead, his father stressed. It was in pieces--sentient segments that wore human faces. Pieces that, if reassembled, could wreck the same havoc that pulverized the original dimension.

When his father spoke his piece, coming naturally to a stop, the room was hot with tension.

Reiji toyed with the idea that he'd come down with some ungodly fever on the way to the office. It was the only reasonable explanation to why his father's dark secret sounded like the plot of a convoluted, disastrous anime.

My father is insane, Reiji had thought. He's lost it.

His father had given Reiji a moment of quiet before inquiring: "Do you believe what I've just told you?"

Obviously not! But the last thing Reiji was interested in doing after his father had launched himself into an inane rambling was to disrespect him. "I find it a bit difficult to."

"Good. No one in their right mind would,” his father said.

Reiji gave up on verbally responding.

“I understand that what I’ve said seems impossible.” His father stood, reaching into a drawer in his desk. He pulled out his duel disk. "But I can prove it."

Leo Akaba extended his hand, the screen of his duel disk flashing peculiarly. Cautiously, Reiji accepted.

And in a flash of brilliant light, he brought Reiji to a world where people dueled on motorcycles.

His father had plenty of other receipts to show him, including files from his own memories, but the dueling cyclists had been convincing in themselves.

#0107’s trial was about to begin. Observing its start through the feed, Reiji watched as Dr. Daguchi entered the laboratory with #0107 in tow, who was restrained, blindfolded, and escorted roughly by a set of guards. Dr. Daguchi fiddled with the pod, and the machine whirled to life with a guttural buzz.

Dr. Daguchi was singing melodiously to herself as she prepared the rest of the equipment. Strapping the ZRE band to #0107 forehead gruffly, she gave the subject a cold smile. "Good-morning, honey," she spoke with sardonic compassion. "I hope you slept well last night. I know I did. I was having such a lovely dream this morning, that it was almost a shame I had to wake up."

Dr. Daguchi removed #0107's blindfold. "Would you care to hear about it? You were in it, actually. I was--"

“What the hell is that?” #0107 said, eyeing the pod nervously. “What the fuck are you going to--!”

She suddenly drove her gloved hand into #0107’s mouth, grabbing the subject by the bottom row of their teeth. #0107 let out a petrified squeak as she thrusted #0107 closer to her. The guards took a healthy step back.

“Don’t,” she kneeled to be eye-level with the subject, tone dropping, “interrupt me.”

#0107 gagged, struggling a bit, before Daguchi spoke again. “Go ahead. Bite me. I’ll make sure every meal you ever eat afterwords is through a fucking straw.”

#0107 froze, eyes wide.

Dr. Daguchi chucked frigidly. “Good boy. Now, are you ready to listen?”

#0107 didn’t so much as twitch.

“I’m going to need an answer, honey.”

Hesitantly, and with great difficulty, #0107 nodded.

Dr. Daguchi grinned wickedly. "I had a dream,” she enunciated every word low and slow, “that I got to cut you wide open. Right down the middle. It was like Christmas. You were so beautiful inside. All the little meat bags that make you tick were packed so neat and snug in that little flesh suit of yours. You’re a real piece of art you know,” she shrugged. “At least, in my dreams.”

She paused, soaking in #0107’s reaction. #0107’s visage betrayed very little, but the subject’s knees shook in a way that was impossible to miss.

“It gets better,” she said. “You see, I wanted you to see just how beautiful you were, too--I couldn’t just hoard all that eye candy for myself! So I began pulling out your organs. One by one. Then I held them right up in front of you so you could get a good look at all your pretty insides. Funny enough, you were wide awake.”

Reiji grimaced, half-tempted to close the feed until the actual experiment began. The amount of pleasure Dr. Daguchi openly derived from her work violently rubbed Reiji the wrong way, which seemed to be an opinion that the vast majority of the staff echoed. Project RAY was necessary, and its goal was noble–the safety of several universes hinged on its success. But the labor it required wasn't exactly ‘fun’. More often than not, it was ugly. Nauseating. However, Dr. Daguchi only flourished, growing more heinous and hedonistic as the experiments escalated. It was difficult to watch.

It was undeniable, however, that she was excellent at her job.

"You were quite excited about it, too. All eager to see my work. Certainly a lot more appreciative of my efforts than you are when I’m not sleeping. I work so hard and all I ever hear is begging and screaming and crying and cursing and demands,” she huffed, finally removing her hand from #0107’s mouth. “Although I suppose that’s fun in its own right.”

#0107 coughed, threads of saliva falling from their chin and onto the floor. The guards hovered over #0107 again, but #0107 didn’t bolt.

Dr. Daguchi sighed, her voice returning to its typical jovial state. "It's a shame. I doubt they’ll ever let me live out my little fantasy, although I’m positively dying to know what you look like on the inside now. I suppose I’ll have to settle for turning you into a popsicle instead. It’s not nearly as fun, but I’ll do my best to conceal my disappointment.”

She got to work preparing for #0107’s entry into the pod.

Although his father had personally invited him to work on Project RAY, Reiji was originally only allowed to know very little. It had been clear to him that his father had already located the four reincarnations and knew how he was going to handle him, but he didn't volunteer this information with Reiji, nor did he make it his direct concern. His father had mostly delegated him to work on smaller, albeit essential tasks. Mostly grunt work, such as duplicating duel disks with the inter-dimensional travel function, assembling and assorting the staff, and discretely allocating funds to acquire various, less-than-legal oddities. Money was spent under the table to acquire drugs, weapons, and chemicals. Even more money was doled out to ensure that authorities would be on their side when it came to securing the Standard dimension reincarnate.

Reiji had decided that his father withholding certain information from him in the beginning was to test his loyalty, to ensure that Reiji wasn't going to whistleblow or carelessly spill secret information. Reiji hadn't taken it personally--he'd have done the same thing. Besides, despite not knowing who exactly the reincarnations were, based on the shopping list he’d fulfilled and the people staffed, he’d begun to develop a pretty clear picture on what the experiments entailed, even if he hadn’t been debriefed.

Reiji had asked very little and had worked exorbitant hours. Between preparing for Project RAY, his responsibilities at LDS, and his typical schoolwork, every minute of Reiji's free time had either been spent eating or sleeping. Which had been a shame, because Reiji had truly valued the few snippets of free time he'd had before working on Project RAY--time he spent at the docks, enjoying the ocean breeze.

The docks referred to a small, abandoned pier on the outskirts of Maiami City. It was a scraggly spot that nature was slowly reclaiming, shrouded by a series of rusted, graffitied shipping containers. It peered over a scrappy beach that was dotted with boulders and driftwood--but it provided a gorgeous view on the sunset.

Having had this small privilege temporarily revoked was a trivial sacrifice to pay to guarantee the safety of reality itself, but Reiji had found himself inevitably, and perhaps selfishly, mourning its loss. The docks had always been a place of tranquility, almost always unoccupied, quiet save for the rolling of the ocean and chatter of sea birds.

Of course, Reiji didn’t just go to the docks for the ocean view.

Which was why, with less than two weeks before the beginning of Phase 1 of Project RAY, when Reiji was dismissed from his duties early, he sent out a message through his duel disk:

R.A: I'm free.

The reply arrived a blitzing three seconds later.

Odd_Eyes_Boy: really??! like, really, really?

He was unable to stop from smiling.

R.A: Yes. Really, really.

Odd_Eyes_Boy: THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Odd_Eyes_Boy: ＼(≧▽≦)／

Odd_Eyes_Boy: i'll be there~~

When Reiji arrived at the docks, Yuya was already there, dangling upside over the edge of the great, white boulder they'd always convened in, laying in lackadaisical playfulness. His multicolored goggles shielded his eyes, the sunset bouncing off the colorful plastic. He dangled there, limbs splayed freely as if boneless. As soon as he saw Reiji, he sprung up, sat up, and smiled with all the brightness of the sun.

Yuya beat an imaginary set of drums in front of him, speaking theatrically. "Ladies and gentleman! Finally returning to the stage, the one, the only--!"

Reiji cut Yuya off before the charade could continue. "It's good to see you, too."

He deflated. “What? You didn’t like your little introduction?”

“I’m a bit confused as to why a meeting between two people who already know each other necessitates an introduction,” Reiji’d said.

“It wasn’t to introduce you,” he said. “It was to excite you.”

“Ah,” Reiji said. “Consider me thoroughly excited then.”

Yuya punched him playfully. “Smart ass.”

They fell into an embrace, holding tightly, before sitting down together. The ocean was dyed deep orange as the sun slipped under the horizon.

"I might not be able to see you very often," Reiji had told him.

"Even less than now?!" Yuya said.

"I'm afraid so,” Reiji said.

Yuya pouted. "But...but that sucks."

"I'm sorry," Reiji said.

"What is your dad even having you do that takes up so much time?" Yuya asked.

"Business."

"Duh," Yuya said. "What kind of business?"

"I can't exactly go into it."

His eyes lit up. "Secret business?"

"I suppose you could say that."

"I can keep a secret," he’d shifted closer, their shoulders flush.

"Then it wouldn't be much of a secret," Reiji had said. "Not to mention, a violation of contract. It would be a legal nightmare."

"Wait. Your dad," his nose had scrunched, perplexed, "would, like...sue you? Your own dad?"

Reiji had shrugged. "I wouldn't doubt it."

"Well, I guess if it keeps you from getting arrested," Yuya brushed his hand against Reiji's, "then you can keep your secrets."

Reiji gently took his hand into his own. "It wouldn't be of much interest to you anyway."

"And the last thing I'd want to do is get on your dad's bad side," Yuya said, fiddling with the pendulum that hung around his neck. "Listen, no offense--"

"Oh?"

"--but your dad kinda gives me the creeps," he said. "And by kinda, I mean a lot."

Reiji wasn’t able to contain a laugh. "My father certainly doesn't seem...approachable."

Yuya sprung to his feet, turning backwards to face Reiji while he backpedaled towards the ocean. "That's because he totally isn't. I mean, when was the last time the guy even smiled? I don't think I've ever seen it."

Reiji elected to ignore him. "What are you doing?"

He swung his arms from side to side. "Going for a swim."

"A swim?" Reiji asked

"Why not?" he said. "It's a beautiful night for it."

"Do you plan on swimming fully clothed?"

"I can't exactly get naked," he motioned for Reiji to follow. "Come on!"

"I'm not getting in with you."

"You don't have to get super wet," he bargained, kicking off his shoes. "You could just dip your feet in."

"No."

"Come on, Reiji! It'll be fun!"

"We seem to disagree on what 'fun' is." But Reiji stood anyway, traipsing across the sand as he whooped victoriously. Yuya had a hypnotic swagger to him that Reiji couldn’t deny; it pulled him in like a magnetic field.

Yuya cautiously treadled into the water, only to jerk his foot right back out. "Ah!" he screamed. "It's cold!"

Reiji had discarded his shoes, unwinding his scarf. "Obviously.”

He had splashed him before Reiji could even reach the water. He recoiled--it was freezing.

"Oops," he grinned, oozing with mischief.

Naturally, there was only one course of action Reiji could take after such an insult: he stepped into the water and splashed him back.

Yuya screamed from the shock of the cold and delight, soaked in the light of the sunset. Reiji was so struck up at how beautiful he looked, rosy eyes sparkling, hair all adrift, that Reiji nearly took the next incoming wave to the face.

By the time the war concluded, they were both drenched. He been sitting in the water, head cocked back as he laughed.

Reiji calmly removed his glasses, fruitlessly attempting to blot away the water on his lenses. "You're such a child." There hadn’t been any true indignation in Reiji’s tone.

"You know, it's okay to have fun every once in a while. He peered up at him, eyes obscured behind a curtain of wet hair. "It won't hurt you."

"I'm soaked,” Reiji said.

"You're smiling,” Yuya countered.

He was right.

Reiji had offered him his hand, which he accepted. Reiji pulled him close, still standing in the shallows, sea foam encapsulating their ankles in a frothy ring. Yuya pressed himself closer, almost skin-tight. Reiji felt Yuya’s heart pound against his chest.

No matter how many times they'd met at the docks, it had always felt a little dangerous. There was nothing more tantalizing than the forbidden, and everything about him felt forbidden. He was a testament to all Reiji considered to be unorthodox. Another bombastic, sell-out thespian, destined to detonate. Garish. Shameless. Someone to be sneered at, someone to be pitied. Certainly, someone that Reiji Akaba-- a dignified, well-educated heir to an industrial titan--would never desire to mingle with.

But he was his drug. As soon as Reiji had gotten a taste, he'd itched for more and more and more. It terrified him as much as it excited him

Reiji cupped his cheek in his hand, and he leaned into the touch. Reiji brushed his thumb loosely against his lips, just ghosting the skin. Yuya perked up, like a flower turning up towards the sun, eyes laid upon Reiji with such unfiltered admiration that Reiji almost forgot how to breathe.

"I've missed you," Yuya closed his eyes, savoring every second. "I've missed you so much."

Reiji hadn't said anything. He couldn't trust himself to speak. Instead, he kissed Yuya, just like all the time he kissed him before. Reiji remembered wondering how it was possible for love to feel so good and yet be so easy.

What a fucking idiot Reiji had been.

#0107 couldn't enter the pod without at least some minimal coverage. Although the experiments were never concerned with the subject’s comfort, the temperatures could seriously damage their isolated most parts: ears, flanges, nose, ears. Such damage could potentially inhibit or slow future experiments, so it was in their best interests to ensure it didn't happen.

Dr. Daguchi had found that the most efficient way to proceed was to bind the hands and feet together in the front before covering the jointed appendages with crude little pouches that acted as mittens or socks. A sack would then be put over the head. The process required quite a bit of muscle, considering how none of the subjects tended to be cooperative during the process.

#0107 in particular wasn't keen about having the sack thrust over their head, and as soon as the guards unbound the metal handcuffs to be rebound, #0107 immediately began to thrash. It took the strength of all four guards to keep #0107 pinned to the floor, and when #0107 refused to stay still even after that, the taser was brought out. With a scream, #0107 finally caved in.

Reiji huffed. The preparation and recovery time Experiment 4 required was excessive. If Reiji had been in charge, he would've cut this one out of the itinerary.

"Now, if you really care about your fingers," Dr. Daguchi wrestled another crude sack over #0107's bound hands, "you'll tuck them in a bit. But that's just a tip." She walked around #0107 slowly, inspecting the bind. "Are you ready?" she asked, squeezing #0107's shoulder.

#0107 struggled.

Dr. Daguchi giggled. “I’ll give you the same ultimatum as I did with all the others. This experiment ends with you. Escape, and it’s over.”

#0107 was picked up and placed into the pod. Even stuck behind the hearty machine, Reiji could hear #0107 pounding and screaming from the inside.

The day Reiji had finally learned who the fragments were, he was sure that there must be some kind of mistake.

It couldn’t be Yuya. It just couldn’t be.

But his father was a brilliant man. He didn't make mistakes.

"They may look like boys," his father warned him. "But do not allow yourself to be fooled. They are not human. They are deceitful. They are the reincarnations of evil."

He wrestled with himself, unsure of how to digest this. "I'm aware."

Leo Akaba set his jaw, eyebrows raised. "Even after all I've shown you, you doubt me?"

"Of course not," Reiji assured. "The news just caught me off guard. It won't happen again."

Reiji expected his father to further reprimand him, but instead, he offered Reiji sympathy. "I too, was initially shaken by their appearance. But that is their most wicked quality," his father began pacing about his office, "and you can't cave into it. They'll abuse and manipulate any kindness you give them. You cannot let this happen."

"I understand."

His father then paused, studying Reiji. "Perhaps this was my mistake," he said. "Perhaps I've overlooked something."

"What do you mean?" Reiji asked.

"Was there some sort of relationship between you two?"

Reiji’s mouth filled with acid. "Relationship?"

"Have you ever considered #0101 your friend?" he asked.

"No," Reiji had lied. "I've only ever considered him--"

"It," his father had corrected.

"I've only ever considered it," Reiji had swallowed, "a peer. A colleague at most."

“So you have interacted?” he asked.

“I had to,” Reiji said. “For the sake of developing the pendulum cards.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised,” his father had said. “I suspect it may have memories of its past life. It must've recognized that you were my son. If it had been able to fool you, it could’ve turned you against me.”

Reiji's hands went clammy. He balled them into fists, clenching them firmly at his side.

His father hummed, resigned. "It's unfortunate you had any relationship at all. Luckily, it seems that you were at least somewhat immune to its illusions.” His father turned again to face him directly. "Will you still be able to perform the duties I've asked of you?"

"Yes,” Reiji said.

"Good," his father nodded. "I would hate to think of what would have happened if you'd already been fooled."

The hairs on the back of Reiji's neck stood.

"Nothing can get in the way of the success of this experiment," his father said. "You understand this, yes?"

Reiji nodded.

His father's stern expression melted away. "Excellent," he said. "You’ll make me proud, Reiji."

Reiji woke up later that night from a shaky sleep, shivering under a sheen of cold sweat. He untangled himself from his bed sheets, stumbled into the bathroom, and solemnly splashed his face with cold water. He watched the water drain away, down the drain. Away. Gone.

Reiji wanted to laugh. Of course, he thought. Of fucking course.

He’d wished he’d been able to say that he handled being fooled with more grace. He supposed it came from a lack of practice.

In retrospect, it had felt all too easy, too promising, like an emotional scam. Yuya had been infatuated with Reiji because Reiji was an Akaba. Reiji had been but a puppet to him, less a person and more like a series of strings to be pulled against his own father. It had all been a game. A means to an end.

And like the sailors in Greek legends that lunged themselves overboard coveted by the saccharine promises of the singing sirens, Reiji had fallen for every beat.

How had he not seen it? True, his father had supplemented that crucial, missing piece of information that ripped his blindfold away, but Reiji should have suspected something was awry. None had ever held an iota of interest in him before. Reiji was impassive, blunt and icy. Friendships and acquaintances constantly slipped through his fingers because of his sheer indifference. If he'd wanted admiration from anyone, Reiji had to struggle bitterly for it, and even then, it was rarely delivered. Love was ugly; it demanded a fight.

How had Reiji ever believed that he'd been an exception? That his determined pursuit of Reiji, despite all of Reiji’s intolerable faults, despite how much Reiji had initially declined, had been earnest?

Perhaps Reiji had simply believed what he'd wanted to believe. Perhaps he'd been so desperate for love that he'd been willing to settle for a counterfeit. Perhaps his act had been that convincing.

Perhaps Reiji had just been stupid.

Reiji looked up into the mirror at himself as the water slipped down his face. His expression was as emotive as glass.

Before he returned to bed that night, he opened his duel disk and scrolled through his messages.

There was the last burst of messages he received while he’d been asleep:

Odd_Eyes_Boy: hey~

Odd_Eyes_Boy: i hope dad isn't working u to death (ಥ﹏ಥ)

Odd_Eyes_Boy: ur probably already asleep, so I hope im not waking u up but like...i kinda...have something i wanna tell you

Odd_Eyes_Boy: and i cant sleep i just keep thinking about it and

Odd_Eyes_Boy: idk its just…

Odd_Eyes_Boy: god this is so bad to say over txt but I dont know when were gonna see each other again so... (^◇^；)

Odd_Eyes_Boy: here it goes

There was a full, three minute gap between that message and the following.

Odd_Eyes_Boy: I love you ♡

Reiji felt sick.

Odd_Eyes_Boy: there, ive said it

Odd_Eyes_Boy: im...really in love with u

Odd_Eyes_Boy: its almost kinda embarrassing how much i think about u (^▽^;)

Odd_Eyes_Boy: message me when u can, ok?

Reiji wanted to cry, but he didn’t.

He deleted all their messages and blocked the number.

#0107’s experiment was approaching the eight minute mark. The incessant pounding from inside the pod that had been gradually slowing now came to a complete stop. #0107 must have either realized that no one was coming to their aid or had become too cold to do much more but huddle into a ball. Reiji watched as Dr. Daguchi tapped impatiently at her monitors, waiting for some sort of response to occur.

Reiji yawned, focus wanning. Exhaustion crept up on him. All he desired was to be able to write his report so he could finish up the rest of his duties and go home.

He didn’t particularly know what possessed him to do so, be it his own boredom or sheer pettiness, but Reiji briefly turned away from his main monitor to another, queuing up the livestream for CAM-01: the main camera overlooking #0101's containment chamber.

#0101’s room itself wasn’t noteworthy--all the rooms were identical, and their respective hidden cameras were angled in the same locations as well.

Reiji spotted #0101 easily. Like a turtle retreating into itself, #0101 had hidden away in the corner of the room, their knees hugged tightly to their chest, head bowed. The feed trembled with a thin veil of static, so it was difficult to tell, but #0101 appeared to be trembling.

Still shivering? Reiji thought. #0101's trial for Experiment 4 had concluded hours ago.

Reiji leaned in, squinting to find that #0101 wasn't shivering.

He was crying.

No, Reiji rapidly corrected himself. It was crying.

It, it, it. He repeated to himself, internally chanting it like a mantra. It, it, it.

It’s not a he. It’s not a boy. It’s not a human. It’s not Yuya. It never was, and it never will be.

It is #0101. It is a monster.

And it must be destroyed.

It will be destroyed.

Reiji turned his attention back to the main monitor, catching the end of the experiment. Just like all the others, it failed. #0107 was pulled out of the pod, shaking and mumbling, before being sent to the infirmary to be treated for mild frostbite. No ZRE response was recorded.

Once Reiji received the data readings from Dr. Daguchi, Reiji wrote his report and sent it to his father.

Chapter Text

They were going to kill him.

Which wasn’t to say his death appeared to be their objective. If anything, their goal seemed to be to see how close they could get to killing him without actually doing so. The tortures varied--burnings, electructions, beatings, freezings--but each gruesome session was cut right before any irreparable or inconvenient damage was elicited on his body. It was sick and cyclical: batterment, repair, batterment, repair. With each new infliction, they tiptoed the delicate line between life and death a little more closely. All it took was for the experiments to get too overzealous, or a slip in judgment, and Yuto was doomed.

Although they were casually invested in keeping him alive, they cared little for the state of his body so long as he was still mobile and breathing. He was a canvas of scars and bruises, mummified underneath thick layers of bandages and medical tape. Infections were frequent. The skin of his wrist and ankles were wrung with a ring of putrid purples and woozy yellows--bruises acquired from thrashing against the hold of his restraints. Weight was melting away, his ribs countable and collarbone sharply defined.

The brands on his back were particularly heinous. The burns had somewhat healed, but the skin around had gained a new tightness to it, as if it’d shrunk. It made him feel stiff and fragile in a way that grated harshly on his already fraying nerves.

Healing was an excruciatingly slow process.. This was partially Yuto’s own destruction at work, as he still refused to eat anything that could have possibly been tampered with. Not that his own stubbornness was the only factor, as Yuto was often so physically ill from pain that his appetite had become a stranger. New lacerations regularly opened old ones. His bottom lip was permanently engorged from constantly being forced open by his teeth when he was tried uselessly to conceal his screams. His mouth perpetually tasted of blood.

Yuto had surmounted how they conducted their experiments, but why was still fuzzy. With every experiment, despite the new, creative ways they approach they wickedly employed, he was given the same ultimatum: escape and it ends. Yuto had originally thought that this was Dr. Daguchi’s taking extra measures to be vicious, as escaping their contraptions and encasements was a physically impossible feat. But as the experiments began to pile on one another, Yuto was beginning to get the impression they were sincerely expecting him to break free. They wanted something out of him, and whatever it was, Yuto was failing to display it.

Rest assured, if Yuto had what they’d wanted, he would’ve surrendered it by now.

Increasingly, especially based on the weird questionnaire he was given at the beginning of this waking nightmare, Yuto had the sneaking suspicion that this something that what they were violently trying to goad out of him was...supernatural, as if they expected him to suddenly reveal that he'd secretly had super-strength or the ability to teleport. If his speculations were true, it only served to further incinerate his hopes of this insidious cycle ever coming to an end. Obviously, Yuto couldn't do those things--he was not a spectacular demigod or an interstellar alien or witch or whatever else they speculated him to be. Those things were fictional.

They were delusional, and Yuto was at their mercy.

Yuto uncurled himself from his position on the cot. The room was pitch black, and Yuto should have been savoring the rare slice of peace. Every cell in his body sagged with a deep fatigue, but like a fish still wiggling after being beheaded, Yuto was impossibly wired. Reaching up to the wall, he gently traced the tallies he'd carved there. There were thirty-two.

Sinking back to his cot, he slammed his eyes shut as his wounds throbbed in tune to the beat of his heart. In a final effort for sleep, he tried to envision that he was in his own bed in Heartland, alone in his apartment, secured behind a door in which he could freely lock and unlock as he pleased, relieved of pain. But Yuto's imagination couldn't extend far enough. Homesickness flooded him, and he buried his face into the thin sheets to blot his tears.

They came to get him the next morning.

Whenever they pulled him out, it wasn't always explicitly torture him. Intermediately, they cuffed and dragged him around for a variety of other reasons that, albeit, less painful, were no less degrading.

They frequently retook samples: drawing blood, taking snippets of hair, pieces of skin. Needles were inserted into his wrists, tapped into his spine, jammed into his thighs. And it always ended with that forsaken light-bulb test--which, unsurprisingly, he was still unable to turn on with his mind. It was uncomfortable and frustrating, but in comparison to the experiments, it was a spa.

Humiliatingly, in other instances, he was removed from his room for ‘hygienic upkeep’. Loosely, it translated into a half an hour of being scrubbed with frigid water while having his privacy completely and aversely invaded. It was always done under sedation, but he was never sedated to the point of unawareness. It was always just enough to extinguish his ability to fight, rendering him helpless as he was stripped down, hosed off in a glorified laboratory shower, and redressed into a cleaner gown before being tossed back into his room, often still damp and dripping. Sometimes, they'd even go as far as to brush his own teeth, which was an experience Yuto didn't recommend. The process was abrasive--they were never particularly keen about keeping gentle over his lesions or wounds, and whatever chemical ‘soap’ they used left him incredibly dry and itchy.

Naturally, none of the physical discernment compared in magnitude to the sheer terror of being rendered vulnerable under the eyes of strangers who'd bluntly displayed their ill will before. He was petrified of being further hurt, unable to do much but gurgle and twitch, but luckily the people tasked with cleaning him seemed just as keen as getting it done quickly, too. If he kept his eye fastened shut, and retreated into the recesses of his mind, the experience was survivable. Plus, he'd be lying if he asserted it wasn't a relief to be clean after stewing about in a sheet of his own sweat and blood.

But given how they'd recently updated their samples and Yuto wasn't particularly grimy, Yuto surmised that today was an experiment day.

He balked as much as he had the courage to, predictably rewarding him with a hardy shove and kick forward. His body vibrated with anxiety, and Yuto fought to keep his knees from trembling.
Which is why Yuto was almost blissfully surprised when his blindfold was removed to find himself standing not in the usual experimentation room, but the infirmary.

The infirmary's interior wasn't spectacular. It was a square of space, as blindly white as every other room, occupied by a single hospital bed and a few cabinets adhered to the wall. Typically, it was occupied by gray-faced nurses who refused to interact with Yuto in any way but to apathetically staunch his wounds and loosely monitor his condition, but there was no sign of them.

A rush of hope electrified him as he dared to believe that he was spared for today, but his repose expired raptly. Emerging from behind him, her heels clicking against the linoleum in a staccato that spiked Yuto's heart rate, was Dr. Daguchi.

Apprehension dominated him, followed by confusion. What exactly was she planning? Through all the time Yuto had spent in the infirmary, the doctor had never graced him with her appearance.

Yuto wanted answers, but he knew he'd only be pummeled for inquiring, and he decided that he wasn't going to give her the pleasure. And it's not that though his previous attempts at fighting had done anything but tighten his restrictions and add more bruises to his collection.

Dr. Daguchi was in her trademark, bubbly-sadist mood, humming to herself, but something in her demeanor was off. She frequently enjoyed harassing him before she began to torture him, belittling him with patronizing nicknames or expressing her desire to disembowel him, but she skipped the verbal upbraid entirely.

"Secure #0107 to the bed," Dr. Daguchi said, pulling out the idiotic halo loathed so much and the series of diodes that went with it. "Make sure the straps are tight enough."

The guards obliged, and Yuto begrudgingly did little to prevent them from securing his ankles, wrists, and midsection to the bed.

Yuto's lack of action was noted. "Would you look at that!" Her expression glowed with evil joy. "It looks like someone is finally learning to behave themselves." She strapped the halo to his head. "About time."

Yuto picked an interesting place on the ceiling to study-- a section where the plaster had been placed unevenly, leaving a little wave. It certainly wasn't eye-candy, but it spared him from having to soak in Daguchi's sneering expression.

"You're not going to disappoint me again, are you?" Dr. Daguchi asked. "We're going to get results today, yes?"

Yuto locked his jaw, sights set on the abnormality in the ceiling.

With one hand, she gripped his face, her thumb and forefinger squeezing his cheeks, forcing his gaze onto her. Yuto fully expected her to mark his face with her nails, digging until blood was drawn, but her hold was curiously gentle. Her tenderness was somewhat impatient, as if Yuto was an unruly child that needed to be placated.

Her smile mellowed into a frown, brows furrowed in a disheartened, discontentment. Yuto's confusion was duplicated. "Honey," her words held all the hardness of talc, "you must be getting tired of this. I know I'm weary of it. I can't imagine what you're feeling.

"What are you even holding back from?" she said. "Has it served you any good? You're practically wasting away, and for what?"

She was trying to bait him; he held his tongue.

"When I tell you that it ends with you, it’s not a lie. Just give me what I want, and I'll give you what you want. I’ll end our little sessions together. How does that sound?" She patiently awaited his reply.

Eventually, Yuto caved into the silence. "I don't know what you want from me.”

"I think you do," she said.

"I don't!" Yuto insisted. More desperation than he’d anticipated leaked into his voice.

Dr. Daguchi scrutinized him, expression piqued but otherwise unreadable. Finally, she relinquished his face.

"I'll make a deal with you," Dr. Daguchi said, her old smile creeping back onto her face. "I'm going to leave the infirmary door unlocked. I'll leave the room completely unguarded. If you can manage to finally break through your bonds, you’ll be free to leave the room. I won’t stop you.”

"I'd just get caught," Yuto bit.

"Eventually, perhaps," she said. Then, she leaned in close. "Or," her voice dropped to a whisper, "you could get lucky."

Dr. Daguchi produced a syringe filled with glossy liquid.

Panic buzzed in his ears. Yuto squirmed, but it did nothing to stop her. With a pinch, she emptied its contents into a raised vein in his arm.

"Just promise me you'll think about it,” she said.

She left, and the guards followed in suit. Astonishingly, true to her word, Yuto didn't hear the brazen click of the door locking behind her.

He was alone.

With a deep breath, he coaxed his racing thoughts.

Yuto waited for the concoction to begin working its evil, counting the seconds in his head. The minutes began to stack: one minute, three, five, ten, fifteen, thirty. Nothing happened.

Exhaustion nagged at him; the cushion of the medical bed more welcoming than the greasy cot he'd been trying to sleep on. The restraints were firm, but leather, and forgiving against his bruising. Sitting in the dim light, aching and tired, his internal shields slipped. Leaning back, he allowed himself to rest, promising himself that he was only going to give himself a moment of peace. No sleeping.

Yuto then, promptly, fell asleep.

A persistent itch in his arm woke him up.

Opening his eyes, the waking world had undergone a strange and terrible metamorphosis. The temperature in the room had spiked, as if set aflame. Disgustingly hot, he felt akin to a chunk of meat charbroiling over coals. Perspiration poured from him in pearls, seeping into his eyes and cementing his clothes to his skin. The paint on the walls dripped, changing colors, swirling and snaking and waving. His breaths were caught in the air, the noise causing physical ripples.

He blinked, his boiling brain chugging. Whatever awful connection he’d had forcefully jammed into his veins was giving him an awful fever, he suspected. Perhaps this was the true nature of the experiment. Perhaps she’d filled him with some sort of poison, and Yuto was simply going to have to tolerate being miserable and disoriented while it ran its brutal course.

The itch in his arm grew; it was coming from the injection site. He cocked his head to inspect it, expecting to find it red and swollen.

What he saw instead made him want to vomit.

Under the thin film of his own skin he could see the movement of small creatures. Even hidden beneath him, he could make out the wriggling and writhing shapes of their chiton easily.

Termites. Living inside of him. Moving. Chewing.

She’d injected him with termites eggs.

Closing his eyes, he willed it to go away, praying it was just a dream. Praying that he was still asleep. But the parading of sticky feet crawling in between folds of muscle and mandibles grinding on his bones was so incredibly real that it had to be reality. It was real. Dr. Daguchi probably wanted him to believe it was a fever dream, but Yuto knew better. An illusion could never be this vivid. An illusion could never be this excruciating.

He screamed.

"Help!" His throat went raw. "Someone! Help me!"

The room swam with different colors, colors he'd never seen, discordantly bright, as the terminates continued to swim in his blood. They were coasting up his arm, borrowing deeper and deeper, snapping at sinew and marrow as they colonized within him. Yuto registered every twitch they made, and he became fuzzy with disgust and terror. Soon, they'd invade all of him, gnawing through his guts to make their depraved, incoherent tunnels. They were going to keep eating and digging, painful and slow, until there was nothing left of him. Until he was a husk.

For once, he wanted to see Dr. Daguchi. He wanted her to cure him, to exterminate the disgusting, revolting parasites within him. He screamed himself hollow, calling for her. When she didn’t come, he called for impossible aid, calling for Shun and Ruri. For Kaito and Allen. For his mother.

No one came.

His anxiety boiled into hysteria. "I'm gonna fucking die," Yuto screeched. He could feel the termites crawling inside his hands, prodding at his fingertips. "They’re gonna fucking kill me, they’re gonna kill me, they’re gonna--!”

"Jesus Christ, Yuto," Shun said. "Relax."

Yuto jumped. Shun had materialized beside him. The fabric of his coat was alive, moving in an array of unusual colors in the way plasma grooved behind the glass of a lava lamp. His red scarf slithered around his neck like a snake, hissing. Too many fingers sprouted from each of his hands, and his skin was marred with blotches of jarring hues: magenta, green, vermilion. The features on his face— his eyes, his lips, his nose—shifted and duplicated across his visage, appearing and reappearing, like stars blinking through a curtain of clouds.

How long had he been there? How did he get here? Had he always looked like that? Yuto couldn't remember, nor did he care. Shun was here! He was saved!

"Shun! Thank god!" Yuto cried. "I need your help.”

Shun glanced over him, assuming his customary, phlegmatic disposition. "I think what you need is to relax," Shun said. "Seriously, what do you think yelling is going to do?"

"No, no, no!" Yuto wheezed, anguish mounting. " You don't get it! They're in me! The bugs! She's gonna let them eat me alive. They are eating me alive."

"I can see that," Shun said.

Yuto sputtered. “Then--?”

"You know, the more you fight it, the longer this shit is going to take. Again, relax."

Yuto stiffened as if slapped. "What?"

“You've drawn your last card, Yuto." Shun shrugged. "What's so bad about getting eaten by bugs, anyway? They've got to eat, too."

"That...that..." Yuto swallowed, only to choke. "No! That's not something you'd say. You wouldn't tell me that!" Yuto yanked against his restraints. "Please, Shun! I don't...I don’t want to die."

Shun gave a short, hard laugh. "Come on, Yuto. Look at yourself! Look at the situation you're in! You’re not going to be able to get out of this one. They’re just going to keep chipping and chipping away at you until there's nothing left. Even an idiot wouldn’t stick around for this shit show.” Shun crossed his arms disapprovingly. “This is your ticket out. Throw in the towel. Let go.”

He could feel termites squeezing through the arteries in his neck, hopping in time to his pulse. "I can still find a way out,” Yuto squeaked. “I can still be rescued. I’ll survive. Just help me! Please.”

“No one is coming for you,” Shun said. “What makes you more important than all the other kids that go missing every day?”

“But--”

“Listen, Yuto,” Shun interjected. “No one cares. And why should they? They’ve got their own lives.”

“Why are you being such an asshole?” Yuto wailed. “I’m so scared, Shun. Help me. Help me.”

Shun shook his head. “I’m only telling you the truth. You know that.”

He did.

Yuto began to sob. "But I want to go home,” he hiccupped. “I want to go home with you. Please, please! I’m begging you. Help me.”

“Stop fighting.”

Yuto shook his head violently, unable to suck in enough air to satiate him. “I can’t...I can’t fucking breathe. I can’t breathe, Shun.”

Shun scoffed. “God, this is hard to watch.” He stood to leave.

"No!" Yuto bawled. "Please, don't leave! I...I don't want to die alone."

Shun sneered at him, all six of his eyes scrunched in disgust. "This is just pathetic," Shun said, turning to him. "But it's not like that's anything new for you. You’re nobody. A creepy little loner who's own family couldn’t bother to give a shit about him. If Ruri and I didn't pity you as much as we did, you'd have no one."

Yuto whimpered. "I know.”

Shun hummed in agreement. “And trust me, you don’t have to worry about us,” he said. “Ruri and I have each other. We don’t need you.”

Yuto swallowed. “I know.”

“No one needs you.”

“I know.”

Yuto could feel the insects exploring his back teeth, excavating his brain, chewing through his optic nerves. He convulsed, spitting. His vision spiraled. “Shun…”

“Just die already,” Shun said. “Trust me, it’ll be better for all of us.”

His vision went black. He didn’t breathe.

When Yuto came to, he was met with the face of Dr. Daguchi, her face pinched with disappointment. She shook her head almost sadly, removing the band and diode wordlessly before vanishing again.

They unbound him, picking him up, his trembling body sticky with his own sweat and urine. He didn’t protest when they carted him off and cleaned him up, washing away the filth and humiliation. They changed his clothes before unceremoniously dumping him back in his prison, where Yuto immediately scuttled underneath his sheet.

Despite the pull of the hallucinogenic being long gone, he still found himself wracked with phantom itchiness.

The tallies on the wall grew.

There was a cruel duality to adding tallies on the wall. It was, pathetically, the only thing Yuto had to look forward to at the end of the day. In order to count a day, Yuto had to survive it--a feat that progressively got more and more miraculous as the days collected. But in the same breath, another mark on the wall meant that Yuto was still trapped.

Maybe no one was coming.

Maybe he’d truly been forgotten.

Shame flushed him every time he gave the thought credence. The 'Shun' that had imprinted that idea into his head had been a drug-induced manifestation. Of course he was missed. Of course people were looking for him.

Yuto had to believe it. If he didn't, he'd have nothing.

Thirty-two tallies quickly turned into forty.

Provided that his count was accurate, it was nearly Christmas.

He wondered what everyone was doing back at home. Had it snowed yet? Heartland always looked pretty under a fresh coat of snow.

The ninth experiment left him without any fingernails. The sensitive flesh underneath had been further abused with needles. Yuto fingertips were tightly wrapped, swollen and still leaking, the blood peering through the thick wad of bandages. Bending his fingers inspired shock-waves of cramping pain up through his palm. His hands retreated and curled in on themselves like dead spiders.

Yuto broke the cap of one of his water bottles to make tally forty-eight.

On day fifty-three, Yuto couldn't walk properly. The bottoms of his feet had received special attention. They'd been burned, not with heat, but with a chemical. The acrid heavy scent of the acid mixing with the odor of his skin melting had been enough to dizzy him.

Yuto had thought he'd been well-acquainted with pain at this point; experiment ten redefined it. The pain had been so acute it’d rendered him, mercifully, unconscious.

When Yuto was lucid again, he woke up in his cell, feet snuggly wrapped, terrified to apply weight to the blistered appendages. As if paralyzed, he laid motionless on his cot, willing the contents of his stomach to stay as he endured the sharp, stinging pain.

The fifty-seventh tally was placed on the wall.

Yuto wondered if people thought of him in the past tense. If he’d become like a fossil: a testament of something that had existed but was no longer tangible. A memory.

Day sixty-six. Over two months.

No one was coming.

Yuto stopped eating.

He wished he was able to say that the act was one of rebellion, a hunger strike in order to spit in the eye of his captors by delaying their twisted project. But in earnest, he simply no longer saw the point.

His thoughts drifted again to Ruri. She adored birds. Her bookshelves were heavy with encyclopedias detailing each and every feathered creature that dove, dipped, and sprinted. Paper cranes dangled from her ceiling. Ceramic blue birds and rubber ducks nested on her desk and perched on her windowsill. Stuffed penguins and flamingos safeguarded her while she slept. Even her deck was a tribute to her love, filled with cutesy, feathery hybrids.

But easily the greatest demonstration of her love came from the way she meticulously and lovingly cared for her two parrotlets, Obsidian and Lulu. They were doted upon like royalty, spoiled endlessly. When they weren't free roaming about her house or nestled on her shoulder, they occupied a massive, silvery cage brimming with colorful toys and sweet treats.

Obsidian was her first, hatched and tended to by Ruri herself. Her plumage was sky-blue, and she sported oddly large, deep, black eyes. Obi was quite chatty and hyper, but amiable. She'd chirp in short, little joyous notes whenever Ruri planted kisses on her neck.

Lulu was a rescue, boasting green feathers with flecks of yellow in her wings. She had been a much quieter bird, less energetic, and much more eager to bite. The longer Ruri cared for Lulu, the less temperamental she became, but there was always a spark of temper in her.

When Ruri had first introduced Lulu to him, the pair had been sitting on her bedroom floor. Ruri coaxed Lulu onto her finger, and she held her hand out, offering her to Yuto.

Ruri sensed his hesitation. "Don’t worry. She's a sweet bird, really."

"I'm not afraid of her hurting me," Yuto said, eyeing the fragile, green bird cautiously, "I'm just afraid of hurting her. She's so small."

Ruri smiled softly. "You won't hurt her, I promise."

Ruri's hand brushed against Yuto's as Lulu wiggled off Ruri's fingers and onto Yuto's.

The weightlessness of her parrotlets always astounded him.

"See? It’s okay," Ruri assured. "She likes you."

Yuto smiled, studying the bird resting on his fingers, when he noticed something unnerving. A section of Lulu's stomach had been stripped of its feathers, exposing the raw-appearing, pink skin underneath.

"What happened to her feathers?" Yuto frowned. "Did Obi attack her?"

"Oh no," Ruri said, deflating suddenly. "Lulu was like that when I got her. I don’t know who her previous owners were, or how they’d been taking care of her, but it must have happened under their care.”

Yuto gawked incredulously. "Do you think they ripped her feathers out?"

Ruri shook her head. "I doubt it," she frowned sadly. "When birds become stressed out, or lonely, or bored, or sick even, sometimes they kind of...take it out on themselves. They'll start pulling their own feathers out. I'm almost positive that's what happened."

Yuto thought about Lulu, trapped and alone, self-destructing, tearing out her own feathers for a false sense of relief.

“That’s awful.” It’s all he’d been able to say.

“It really is,” Ruri said.

It had seemed crazy to him that a living creature could willingly and knowingly destroy pieces of themselves. He’d been unable to comprehend what exactly it would achieve, why something in pain would want to compound it.

He understood now.

Time during his captivity had routinely been warped, with minutes stretching to feel like hours or vice versa. But large chunks of time seemed like they were evaporating all together, leaving potholes in his memory. He supposed that it came from doing nothing but sleeping, seeking to relieve his stubborn exhaustion. But no matter how much he slept, fatigue only sunk its teeth in deeper.

There was nothing to hold onto, and no reason to, either. Sensations and sounds occurred outside of him; Yuto could almost convince himself that what was happening to him was happening to someone else. When the tumblers released and the door swung open, welcoming the march of feet, the noise felt far away, tinny and muted. When he was peppered with threats by guards that he couldn't digest, roughly turned over and backhanded when he refused to move, the sting felt misplaced. He barely registered being plucked up and moved until Yuto was already bound to the infirmary bed again.

Head fuzzy, numb, the only reaction he provided was when he gagged upon the insertion of the feeding tube as it wormed through his nose and down his throat. If only by instinct that he jerked, eyes watering, intrinsically choking. He didn’t want it, but when it was firmly taped in, and he realized that it was going nowhere, he slipped back into his haze. Fruit-scented sludge was plunged into the tube in intervals, followed by gushes of water. It felt unnervingly cold as it slithered down his throat, but he never flinched.

After spending an indeterminate time mostly catatonic, persisting through syringe-propelled feedings, he was left alone. The door to the infirmary had been left slightly ajar, and a draft from the hallway trickling in. A shot at escape, so tantalizingly close and unimaginably unfeasible at the same time.

Vaguely, he wondered if this could be considered living.

Having nothing to do by sleep, Yuto let himself begin to drift away, half-hoping that when he woke up again, he'd be back in his cell with the irritating tube gone. But as soon as he’d stepped into a shallow sleep, the quiet he'd been surrounded by was suddenly interrupted by a great uproar. Coarse voices echoed through the halls outside, joined by the thunderous clapping of booted feet bolting across the linoleum. A high pitched scream was joined by another. The sharp whine and huff of tranquilizer guns climbed over the disjointed screeching. It was a chaotic cloud of noise, and it drew closer.

Its peculiarity made Yuto inclined to believe that it was a product of his imagination--that he'd unknowingly fallen asleep and was already locked in a shallow dream. But the parade of discord only grew more thunderous, and a new set of noises joined its chorus: haggard breathing and the slap of bare-feet. It grew louder and louder until--

Someone threw the infirmary door open, diving inside with such a momentum that he nearly toppled himself. He slammed the door behind him hastily with his foot, his hands bound behind him, nearly tripping over himself. Turning his back against the door, he let his weight sink him down its surface as he gulped for air.

The intruder was as pale as milk, wire-thin, the curves of his cheekbones and angles of his collarbone illustrated cleanly through his skin. A mop of hair, overgrown and untamed, sagged over his face in a curtain of brilliant crimson and green. Scars etched up the sides of his legs, intermittent by gauze, and his arms were cinched behind his back. Blood gushed liberally from his nose, riveting down his chin and leaving bloody blots on the front of his pale blue shirt. Even with one eye swollen, ringed with blue-green bruising, his irises shone radiantly, as red and bright as the skin of apples. Pinned against the monotonous sea of white, his effulgence was blinding; vibrant, colorful, alive.

Their eyes met. Time held its breath.

It was as if the eclipse that’d swallowed his sun ended, evaporating Yuto's fog and thrusting him into clarity. There was a pull within him somewhere, an excitement, an ignition--like a match being struck, like magnets connecting, like spring awakening after hibernation. There was a physical jolt, sending pleasant, electric pinpricks across his skin. It warmed him like adrenaline; it made his heart cartwheel like love. Yuto couldn't aptly name the feeling--this tug, this yearning, this connection. Perhaps it was a byproduct of his extreme loneliness and prolonged terror, the solace of seeing another enough to concoct a tangible leap of the soul, but Yuto sensed that there was something more to it than that. This was like instinct, omnipresent and unexplainable, embroidered into his very bones.

It was bizarre.

It was wonderful.

Overhead, the fluorescent lights flickered.

The boy’s eyes widened. "Who are--?”

Before Yuto could even open his mouth to respond, the infirmary door was charged open, knocking the boy to the ground roughly. With a strangled scream, he met the ground face-first, unable to catch himself. A volley of armed guards barged in, tasers and restraints brandished, grappling at the boy while he squirmed desperately to get away.

Panic seized Yuto. “Stop it! Leave him alone!”

They easily grabbed the boy, and began to drag him away. He spasmed and kicked, leaving behind a bloody trail in his wake. Yuto pushed up against his restraints, but like the dozens of other instances he wrestled hopelessly against his binds, they didn’t budge. “Don’t! Don’t hurt him!”

The boy gave him a final glance, his face macabrely decorated with his own blood like war paint. Yuto expected his expression to be ripe with fear--but that was not what he saw. Burning brightly underneath the bruised bloodiness, was resolution. He stared square into Yuto with a ferocity.

“Don’t stop fighting them!” he hollered breathlessly, tone edged with fiery impetuosity. “Don’t give up! You can’t give up! You gotta keep--!”

As rapidly as he’d emerged, he was unceremoniously torn from the infirmary, disappearing with the clap of the door.

And Yuto was alone again.

To: Akaba, Leo

From: Daguchi, Aia

Subject: #0101 and #0107’s Unexpected Little Meet-and-Greet

Good-morning!

I’m sure you’ve already been made aware of yesterday’s humiliating security failure, but for clarity's sake, allow me to briefly reiterate: #0101, the little bastard, managed to give its handlers the slip.

This in itself isn’t particularly horrendous. It’s not as though #0101 is equipped to escape, even if it was able to navigate the labyrinthine halls (I find myself getting lost in them) to find the exit. Certainly, the situation would’ve been corrected without much incident if the imbecile assigned to monitor #0107’s feedings had been following protocol and had locked the door after vacating the room. And because fate is comedian, #0101 managed to stumble upon our little hunger-striker.

They hadn’t been in each other’s company for long before #0101 was detained-- it couldn’t have been much longer than thirty seconds--but the damage has been done. #0101 and #0107 are aware of each other's existences. They each ask about the other ceaselessly during our sessions, to the point where even the persuasive techniques of Mr. Tickles (that's the nickname I've bestowed upon my beloved stun gun. Isn't it quaint?) can't seem to deter their endless questioning.

Indeed, this incident was a failure, but I invite you to consider these errors as secret blessings instead.

Although I do admire your dedication to being thorough, the surplus of superfluous data surmounted from Phase 2 stands as solid proof that a ZRE response cannot be emitted from a lone fragment. It is my hypothesis that a fragment is only capable of ZRE response in the company of one or more other fragments, or perhaps alongside one of the various, previously identified Duel Monsters artifacts, but never alone. Continuous and intense physical and emotional pressures were inflicted upon the subjects, and yet nothing was recorded. If ZRE responses are linked with distress as your memories of the previous incarnates abilities insist, then this lack of response cannot be the failure of the fragments themselves.

Your hesitancy to introduce the fragments to one another is impeding our ability to be able to study the nature of their powers. Quite frankly, I’ve become impatient. As lead scientist of the project, I call for the end of Phase 2 and the beginning of Phase 3. In light of the recent events, #0101 will be paired alongside #0107 for Phase 3’s experiments, leaving #0118 and #0137 partnered together. Security will be increased, and the subjects will remain especially restrained during the proceedings.

I understand your concerns. Truely, I do. But in order to study the beast, we must poke it, yes?

Do get back to me. I would love to begin getting results.

Sincerely,

Aia

To: Akaba, Leo

From: Daguchi, Aia

Subject: Haha oops!

Silly me! I nearly forgot to ask! What is the status of #0101’s Duel Monsters artifact? I suppose the first experiment of Phase 3 can be performed without it, although I cannot speak for how fruitful of a trial it would be.

And in the spirit of discussing the disastrous nature of #0101’s botched capture, humor me: whatever happened to that boy who was giving you so much trouble? What was his name again, Sawamatsu? Sawaki?

To: Daguchi, Aia

From: Akaba, Leo

Re: Subject: #0101 and #0107’s Unexpected Little Meet-and-Greet

You may begin Phase 3 with caution. Do not introduce #0118 to #0137 until it is evident that we can properly manage #0101 with #0107.

The Odd-Eyes Pendulum Dragon still has yet to be located. You will be notified as soon as it is recovered.

The rest is none of your concern.

Chapter Text

Tired of staring at the dark shapes of her ceiling, Yuzu cast the covers off, firmly planting both feet on her carpeted bedroom. Without so much as changing out of her pajamas, she laced up her winter boots and threw on her pink, faux-fur trimmed coat. Stuffing her duel disk in her pocket, mindful not to wake her father, she left the sanctuary of her home and entered the snowy night.

Midnight approached as Yuzu entered You Show Duel school, jarring the frozen lock with a hip thrust. Ditching her winter boots and jacket at the door, she flicked the lights on. The mechanism echoed as harsh, white light spilled into the empty building.

Making her way up to the control center, she activated the ARC system. Mindlessly, she selected a random action field: Wildflower Meadows. A lustrous, fauna-teeming, sunshiny patch of grass materialized from the thin air in the arena.

Barefooted, she navigated the soft patches of grass, tiptoeing over tulips and poppies. Serving as her opponent would be a disk without a pilot; she activated it and set it on its lonesome on the opposing side of the field. Then, she assumed her position. With a pink flicker, her duel disk burst to life, the card holder extending out.

She drew only two cards. Breathed in, held it, and then slowly, breathed out.

“Please,” she murmured. “Work.”

She held the cards up. "I set the pendulum scale!" She called out to no one. "Pendulum Statue White Butterfly and Pendulum Statue White Flower!"

Placing the respective cards on the scale, the iridescent animated word ‘pendulum’ dominated the duel disk. On either side of her, the respective cards were lit in a brilliant blue-white cone of light. They began their ascent towards the heavens, sparkling.

Her heart leapt--

--before sinking into her bowels.

It stopped halfway, their images warping, before shattering into fragments of gold. The spotlight remained, but its light was dimmed, flickering with static and shifting with glitches. The duel disk wheezed over the same three broken tones; an agonized cacophony. When attempting to summon her monsters, none appeared, triggering a series of guttural noises.

The Leo Corporation called it a glitch. The public called it a curse.

When Yuya first vanished, the public was vicious. Even when it was revealed that Yuya was suspected to have been kidnapped--an act of foul play--they drew cruel parallels to Yuya and his father. "Like father like son" she'd heard it again and again. "The Sakaki family is full of cowards."

But when the pendulum stopped swinging weeks ago, the gossip quickly descended from sneering to terrified. Urban legends spawned from paranoia. "It's the ghost! The ghost of Yuya Sakaki!"

And as much as Yuzu despised Yuya being slandered as a coward, she vehemently detested the idea of him being dead so, so much more.

Yuzu stopped the glitchy animation by swiping her cards off the duel disk coarsely, sending cards fluttering to the ground. Abandoning her duel disk, tossing it to the ground, she rubbed her fists into her eyes.

The Leo Corporation called it a glitch. The public called it a curse. But to Yuzu, it was the last piece of her best friend robbed from her.

And perhaps her heart was softer tonight than most, because the hole left by his absence abscessed with a vengeance.

Rubbing her eyes, her attention was grabbed by the lackadaisical flowers. Inspired by her fury, she ripped up each and every flower on the action field--roses, marigolds, peonies, violets. She pulled up greenery and until her hands were black with carnage.

A light snow peppered the streets, glowing orange beneath the street lights. Her shadow cast long against the empty pavement.

Something in her brain unplugged when Yuya had been taken. Nothing felt real. Her life became a fuzzy flurry of tacking missing posters to telephone poles and anxiously awaiting police updates while still trying to cling to some sense of normalcy. Attend manual searches. Attend high school courses. Teach her students at You Show how to defend themselves if they're approached by a suspicious stranger. Teach her students at You Show how to fusion summon.

It didn't help that the investigation was dead in the water, mostly in part due to the grievous errors made by police. Evidence was wildly mismanaged. Forensics samples vanished on the way to the lab. Pictures of the crime scene were compromised. Samples were mishandled. Tips weren’t investigated. A month into the case, it was revealed that Yuya’s entire case was misfiled: he was labeled as a '17-year-old-runaway', despite neither being seventeen nor a runaway.

Their attitude further complimented their complacency. With every spastic check-in to the police for updates in the case, their flippant answer was always the same: "We're working on it."

She’d overheard her father talking to Yoko that she should consider suing.

The only real lead they'd had was from Sawatari, the only witness.

His testimony had been their only hope, and when it was ruled out, it crushed everyone. Especially Shingo. It led him to develop a string of crazy conspiracies as to where Yuya was whisked to, none of which Yuzu believed. No one did, but she didn't blame him for having them. Everyone grieves differently, and his position was...unique.

She didn't like, nay--she hated Shingo Sawatari. His enrollment in You Show was the bane of her existence. At his best, he was a pompous, flagrant brat--the human incarnate of a peacock. But nobody deserved to go through the horror he'd gone through.

In her mind's eye, she could still see him in the hospital bed, the staples and stitches in his head buried beneath gauze, lying still.

Questions collected. Who took Yuya? Why take him? What was their motive?

Did they want Yuya specifically, or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

What was Yuya doing down by the docks alone anyway?

Peering out the You Show Duel School window, gathering her things, she watched Yuya skip away merrily down the street, watching him disappear amongst buildings.

“You ever wonder where he goes, exactly?” Shingo asked, slipping a bag over his shoulder.

"I've asked him before," she said. "He just likes to take walks sometimes."

"And you believe it?" Shingo challenged.

“What’s so weird about it?” She felt her metaphoric hackles rise. "Besides, if something was going on I’d know. Yuya tells me everything."

"I bet he's hiding something," Shingo said. "In fact, I'd put money on it. He’s always texting on his duel disk. Always daydreaming.”

"What would Yuya have to hide?" Yuzu demanded, hotly.

“I don’t know,” Shingo mused. “Maybe...a lover.”

“What?!”

“Or maybe, he’s taking one for the team. Trying to keep this place a float.”

“Don’t you--!”

“Two words,” he held two figures, poised like a peace sign. “Compensated dating.”

She’d never whacked someone over the head faster in her entire life.

Each footfall softly crunched snow. Flakes caught in her lashes and wove into the fur in her hoodie. Her breath caught in the air in wispy clouds.

In order to get home, she found herself walking past Yuya’s house. The lights were off, the shades drawn tight.

Pleasant nostalgia flooded her, the fond memories of shimmying up the nearby tree and pushing open Yuya’s faulty bedroom window to conduct super-secret sleepovers coming to mind. Nights spent giggling beneath blanket tents and smuggling sweets from the kitchen. Morning would come, and Yoko and Yusho would find the pair all curled up in a heap of stuffed animals and pillows, sticky-fingered and snuggled close to one another.

What she would give to relive that.

Absently, she wondered if they ever fixed the latch on that window.

Yuzu licked her chapped lips.

She didn’t allow herself the chance to think it over. Every rational part of her condemned her actions, but she couldn’t stop herself. Retracing the same steps she did in childhood, she shimmied up the nearby tree, before gently swinging onto the slippery roof tiles. Inching over to Yuya’s bedroom window, she tested to see if she could still pry it open.

She could.

The warmth of the house rushed to greet her and she carefully maneuvered her legs over the sill and touched down in the room.

It was evident that Yuya hadn’t been the last person there; the room was too immaculate. The bed was sprucely made, his collection of stuffed creatures methodically arranged about and on the pillows. Not a single article of laundry lay on the floor, all of it cleaned, pressed, and folded away or hung in the closet. The shelves of books and Performapal knick-knacks were orderly and dusted. But his arrangement of posters and pictures up on the walls hadn’t been disturbed; glossy posters of his father, photos of his friends, drawings of Duel Monsters. Yuzu was quick to identify the photo bearing her and Yuya, their seven-year-old faces painted up like tigers at the local festival.

Sitting on his bed, she ran her hands over the covers. His favorite Hip Hippo plushie since childhood was positioned on his throne of fluffed pillows. The fur was matted from years of love. Placing it in her lap, she toggled his little arms. Hugged it. It smelled of him.

Yuya adored him for his softness and his likeness, but the Hip Hippo was also the keeper of all things precious. The sewing on his top hat was loose, and Yuya used to fill its fluffy brain with secret trinkets; his allowance money, candies, tiny toys. The sewing was still never patched, and out of curiosity, Yuzu flipped it open to see if any of those childhood treasures were still tucked into the cranium.

Oh?

Instead of pulling out peppermints or coins, Yuzu pulled out a wad of folded papers. Gently, she unfolded the first in a series of notes, illuminating them by the light of her duel disk. Impossibly neat, rigid penmanship greeted her:

Dear Yuya,

I do not know why you insist on leaving letters in my work mailbox. How you even got into the office through security is a mystery. This action is curious, as you have my number, so your refusal to simply text me these things is odd. However, if you insist on playing this game, I suppose I should play along.

To reply to your inquiry: no, I won’t go out with you.

Also worth noting: addressing a letter with the pseudonym “secret admirer” is truly redundant when you make it explicitly clear what your identity is.

Yuzu winced. A rejection letter? Why in the world Yuya hold onto this?

She flipped to the next one:

Dear Yuya,

I’m astonished my last reply didn’t permanently deter you. You are tenacious, I’ll give you that.

To reply to this inquiry: yes, we can still be friends. I have no intention of abandoning you.

Thank you for the chibi-esque drawing of D/D Swirl Slime left in your latest letter. Its craftsmanship is surprisingly adequate. Dare I say, it’s even cute. I’ve adhered it to the corner of my monitor to ‘liven up my workspace’ as you put it.

She smiled. That sounded like Yuya.

She unfolded several similar, lax notes until she stumbled upon one of a different tone:

Yuya,

I suppose because you were so vulnerable to me, I should do the same. You are at least owed a proper explanation.

My refusal of your advances do not originate in a lack of interest. Our feelings are...mutual. I’m embarrassed to admit that you are on my mind more than I ever thought any other person would be.

The truth of the matter is, and this is terribly hard for me to confess: I am terrified. Terrified of what others may think of us. Terrified of what my father may think of us. I cannot permit something like ‘us’ to exist. I just cannot.

But that doesn’t mean I don’t yearn for an ‘us’.

I’m sorry.

Yuzu swallowed thickly. There was one, final note:

Meet me by the abandoned docks. Tonight. Seven.

I have something to tell you.

This--! This was the person who--!

Her heart skipped a beat.

On one hand, she was pissed that Shingo had been right about his ‘secret lover’ hypothesis, another was wounded that Yuya had never shared this information with her. But that was all shadowed by the euphoria of this crucial discovery.

If Yuya had gone to see this person, then perhaps they had been a witness; a proper witness who didn’t suffer brain damage during the excursion. Perhaps they had a clue as to who took Yuya.

Instinct dictated that she take her findings to the police, but with the way they’d handled the case so far…

This evidence was hers.

Unfortunately for her, the letters weren’t signed. And the nature of this...relationship seemed especially unforthcoming, which would explain why this person hadn’t presented themselves to the police. But if Yuzu could figure it out herself, question this person in private, maybe, just maybe--

Slipping the letters into her coat pocket, she motioned to leave…

...and knocked over a lamp. It didn’t shatter, but it made a calamitous crash.

She heard someone in the house move.

Victory quickly shifted into panic. Ditching the lamp where it was, she hiked her leg over the windowsill, pushing forward with enough momentum to launch her body out the opening cleanly, and fast.

But her fastest wasn’t fast enough. The bedroom door shot open, the lights toggled on, revealing Yoko Sakaki. Dressed in light blue pajama pants and a white, spaghetti-strap top, she wielded a metal baseball bat.

Whatever curse Yoko was preparing died in her throat. "Yuzu?" her shoulders relaxed. "What are you--how did you--?"

For the long, miserable two months, Yuzu thought it was selfish to cry. Yuya wasn't dead; she couldn't grieve him. Even when the news first hit that he'd been kidnapped. Even when leads turned up nothing. Even when valuable evidence went missing. Even when the pendulum failed. A single tear never dropped from her eyes. She'd detached herself completely, navigating her life like a ghost.

"I--I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I didn't--" The sentence wouldn't come.

But standing in his bedroom, ashamed, heartbroken, and sleepless, proved the final drop of water that shattered the dam.

She didn't cry--she sobbed. Heaving, face-reddening, wet mouth blubbering. Clasping her hands over her face to hide her outburst, she wept and wept and wept.

"I'm sorry," she said, again and again. "I'm sorry. I just--I just. I don't know. I just wanted--"

Her frantic apology was silenced when Yoko wrapped her up in a tight embrace.

"I forgive you. It's okay," she said. "Just let it out." Her hand brushed through Yuzu's hair. “Let it all out.”

And ‘let it all out’ she did.

The results were as predicted, yet no less shocking.

Reiji stood at LDS’ duel arena early in the morning. Two cards from #0107’s deck were laid out of the field: The Phantom Knights of Cloven Helm and The Phantom Knights of Fragile Armor. Two level four monsters--the requirement for summoning the Dark Rebellion XYZ Dragon.

“I overlay the units,” Reiji declared. His monsters transformed into light, sucking into a starry void. There was a flash as Reiji fetched Dark Rebellion from the extra deck, placing it above the two cards.

However, when the flash faded, no dragon appeared in the Solid Vision. Instead, the overlay units had detached from each other, refusing to cooperate.

His opponent, his father, nodded knowingly.

Reiji was the fifth person to attempt to summon one of the three dragons they had. No matter who the duelist was, Reiji or his father, or a couple randomly selected employees, the dragons refused to appear.

Reiji turned to his father, who stood, pensive. “What are you thinking?”

“I wonder, perhaps, if they would appear for a duelist that had no connection to Project RAY. Perhaps their hesitancy lies in appearing for our benefit rather than their personal loyalties. Although I believe that would be impossible to test lest we want to relinquish hold of the dragons, which I cannot allow, even briefly.” He glanced back at Reiji. “Do not mind me. I’m simply thinking aloud.”

“You believe...the cards...are that intuitive?” Reiji asked.

“They possess souls, just like you are I. Thus, they possess a will. Additionally,” he held up Starving Venom Fusion Dragon betwixt two fingers, “these cards hold unique properties. They are each one of a kind. Under the right circumstances, with the right duelist, they can destroy us all.”

Reiji swallowed.

“To further exemplify this.” He took the same card between two hands. Roughly, he tore it in two.

Reiji’s heart seized. “Father--!”

“Just wait.” He cupped his hands over the torn pieces, as though sheltering a temperamental bug. Then, after a moment's pause, he revealed the card--it was one again. Seamless.

“They refuse to even be destroyed,” his father said.

“Amazing,” Reiji said, awestruck. “Is this the same ‘will’ that explains why the pendulum summoning no longer works, you believe?”

“I suspect it is. It seems they’ve gone on strike, yes?” He chuckled darkly. “Perhaps they believe that their rebellion will inspire mercy in me. Their loyalty to their master is strong.” He turned to leave. “Strong,” he said. “But foolish.”

Chapter Text

Yuto looked around hesitantly, twitching in the shackles that fused him to the gated platform. He gave another darting glance at the makeshift arena, his skepticism doubling.

“What is this?” he asked.

Dr. Daguchi ambled across the field, her back turned to him. In a fluid movement she produced, much to his surprise, a duel disk from her coat pocket, sliding it onto her arm with ease. Adjusting the visor around her spectacles, she side-eyed him. “What does it look like?”

Brusquely, and much to his subsequent surprise, when his hands were unbound he, too, was handed a duel disk and a visor. Tucked into the disk, already preloaded, was a deck.

“Your hands may be free,” Dr. Daguchi firmly assumed her place on the opposite side of the field, “but don’t get any creative ideas. If we have to end this prematurely, it will not be pretty for you,” she brought up her holographic modules, “and don’t tamper with the headband, either. Understood?”

Stunned, Yuto waited for the punchline. After weeks and weeks spent dedicated to dissecting and maiming him, she wanted to conduct a good old-fashioned, amicable duel? This was the next ‘experiment’?

“What actually is this?” he insisted, channeling his focus to keep his legs from trembling. He’d return to eating assistance-free, even braving the meager, unsealed breads and watered-down vegetables a few times. But the caloric increase alone had not yet returned him to the meager strength he’d possessed before Yuto had refused food. Having not walked, or even stood, for an extended period of time didn’t do his atrophy any favors. Standing was an exertion, one of which he was determined to hide.

Dr. Daguchi provided a condescending sneer. “This is a duel. D-U-E-L. You’re familiar with it, yes?” Her duel disk clicked on. “Activate your disk.”

Still dubious, but acutely aware of the guards looming behind him, he obeyed. The automated shuffling function scrambled the order of the cards. With a pleasant chime, the arm of the duel disk swung forward, the internal lights clicking to life. Yuto equipped the visor--a generic, green-glazed piece lined with a metallic edge--and the arena became washed in a mirage, the guards disappearing under its bright glaze, leaving only Yuto's opponent in view.

Wistfully, Yuto had hoped that the cards loaded in the disk would reveal themselves to be his. He'd held onto that anticipation, despite something deep within him nagging--another enigmatic, disconcerting feeling--that they weren't. His suspicions were confirmed upon the first draw. Upturning his hands revealed not the familiar illustrations of ghoulish knights and soul-eyed apparitions, but a flamboyant collection of gaudy animals and magicians donned with hats and bows. The whiplash of seeing such iridescences when he'd been expecting to see his own gothic cards was concussing.

They held no intimidation. Performapal Cheermole, the first card in his hand, peering timidly over a pair of pom-poms, appeared to be on the verge of tears--and it wasn't even out on the field yet. The Spellcaster in his hand, Stargazer Magician, held a little more credence, but even it was brightly adorned. Yuto wondered how anyone was supposed to take this deck seriously.

Perhaps that wasn't the point.

But what made the cards anomalous extended beyond their aesthetic. Many of them were equipped with two text boxes, all identically crested with parallel red and blue jewel symbols. A number was stamped below each colored jewel.

He squinted at Performapal Cheermole's unusual bunk of text: All Pendulum Monsters you control gain 300 ATK.

Huh?

Dr. Daguchi tapped into his confusion. "Don’t worry. Your duel disk has been modified in order to accommodate the cards."

It clarified nothing. "Whose cards are these?"

"Right now? Yours," Dr. Daguchi said.

Yuto knew inquiring would be a waste of effort. Gritting his teeth, he studied another card, Performapal Silver Claw, its gruff appearance undercut by the orange stars plastered on each side of its muzzle and dotted bow tie secured around the neck. Shadowing the crystals on this card was the number '5'.

A thought dawned, and he leapt on it unthinkingly. "They belong to that boy, don't they?"

He'd readily admit that the amount of time he'd spent rewinding the encounter with the strange boy, clinging to every minor detail he'd caught in those peculiar, wonderous seconds, was borderline obsessive. Despite quickly learning that pain usually resulted when Yuto asked about him, it did not stop him from endlessly grilling guards and Dr. Daguchi for information. It was a fruitless venture, but Yuto couldn't forget about it. He was so hungry for even just a sliver of knowledge, that he was practically willing to give-up a kidney if it meant he’d be rewarded with even just a hint about the boy.

In his obsessive haze, he knew he could be making random associations, blindly throwing darts of accusation and praying they'd stick. Logically, this could be anyone's deck or no one's deck, thrown together to serve as an instrument in another fallaciously motivated experiment.

But Yuto got the impression that the bubbly collection of cards were weighted with sentiment, their soft, rounded edges suggesting that they were well-loved. And a collection of stunningly lurid, yet somehow charming monsters--visual outliers to what Yuto was accustomed to finding on the fronts of Duel Monster cards--would certainly mirror a boy as colorful and impossibly hopeful as the one that'd barreled into the infirmary and domineered his thoughts.

"The first move is yours," Dr. Daguchi said.

Yuto rolled his shoulders nervously. "What's the catch?"

"The catch?" Dr. Daguchi rolled her eyes. "Play a card, honey."

His paranoia augmented. "And if I lose?"

She exaggeratedly tapped on her chin, duel disk sparking in the overhead lights. "Well, if you're expecting some sort of punishment, then I suppose I can have one arranged,” she straightened with an epiphany, "I could beat all the skin off your back. That could be interesting. Or, perhaps, I could bring back that acid you adored so much. How are your feet, by the way? Feeling returned to them yet?"

Yuto turned away to conceal his anger.

She laughed. "Since you seem a little hesitant," she drew her cards, "I suppose I'll go first. I place Risebell the Star Adjuster in attack mode. I set two cards face-down, and I end my turn."

Encircled with purple serpents and hands sparking with green electricity, Risebell the Sta Adjuster was the first to grace the field. The potential trap or spell cards rippled into place behind it.

Yuto sharpened his focus. Equipped with a deck which he was unfamiliar with, laden with card functions he'd never seen, he needed to concentrate. Peeking into the extra deck only compounded his perplexity, as the two cards that lay within them were not wrapped in the black coats all XYZ monsters were baptized in, but a deep purple. Fusion monsters? His head spun.

Banishing his bewilderment, he straightened his posture, hardening his composure. The stakes were unknown, and after months of enduring their cruelty, Yuto wasn’t confident this endeavor was going to end humanely. Although he'd been teased when he'd asked, he was extremely doubtful that they'd leave a failure unpunished.

Then again, this experiment was deviating from the typical script. Escaping an awful predicament, which had been the backbone of all the other nauseating experimentation, was not present here. Yes, he was restrained, per usual, but in this scenario Dr. Daguchi didn't intend for him to break free. There were no weapons, no needles, no wires, no brands. Just a duel disk.

Maybe it was just a duel.

But it was best for his well-being not to test the waters. Yuto wouldn't be able to forgive himself if this had all turned out to be a ploy to nurse him into a false security. Yuto would duel like his life depended on it. Although certain card functions were lost to him, there were many parts of the game he was still familiar with, and he wouldn't waste his time trying to decode elaborate puzzles. He'd stick to what he knew.

Wordlessly, he summoned Performapal Silver Claw in attack mode. It wove into existence in a flurry of 1's and 0's, sputtering a lone howl.

The battle stage commenced. With an attack of 1,800, Risebell the Star Adjuster shattered into light. One thousand life-points were stripped of Dr. Daguchi in an instant. Her life-points stood at 3,000.

Unsure of what else lay within his own deck, and apprehensive of what Dr. Daguchi had planned, he set a trap card down, and ended his turn.

"I see we've returned to playing the 'tough guy' bit," she chided, drawing a card, "which is interesting, considering how just over a week ago, you'd been unable to stand on your own.”

Yuto's hands reflexively drew into fists.

"But I digress," one of her set spells flipped up, "I activate Double Summon. This allows me to Normal Summon twice. I summon Psi-Beast and Esper Girl, both in attack mode."

The juxtaposition between a frothing, white-coated wolf entering the field in the same breath as a doe-eyed, levitating child would've been humorously jarring under a more casual circumstance. Jaw locked in suspicious discontentment, Yuto rapty tried to figure out her plan. Neither of those monsters were capable of sending Silver Claw to the Graveyard. If her aim had been purely defense--to construct a quasi wall of beasts to preserve her life-points until her next draw provided more lucrative cards--then she would've set her newly summoned creatures in defense mode. Was this a future Tribute Summon in the works? That didn’t seem to make much sense, either. Her actions, like always, were executed with undecipherable deliberation. And in suit with her pattern of operation, Yuto was assured the worst was yet to come.

"I activate Psi-Beast's effect. I can discard a card from my deck or hand, and make Psi-Beast's level match the banished card." Her duel disk spat out a card, which she revealed. "I banish Final Psychic Ogre. Psi-Beast's level is now five."

Psi-Beast's statistics shifted accordingly, and the monster growled in acknowledgment.

"And I'm not done." Her second spell card flipped up: Monster Reborn. "Welcome back, Risebell the Star Adjuster."

Risebell the Star Adjuster returned with a confident gusto, form pulsing with light. "When Risebell is Special Summoned, I can activate its effect. I can raise any monster's level by three. I raise Esper Girl's level." Esper Girl's level climbed to five.

Her strategy clicked, and with cognizance, Yuto involuntarily ran his teeth over the seemingly permanent abrasion in his bottom lip again. The acrid taste of blood reintroduced itself.

Dr. Daguchi's chortled like a delighted school girl. "I'm sure you can see where this is going." She savored Yuto's glum realization, plucking a card from the extra deck with delicate embellishment, as if she were fishing for a chocolate piece out of a fancy box. "I overlay Psi-Beast and Esper Girl."

A snippet of the universe torn open at her feet, the cosmic satellites within its gravity orbiting in amidst starlight in a dazzling carousel of light. Esper Girl and Psi-Beast disintegrated, melting into splendorous gold, spiraling into the vortex of space. The overlay units brewed in their niche of space for an idle second, before, in a rush of shadow, the tips of dark, feathered wings began to take shape.

"XYZ Summon! Rank five! Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon!" she sang.

An angel of death appeared in an entangled mass of black wings and hair. Its thin, talon-like fingers curled around a serrated blade that was shrouded in an angry plume of energy. Piercing red eyes, aglow like twin bulbs, cast its pupil-less gaze on Yuto. It wore a smile as wicked as its duelist. The epitome of edge.

"The name just rolls off the tongue, doesn't it?" She splayed her hand over her heart. “And he's quite the looker, too.”

It's attractiveness was debatable, but it's power wasn't: 2,600 attack points. Yuto steeled himself, preparing to spring his trap.

She sighed. "You're about as fun as always." She addressed Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon with a flaring movement of the wrist. "Attack Performapal Silver Claw."

Yuto flipped up Wall of Disruption. "When my opponent declares an attack, each monster on their field loses 800 attack points for each monster they control."

Adreus' attack of 2,600 plummeted to 1,000.

"Nice try, honey," Daguchi tutted, and Yuto's confidence nosedived. "Once per turn, I can discard one overlay unit from Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon and destroy any face-up card on my opponent's field." She gave a dainty wave. "Farewell, Wall of Disruption."

Shit.

Wall of Disruption collapsed, and Silver Claw paid the price. With a sharp, wailing yip, it disappeared, taking 800 life-points with it.

“Next, I’ll attack you directly,” she flourished her hand, “with Risebell the Star Adjuster!”

Being aware that Risebell the Star Adjuster was a hologram did not stop him from inadvertently flinching when it cracked down on his vulnerable life-points. Left with 2,400 life-points, his early lead was obliterated, his field was barren.

"I end my turn," Dr. Daguchi said. "And what a lucrative turn it was. Impressed, honey?"

Impressed wasn't exactly the word he'd use to describe the knotted mangle of feelings constricting his throat. He'd been picked clean, like desert bones, during (possibly) the most high-stake duel he'd ever have.

It wasn't over yet, he chided to himself. Far from over.

But he needed to get it together.

"You seem to be having trouble carrying on a conversation today," Dr. Daguchi said. "Do I need to have the nice gentlemen behind you give you a little inspiration?"
Caught in the peripheral of the eye not occupied by the visor, one of the guards shifted closer, and Yuto suppressed a shiver. He wasn't too keen on the idea of being 'inspired'. "I don't talk during duels."

"Don't talk?" She cocked her head, bewildered. "But what even is a duel without cocky banter?"

Yuto drew a card. His situation was desolate, but if luck would smile upon him...

"Sounds dreadfully boring," Dr. Daguchi continued. "If I wanted to play a quiet strategy game, I'd play chess. But chess is awfully pretentious, isn't it? Nor is it thrilling. Never been much of a board game person in general. You?"

"No." He'd drawn a spell card. Not a useless draw, but not what he'd wanted, either. Hope wounded, he stared crestfallen at his cards, willing a brilliant strategy to be birthed. Nothing formulated in the recesses of his panicked mind.

If he didn't have the firepower, he'd bluff. It reeked of desperation, and could easily be skewed against him, but Yuto was wading in a pool of limited options.

Dr. Daguchi toyed briefly with one of her modules, shoulders sagged in exaggerated disappointment. "I can't help but feel like this little talk is a bit one-sided."

"Sorry," he said, unapologetic. He placed Performapal Cheermole facedown in the defensive position, pitying it, for he knew its destruction was inevitable. He placed the spell card he'd just drawn face-down, and ended his turn.

"Done already?" She eyed the facedown, and Yuto prayed that she was assuming the worst of it. "How sad."

Yuto didn't grace the quip with a retort, inviting Dr. Daguchi to open her mouth again. “I’ll offer you this,” she said. “If you’re a bit more receptive, I’ll give a hint on how to use those cards for more than just cannon-fodder."

"I don't need your help,” he said.

"So you intend on endlessly playing defense?" She shook her head. "That's pathetic."

It admittedly wasn't the prettiest of strategies, but Yuto held firm.

"Fine," she said. "I'll fight your war of attrition. I play Hushed Psychic Cleric. When this card is Normal Summoned, it must be placed in defense mode."

A man dressed in a white robe embroidered with golden trim manifested besides Risebell, kneeling defensively, its elaborate staff at its side.

"I activate a Hushed Psychic Cleric’s effect. Once per turn, I can send one card from my hand to the Graveyard." She did as announced. "Upon doing so, I target one Psychic-Type monster in my Graveyard, and banish it."

What kind of Psychic-Type monster was in her Graveyard anyway? One of her overlay units definitely was. Either Esper Girl or Psi-Beast.

Or she’d banished whatever card she just sent to the Graveyard.

She eyed Yuto’s face-down. With bated breath, he hoped she was convincing herself of its potential perniciousness. After all, there were a host of nasty monsters in the game that acted as minefields when Flip Summoned or attacked face-down in defense mode, generously biting into life-points.

It definitely wasn't just a rodent wielding pom-poms.

His attempt at subterfuge only half-worked. "I'll gamble. I attack your face-down with Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon,” Dr. Daguchi said.

Adreus brought it's wrath down upon Performapal Cheermole, revealing itself before squealing in tearful terror. It exploded into light, its scream cut short.

"A rat? That's what you chose to hide behind?" she asked.

"I activate the spell card Colorful Recasting," he said. "When a Performapal or Magician is removed from the field by my opponent, I can Special Summon a Performapal or Magician from my hand in defense mode. I Special Summon Stargazer Magician.”

A brilliant, silver-cloven Spellcaster, its face obscured save for its intelligent eyes, appeared and hovered gracefully above the field with an air of adroitness.

“And what exactly do you think this is going to accomplish?” Dr. Daguchi asked.

Stargazer’s eyes narrowed, as though offended.

Yuto half-expected Dr. Daguchi discarded another overlay unit to reduce Stargazer Magician to dust before it could interfere with her next turn, but she didn't. She placed a card face-down. "I end my turn."

Miraculously, he'd manage to preserve his life-points, but his strategy wasn't going to work for much longer. He prayed his next draw would grant him salvation.

Instead, Yuto drew a toad. Wearing a hat, of course. Having a hat seemed to be a prerequisite of this deck.

The sheer ridiculousness of the situation was the only thing keeping him from having a breakdown.

"My offer still stands," she sang.

"I have nothing to talk about," he said.

"Nonsense," she said. "Anyone can make small talk. Never been forced to save face at a party before?"

He'd been shoehorned into said situation a plethora of times. All they seemed to prove is that he couldn’t make small talk. At least, not well.

Thinking back to when that had been made most apparent, he remembered the fancy, corporate functions his father had dragged him to when he’d been younger. They’d been hell. He'd be stuffed into a cramped, starched-up dress shirt and vest, neck wrung in a tie that his father always pulled too snug. They were diplomatic, dry affairs, with nothing to hold his attention save for the eavesdropping on the conversations of adults, none of which he'd understood. Yet, being forced into fancy attire and subjected to boredom weren't what made the affairs truly deplorable.

Name the beast what you will: stage fright, butterflies, social ineptitude. Yuto shriveled in the limelight. He had his entire life. The attention and gaze of strangers made him feel like an ant frying beneath the glare of a magnifying glass. Even the most trivial interactions had the ability to feel like threats, squeezing his chest, stalling his thoughts, making him sweat. When more complex social situations arose, ones he could prepare for, he used his terse demeanor and monosyllabic replies as his crutch. When those tactics weren't enough, he'd weaponize just a touch of his dry sarcasm to safeguard his composure, to keep his internal turmoil neatly veiled. The older he got, the better he was at managing--or perhaps hiding served as a more aptitude descriptor--this defect in his personality.

For an extensive period of his life it had been unbearable. Usually, Yuto could survive the bulk of these elaborate business excursions by hiding in the corner of the room, sullen and silent, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible until it was finally over. Typically, his father left him to his own devices--probably because he saw Yuto as less of a nuisance that way. His father had never understood Yuto’s feelings, often misconstruing his social hiccupping as impedance. He hadn’t the patience for it.

But there had been one night in particular in which his father had decided that it was necessary for Yuto to be hemmed to his side, toting him about like one does a purebred pet or a designer bag. He'd been perplexed as to why, given his father’s past indifference, and it wasn't until later that he'd realize that he'd been an accessory for sympathy.

There were few images more commendable than that of a long-suffering, loyal secretary of twenty years who also happened to be an equally long-suffering, single parent. The highlight of that specific function had been the attendance of the company's CEO, a man who rarely made physical appearances. From the outside, at least his father had hoped, they were a pitiable and humble pair, perhaps one so pitiable and humble that the heartstrings of a particular CEO would be plucked, and a promotion would just so happen to float his way.
It had not turned out that way.

His father trawled him through a sea of silk dresses and tailored suits, elbowing through clots of bodies while Yuto had clumsily tried to keep up the pace. Their surge forward stopped when they came upon a tightly-knit circle of adults, their attention captivated by a single man wearing a crisp, white suit. The man didn't seemed especially thin, but his skin held the bones in his skull with an unnerving tightness. Paired with his immense height, he was daunting.

“Mr. Shiraishi!” his father exclaimed, bowing low. “It’s an honor to finally meet you in person.”

Mr. Shirashi turned up. “The honor is mine,” he said, monotone. “And you are--?”

“Sakurai. Taheiji Sakurai. I work in your northern branch. Secretary position,” his father said.

“Welcome, Mr. Sakurai,” Mr. Shiraishi taken his father’s hand, “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

It had been then when they’d noted that Mr. Shiraishi had someone shadowing him: a boy dressed sharply in his own white suit, dark hair gelled back to the base of his skull. His eyes had been glazed over in tedium.

His father gestured to the boy. “And who do you have with you?”

“This is my son, Chiyori,” Mr. Shirashi said, gently placing his hand on top of his son’s head. “He just turned eight.”

Chiyori bowed, replying robotically. “It’s nice to meet you.”

"The same age as my son!" his father boomed, eagerly pushing Yuto forward. Yuto nearly fell.

"What a coincidence," Mr. Shirashi peered upon Yuto over his beaked nose, eyes glazed. "What school do you go to? Studying hard, I presume?"

Even if he'd wanted to reply, Yuto couldn't. The muscles in his jaw locked. Shrinking, he tried to back up, heartbeat picking-up, but there’d been nowhere to go. Nowhere to escape.

His father covered his muteness with a shallow chuckle. "He goes to Heartland City East. He's doing quite well in his studies. Perhaps your son goes to the same school?"

"Chiyori doesn't attend public school. He's enrolled in private,” Mr. Shirashi said.

"Interesting! And what's that like?" his father asked.

"He does very well," he’d said. "He's at the top of his class. His teachers have urged me to have him skip a grade, but I personally don't think that's wise. That’s quite a bit of stress, and I don't want to detract from his piano lessons or tutoring."

"A good choice. We want them to do their best, but children ought to have room to breathe."

"I'm glad we see eye to eye."

Yuto shifted from foot to foot, suddenly hot.

"My son recently had his own academic accomplishment.” His father’s hand clapped on his back. Yuto tensed under the touch as his father’s attention turned to him. "What was it you were telling me back at home? You were telling me you'd won something?"

Yuto had won something, but it certainly hadn't had anything to do with his studies. He was a chronically mediocre student-- never failing, but never excelling. What he'd been chattering about back at their apartment was not a high mark on a test or a reward, but a duel he’d won against an upperclassman during the recess hour. After struggling to grasp a victory for ages, he'd finally managed how to properly use his Graveyard effects, and it had turned the tide of the duel. His opponent had been kind in her defeat, and had rewarded Yuto with a spell card: Mystical Black Typhoon. It was a common card, but its rarity was not what had made it special--it had been a token of a victory well-earned. Yuto had tried to explain this to his father after school that day; his father had apparently half-listened.

After spending too long quiet, the air stagnated. Eyes had bore into him. "It...I was..."

A rough nudge. "Speak up."

"It wasn't about school," his gaze glued to his shoes, "I...it was about dueling."

"You're a duelist?' Chiyori piped up. "Me too! What kind of cards do you—"

"I thought you'd said it was about school?" his father asked, attitude dampened.

"It was at school, but..." Yuto muttered. Sweat had begun to trek down his back. He fidgeted, and his head had filled with white noise.

"Are you talking about that card game the children are always playing?" Mr. Shiraishi shook his head. "I don't understand it. It's a waste of time."

The tips of Yuto's ears had been sent aflame, and a twinge of insurrection kindled. "It's not a waste..." he said, but he was left unheard.

"Some people do it for a living though. Playing card games," another guest said. "Can't say I'd be much for it. I’d rather play the slots."

Another piped up. "You'd be broke in no time."

The joke was atrociously bad, and Yuto wasn't even been able to understand it fully, but the crowd roared.

“You never know,” another stranger said. “Maybe the kid could make it big.”

“If you consider ‘making it big’ living in your parents basement, then surely it’s obtainable,” another added.

They continued to laugh. His father laughed right along.

Yuto had wanted to disappear. It felt hard to breathe. It felt hard to think. His stomach twisted and sweat began adhering his shirt to his back. He looked away, trying to look anywhere but at the crowd leering at him. He was thrown to the wolves, and despite the sheer amount of people, he felt incredibly alone.

“He’ll grow out of it, I’m sure,” his father said.

Retrospectively, the fear that gripped him then paled in comparison to the all-encompassing, brain-numbing terror Yuto found himself in now. But at eight-years-old, drowning in a cloud of fancy perfume and embarrassment, it was intolerable.

The conversation finally turned away from him, but Yuto had enough. "Can we go home?" he asked.

"What?" His father gave him an incredulous look, as if Yuto just asserted that he was planning on growing horns. He spoke through clenched teeth. "Don't be rude. We just got here."

"I don't feel good." He'd wrenched on his father's sleeve. "Can't we leave?"

"You're fine," his father had insisted, hissing. "Mind your manners."

He was one to fold after being chastised, but the very room pirouetting around him in a dizzying array. He felt his stomach march up his throat in foreboding increments, acrid and hot. "No!" his voice squeezed through in a labored whine. "Dad, listen--"

His father's corporal façade twitched, and he reached down to grip Yuto's arm tight. Too tight. "Excuse us," he said, smiling tight and plastic.

He was dragged out of the ballroom and into a hallway. The air was cooler, cleaner, and the people were gone. Yuto was spared from the legion of eyes, but not from his father's anger.

"What," his breath was hot on Yuto's face, "are you doing?"

He was unable to pull away. "I want to go home."

"And why," each word was clipped, "do you think you get to decide that?"

Yuto turned away, struggling to swallow.

"Look at me when I talk to you."

"My stomach hurts," he said.

"Don't lie to me," his volume had spiked. "You're always doing this. All I ask is for to behave yourself for one night, and you--"

"I'm not lying!" he'd croaked. "Why do you always think I'm--"

His father had struck him. Right in the corner of his mouth. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but hard enough for it to sting. The shock of it had stilted him, dislodging his reservations. Heat had tickled at the back of his throat. Tears had bubbled forward as a stillness gripped him.

"You're too old to be throwing a tantrum," he seethed. "Stop that. Stop crying."

Yuto scrubbed at his face with his sleeve, face unfeeling, unable to subvert his tears. They just kept coming and coming and coming.

"You know what we're going to do?" his father said. "You're going to stop this pity party you're throwing for yourself. We're going to go back in there, and you're going to apologize for being so rude. You're going to be polite. You're going to smile. You're going to answer people when they talk to you. This isn't up for debate." His father shook him, a jerky, whip-like movement. "Do you understand? Answer me, Yuto."

Yuto gave him a final, withering look.

Then, he threw-up. On himself. On his father.

His father's hold on him was abandoned, and he stumbled backwards, disgusted. Tears that Yuto tried suppressing gushed forward in breath-stealing, retching sobs.

The car ride home was silent, interrupted only by Yuto's petite, wet hiccups.

Yuto never went to another one of his father's company parties. Those nights were spent alone.

And that was okay. That was fine.

"What are you thinking about, honey?" Dr. Daguchi asked.

Yuto's head snapped up, blinking away the memory as it was but a blip in his vision. "I attack Risebell the Star Adjuster with Stargazer Magician."

The magician hardly moved to issue its attack upon Risebell. Raising its staff, it summoned a blinding comet of energy. Risebell was doused in a dazzling array of light before vanishing completely. Dr. Daguchi's life-points budged from 3,000 to 2,600.

There was nothing else that he could do. Yuto begrudgingly concluded his turn.

Her dip in life-points didn't phase her. Yuto was sure she was well-aware that this duel belonged to her. "Don't try to ignore me," she warned. "You'll regret it."

The guards shuffled closer behind him.

Sweat ran down his neck. "Anything I tell you, you're just going to use against me."

"You overthink everything," she said. "I have no such motive."

"I don't believe you."

She feigned shock. “Me? Lie?” She guffawed.

"Then what--"

"Oh, honey," she stared at him from over her spectacles, voice lowered to a growl, "it's adorable that you think I need to jump through hoops to bend you to my will. I own you."

"No, you don't."

“I know you inside and out,” she insisted. "I know more about you then you think I do, and even if I wasn't privy to your little case files, you've shown your most terrified, ugly parts to me again and again. I've seen you beg. I know who you scream for when you think you're about to die. I've reduced you to nothing but a quivering wreck time and time again." She licked her lips, languid and deliberate, like a cat relishing in the struggle of its prey before committing to the kill. "This cute, little burst of rebellion you're clinging to will be as short-lived as all your previous, useless attempts at saving face. It will be a pleasure to destroy it, and it will take no real effort on my part. I don’t need to be cunning to tear you apart.”

“You...you don’t,” he crumbled as he fumbled for words, “you’re--you’re sick.”

Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon gritted its teeth from across the field, twirling its blade between fingers, perfectly capable of ending him. And just a few paces behind it, Dr. Daguchi, the real monster in the arena, was as impassive. Yuto’s words were about as scathing as the breeze. If anything, they fueled her impish joy.

“You cannot win. You never had a chance,” she said.

The tempo of his heart picked up, and he closed his eyes, feeling overwhelmed. Unable to escape. Outnumbered. Thrown to the wolves. Alone.

"Do you understand?” she asked.

His ears rang.

“Answer me, honey."

Carefully, slowly, his eyes popped open. Everything was unbearably bright. "Why?"

You're going to have to be more specific," she said.

"Why bother talking to me?" Yuto asked. “You apparently already know everything about me. So why?”

Her eyes crinkled. “It’s funny,” she said, simply.

“Funny?”

She shrugged. “What else can I say? It’s fun to fuck with you.”

It was like being punched. Anger and despair battled within him as she howled with laughter.

He wished this was a bad dream. He wished he’d just wake up.

She brushed away a tear of malignant enjoyment. “Enough of that now. I believe we were in the middle of something,” she said. “Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon! Attack Stargazer Magician!"

Crumbling to dust, Stargazer Magician left the field while Adreus chortled delightfully. Yuto was left with his last 1000 life-points.

Without any extra summons, setting down cards, or even activating card effects, she ended her turn. Hushed Psychic Cleric was left completely untouched. Adreus still had an overlay unit.

Yuto drew a card. Another magician appeared: Timegazer Magician. 1200 attack. 600 defense. It couldn't scratch her.

He didn't even bother setting it on the field to be blown to smithereens. As fearful as he was about what his failure would articulated to, it was graceless to keep up the spastic charade of shielding his life-points while at the mercy of Daguchi's verbal manipulations. He ended his turn, accepting defeat.

"You're giving up?" she asked, incredulous.

Yuto let his silence serve as a reply.

"That won't do. We just started having fun." She drew her card. "I end my turn," she said.

Had it devolved into this level of pettiness? Pulling punches?

Yuto stared at his hand. There was an irony to staring at such glitzy cards with such a solemn disposition.

He was no stranger to feeling as though the whole world was against him, even before he’d been kidnapped. An impressive sum of his life had been spent inundated in self-inflicted loneliness to avoid the fear others provoked in him. It was not as though he didn't enjoy his own company, sometimes there was solace to be found in solitude, but knew there was a delicate line between alone and lonely. As effortless as it was to be alone, it was just as easy to slip into loneliness. They fed one another. He was lonely because he was alone, he was alone because he was lonely: the ouroboros of self-isolation.

For Yuto, distancing himself from others had felt like the lesser of two evils. Build your walls, don't make eye contact, don’t open your mouth...it was an agoraphobic mantra he’d held dear.

But loneliness did weird things to your head. Your thoughts chased their tails in ceaseless circles of doubt. Like dough, you could turn reality over and over in your hands until it lost its shape, until you forgot what it ever looked like in the beginning. Everything was mushy and uncertain.

It was disorienting, but mostly, it was just sad. That sticky kind of sadness that sank into your skin and stained your bones. You could convince yourself the world was godless. You could convince yourself no one wanted you. You could convince yourself that it was better to be alone.

He'd spent the bulk of his childhood trapped in that cognition, only wretched up and out of the dark by the Kurosakis, whose patience with him astoundingly outlived his social dysfunctions. It had taken a lot of time and a lot of trust, but they hadn’t abandoned him through the process, although he’s sure it would’ve been easier for them to.

But they were out of his reach now, possibly forever, and the memories he'd made with them were no longer enough to plaster the hole in his chest. And now, he could feel that old, aching sadness creep back, whispering in his ear.

Strangely, Yuto had only ever begun to really feel its guttural grip after seeing the boy. It had been there during his entire captivity, lurking in the background, but it had not been in the forefront of his thoughts. There had just been no room for its angst, his mind preoccupied with pain and paranoia, starvation and exhaustion. Yet somehow, in those fleeting seconds the boy entered his life--the briefest of paradigm shifts--the extent of his loneliness unearthed itself. It was like not realizing the extent of your hunger until passing a sweet-smelling bakery.

Woefully, Yuto doubted they'd ever let him see the boy again. Clearly, it was a mishap, an accident, that their paths had fleetingly crossed. Holding the boy's cards (which, again, he wasn't positive even belonged to him in the first place) was probably the closest Yuto was going to get to remedying that needy, selfish part of him that didn't want to suffer alone. The part that didn't want to die alone.

To add insult to injury, Yuto couldn't even use the cards right. Like the boy, the deck was an enigma. Filled with low-level, circus oddities, they were clearly meant to be played in conjunction with one other, like teamwork. But as desperately as Yuto tried, he couldn’t keep them alive enough for them to be able to do that. All he was good at was sending them to the Graveyard...

Yuto did a double take.

Save for his discarded spell and trap, his Graveyard was empty.

Was this some kind of glitch? Dr. Daguchi had mentioned that the duel disk had been altered. Had it been broken instead? Yuto checked the slot where banished cards were deposited, although he was confident that his monsters hadn't been, and found the compartment empty.

On a hunch, he flipped open the extra deck. And there they were, lying face-up inside, as if waiting.

It had to be a malfunction. Yuto had never heard of cards being sent to the extra deck after being destroyed.

Then again, he'd never seen cards like this, either.

If Daguchi intended on stretching this duel out, then maybe he had room to decipher it.

Here's what he did know: the cards branded with the twin diamonds ended up in the extra deck, which indicated to him that they could be summoned again. The duel disk had been modified, and the only noticeable change he'd seen was an extension to the spell and trap zone. Defined squares sat on each side of the zone, inviting something to be placed there.

Were they for monster cards? Was he literally supposed to play actual monsters in the back row?

Confusion quickly transmuted into frustration.

The hot, biting touch of a taser against his neck scattered his train of thought. Unprepared to staunch it, he yelped loudly, nearly tripping in his restraints.

"You're quite the space cadet today,” Dr. Daguchi said, disposition tranquil while Yuto wrestled for air.

“I’m thinking,” he punctuated.

“A little too much,” she added.

“If you had wanted this duel over, you would have finished it last turn,” he said.

It was the wrong thing to say. Electricity filled him again. This time he’d been able to swallow the scream. “Fuck.”

“Draw your card.”

Tears burned at the edges of his eyes while he struggled with dizziness. Quivering, he pulled another card. Turning it over in his hand, a flash of turquoise met the eye.

Smile World

All face-up monsters currently on the field gain 100 ATK for each monster currently on the field, until the end of this turn.

It was tiny, but a spark of something--anger, hope, abandon--kindled in his chest.

What did he have to lose? If he made an illegal move, the duel disk wouldn't allow it. It would be embarrassing, but he’d been humiliated by her time and time again. Adding another mortifying moment to the heap of mortifying moments wasn’t going to change their dynamic.

With careful hesitation, as if worried his duel disk would spontaneously detonate, he took Performapal Turn Toad and placed it in the leftmost spot in the back row.

Thunderstruck, the disk didn’t spit the card back into his face. Instead, it allowed itself to be placed, and the hologram of Turn Toad appeared in a wash of gold. Not on the field, but beside him. After the display, however, nothing else occurred. There was a step missing.

Did both extra slots have to be occupied?

Only one way to find out. Yuto placed Timegazer Magician in the adjacent area.

Immediately, the light show began. The disk flashed in a kaleidoscopic shower of colors as Turn Toad and Timegazer Magician became weightless, pulled into the air by a ribbon of light, as if ascending into the heavens. Interwoven in their spotlight were their numbers: 3 and 8. Yuto’s extra deck flew open, beckoning.

Applause ensued. From the opposing end of the field, Yuto jerked up to find Dr. Daguchi clapping. “I guess you really didn’t need my help,” she said, mockingly. “Although I think you’re too late for it to do you any good.”

Yuto glared at her. Pulling a card from the extra deck, Yuto let Performapal Silver Claw return to the field first, expecting it to stop there. There had to be a limit, right? He couldn’t just bring them all back, right? But the rainbow effect didn’t fade, and the extra deck remained open.

How far did this go?

He re-summoned Stargazer Magician, followed by Performapal Kaleidoscorp, awe-struck that they both appeared without protests. Excitement began to build. Perhaps too much excitement, because when he tried to summon Performapal Cheermole to join the fray, he was stopped by a warning beep. He didn’t know exactly why it out of all of them weren’t allotted back onto the field, but he was too floored by what he had accomplished--whatever it was--to be touched by disappointment. Three monsters! In one turn!

He glanced up at Dr. Daguchi, expecting her to dismantle his thaumaturgic play immediately, especially given how enthusiastic she’d been when Yuto had finally managed to set up the summon. Instead, she awaited, quiet for once.

Jitters danced up his hands, and for the first time this entire duel, victory was palpable. Dr. Daguchi’s side of the field still made him nervous, and he was confident she had her own battle plan in the works, but if Yuto could pull this off…

Hoping he could flounder through the bits he was still unclear about, Yuto truly began his turn. “I play Smile World from my hand,” he declared, slapping the card onto the disk.

Instantly, the area was festooned with the shimmering, cartoon images of winking stars and emotive suns, which hovered and bobbed around in the air like birthday balloons. The room was warmer, the air lighter, and Yuto marveled. Each monster’s attack points are adjusted accordingly, including Dr. Daguchi’s.

Peering up at Turn Toad, he hoped his intuition was right. “I activate Turn Toad’s...top effect? Once per turn, I can switch the attack and defense stat of one face-up monster on my field. I choose to switch Performapal Kaleidoscorp’s stats.”

Right on the money. Kaleidoscorp’s 2300 defense became its attack. With Smile World in play, its attack was an astounding 2800. That was still not enough firepower to compete with Adreus’ boosted 3100 attack, but Yuto was ready to fix that.

“I attack Hushed Psychic Cleric with Performapal Silver Claw!”

The wolf braved forward, teeth and claws brandished, diving for the mage. It vanished in a burst.

“I activate Hushed Psychic Cleric’s effect. When it is sent to the Graveyard, I can special summon one of the cards banished using its effect. I special summon Serene Psychic Witch to attack mode.”

A cybernetic, overwhelmingly pink figure of a girl rippled into place, eyes narrowed and lupine.

A Special Summon is just what he’d wanted. “When an attack is declared with Silver Claw, every Performapal on the field gains 300 attack until the end of this turn.”

Performapal Kaleidoscorp’s attack leapt again. With 3100; on par with her XYZ summon.

“I activate Performapal Kaleidoscorp’s effect. Once per turn, I can target one face-up monster I control and give it the ability to attack every Special Summoned monster on my opponent's side of the field once. The face-up monster I choose is,” he pointed to the peppy scorpion, “Kaleidoscorp itself.”

Kaleidoscorp did a jig of determination.

“I attack Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon with Performapal Kaleidoscorp!” Yuto called.

The scorpion jumped up, eager to trek across the field.

His scuttle came to a quick stop as soon as Dr. Daguchi cut in. “Your math is a little fuzzy. Your monster wouldn’t survive long enough to attack twice,” she said. “Not that I would’ve let it in the first place. I discard one of Adreus’ overlay units to destroy Performapal Kaleidoscorp.”

Overlay spent, the Performapal gurgled in dismay.

“I won’t let you,” Yuto said. “I activate Stargazer Magician’s effect. Once per turn, I can choose one monster on my field. Until the end of this turn, it cannot be destroyed. I chose Performapal Kaleidoscorp.”

Dr. Daguchi’s eyes widened briefly, a glitch in her temperament, before her usual air was reclaimed.

Stargazer Magician kissed the top of the blithe bug with its staff, shrouding it in a cloak of magic. Kaleidoscorp was immortal. With a furious cry, the indestructible bug began to scramble across the field, chibi eyes aflame with a fire only known by warriors.

Kaleidoscorp was a very small monster, with very small legs, acclimated to the quietude of defensive play. To it, Yuto was sure the field was large. But Yuto also got the impression it wasn’t in too big of a hurry, either. For fifteen long, long seconds, Dr. Daguchi and Yuto watched in stunned silence as Kaleidoscorp lackadaisically promenaded to the feet of Adreus.

The insect paused, looking up at the hellion. Leagues taller than Kaleidoscorp, said hellion loomed over it’s soon-to-be assassin, glaring at the candy-colored Performapal in a numb disbelief.

Very gently, so gently that it did not even make a noise, Kaleidoscorp bumped Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon’s knee with its paper tail.

For a second, nothing happened.

Then, Adreus, Keeper of Armageddon promptly exploded.

Thanks to Stargazer Magician, it was spared the same fate, but Dr. Daguchi’s life-points remained the same--but Yuto was going to change that as well.

“Because Serene Psychic Witch was Special Summoned, and Kaleidoscorp’s effect is still active, I can attack it, too.”

With the destruction of one of her monsters, Smile World’s only gave a boost of 400 points, but Kaleidoscorp’s attack was still 2900 to Serene Psychic Witch’s boosted 1800. Using the same feathery force, Serene Psychic Witch crumbled before it even had a chance to shine. Dr. Daguchi’s life-points dropped to 1500.

Under Smile World’s blessing, and with three monsters remaining on the field, Stargazer had just enough power. No more, no less: 1500 attack on the dot. With nothing to shield her, all it would take is one shot to the heart.

Yuto shook, adrenaline running high. “With Stargazer Magician, I attack you directly.”

The hit was quick, a thunderous clap of white and blue magic. Dr. Daguchi didn’t even flinch as the last of her life-points were burned away. It hit zero with a glottal buzz, the most beautiful noise Yuto ever heard, and the symbol commending his victory popped up in the visor. The monsters on his side of the field danced in celebration. Silver Claw yipped and Kalediscorp bounced from side-to-side. In the décor of Smile World, the field truly looked like that of a joyous party.

It was the sloppiest, weirdest triumphant he’d ever snagged. Without warning, a hysterical bubble of laughter rattled his chest, lips quivering in a stupefied smile. “Thank you,” he whispered, unsure of who exactly he was thanking--the boy, the cards, the universe. Perhaps all of the above.

The duel faded away into glitter and binary code, and Yuto ripped off the visor.

Across the field, Dr. Daguchi wasn’t even looking at him. Her attention was turned to her modules. She shook her head slowly, disappointed. “Just like I thought,” she said. “Nothing.”

No less than a day later, Yuto was escorted from his room again.

When the weight of the blindfold was lifted away again, Yuto found himself in a room similar to the one he was usually detained at, albeit smaller and empty. It was a glorified booth, the northern wall of the room affixed with one of versatile mirrors-that-were-secretly-windows. Yuto was made to stand right in front of it. Currently reflective, it disclosed Yuto's haggard form, the shapes of the guards that detained him, and Dr. Daguchi.

When alone in his cell, Yuto did his best to dodge his reflection. It was haunting, watching oneself become more unrecognizable, and Yuto didn't need to subject himself to it. But stood there, he did not avert his eyes, engaging in a brief staring contest with the strange boy in the mirror. With the halo and diodes equipped, his gangling, overgrown bangs pushed up and over it, giving him the appearance of a spider-plant spilling over its pot. His bottom lip looked like a fleshy mangle, swollen and scab-encrusted. If his skin got any paler he'd melt into the walls. Rings of purple swallowed up his sinking eyes like quicksand. Corpses looked prettier.

Yuto's gaze dropped.

Dr. Daguchi's placed her hand, nails first, on his shoulder. "I'm going to have these nice gentleman here free your hands. The second you try anything funny, you'll regret it immediately. And for an extra added measure, I'll punish you myself." Her nails burrowed. "Tell me, are you fond of your teeth? Specifically, are you fond of your teeth staying where they are?"

As a matter of fact, Yuto was fond of his teeth. And he liked where they were. He nodded.

Her grip became painful. "Use your words."

Again, he bit into his wounded lip. "Yes."

"Look at me," she hissed.

He complied. "Yes."

"Wonderful!" she chirped, releasing her hold. "Then I'm sure you'll have no problem behaving! See you in a bit."

As she exited the room, one of the guards stalked behind him and wordlessly undid the shackles keeping his hands buckled behind his back. Yuto was quick to draw his freed hands to his chest, messaging where the metal had chaffed. His overseers then stood back, pressing themselves up against the wall.

Despite being able to technically move freely, Yuto was scared to even so much as sneeze, afraid any small twitch would be seen as an act of rebellion. The threat of tooth extraction hung heavy in the air, making his jaw ache.

He wasn't sure what the point of this was. It didn't appear like he was going to be put in immediate pain, but he couldn’t be sure. Perhaps it was going to be much like the duel, which had been relatively pain-free until Dr. Daguchi's patience had run thin. At least, in terms of physical pain. But Yuto still wasn't sure what the point of that conjuncture had been, either. Was it to see how he'd react under the most hard-to-follow, stress-inducing duel ever? That couldn't be it. Or was it? Everything they conducted was either asinine or cruel.

Stood with all the stiffness and stillness of a tree, Yuto waited. It could've been too long, logically speaking. Deceivingly, time had a habit of creeping glacially in moments of diffidence, and it made no exception here. Suffocating in the quiet, Yuto could hear the guards shuffle, their weapons and gear clicking. If he didn’t know any better, he’d interpret their fidgeting as nervousness.

And then, puncturing the nothingness, marked the return of the feeling. The liquid sunshine exuberance. The same feeling that came with seeing the boy.

With the same intrinsic willpower that tilts the heads of flowers up towards heaven, Yuto gawked into the mirror, hope thawing his listlessness. In his chest, he could feel his heart thrum against his ribs with a new vigor.

A subtle, electronic buzz churned the air. A click. Then, the mirror rippled into a state of translucence, like the face of a pond perturbed by a skipping stone. No longer was his own expression staring back at him, but it was--

Yuto almost wept with ecstasy.

Behind the glass, the boy's eyes lit up like fireworks. Even with his face marred by a myriad of bruises and superficial scratches, yellow-green blotches painting his cheek and eye, it could not dampen the shine of his smile. As Yuto's bewilderment dissipated, he felt his own lips quirk up into a returning grin, and for the first time in a long time, the rare smile held no hint of self-loathing or hysteria. Pure happiness germinated within. The boy was here! And in one piece! He nearly buckled under the relief.

The boy waved, the gesture almost too fast, empowered by a zealous rush enthusiasm. Wading in a haze of disbelief and euphoria, Yuto imparted his own shy wave back.

Yuto pressed himself up against the glass as if he were an enamored child at an aquarium. The boy followed suit, carefully plastering his hands over where Yuto rested his own. From the edges of their palms to the tops of fingertips, their hands paralleled each other flawlessly. A perfect fit.

"You're okay!" he croaked, words spewing from him suddenly, excitedly. "You're here!"

To his dismay, the boy's joy drooped, a vein of confusion blemishing the perfect moment. His disappointment ebbed into Yuto, as if it were physical, and he frowned instantly, worried. The boy then moved his mouth, but like a marionette, but no sound was made.

Standing behind the boy on his side of the booth was not his own accompanying guards, but Dr. Daguchi. Yuto had scarcely noted their presence until the boy pulled away from the glass, turning to Dr. Daguchi. Words were exchanged. Even muted and behind glass, Yuto could practically hear her superciliousness, the boy’s demeanor further sinking the longer she prattled. When the conversation came to an unsatisfactory conclusion, the boy turned back to him, pouting. Yuto tried to impart as much sympathy as he could soundlessly convey.

He supposed that they were going to have to settle for staring at each other. Either that, or figure out a different way to communicate. It seemed unnecessarily callous that they'd be permitted to get so close, but be unable to hear one another. Not that their depravity was nuanced.

After a pause, the boy began to pantomime, rushed, making gestures to himself and drawing shapes in the air Yuto couldn't elucidate. Charades was never a game he excelled at. To Yuto, it looked less like the boy was trying to send him a message and more like he was trying to land a plane.

Yuto's confusion must have been blatant, because the boy stopped his efforts, wilting. Yuto shook his head, apologetic. Behind the boy, Yuto could see Dr. Daguchi turned up from her modules to delight heartlessly in their plight, and Yuto watched with irritation as the boy grit his teeth, face lighting up with embarrassment.

“Just ignore her,” he said, stalling across the syllables to give the boy a chance to read his lips. Yuto repeated himself a few times, but unfortunately, the boy seemed as good at reading lips as Yuto was at charades.

It was a childish notion, but since they seemed to think he was so capable of impossible things, Yuto wished he could just communicate via telepathy. They could conduct nice, private conversations away from the eyes and ears of guards and Dr. Daguchi. It was a stupid thought to even entertain. Yuto tried to come up with an alternative.

The boy tapped on the glass idly, thinking. Yuto was about to just start trying to talk to him again, prepared to beat a dead horse, when the boy sprung up with insight. When Yuto furrowed his brows quizzically, the boy presented him with a smug mischief that could only translate as: I’m about to blow your mind. Cupping his hands over his mouth, the boy fogged up the glass.

Yuto's eyes lit up as the boy began to write into cloud:

⸮ɘmɒn ɿυoγ ƨ'ɈɒʜW !ɒγυY m'I

Yuto squinted, his mind taking a second to unravel it. A panic flitted over the boy's face when he realized that to Yuto, the text was flipped. He moved to blot it out, the message already shrinking upon itself in a crawl, but Yuto motioned dismissively. He’d understood.

Yuya. His name was Yuya.

Yuto breathed on the glass, moving to write his own message with his index finger. Carefully, he mirrored the letters so they’d appear normal on the other side:

oɈυY.

Yuto obviously couldn't hear him, but he could see it. Yuya mouthed out his name, slowly, as if to savor it. Yuya bounced on the balls of his feet, excited.

He exhaled on the mirror more intently, giving himself more canvas to play with. He hesitated for a split second, torn as to what to write. They were being watched. He doubted they’d be able to converse about anything vitally important, such as how long they've been here, or where here even was.

Yuto played it safe:

.υoγ ɿoʇ bɘɿɒɔƨ ƨɒw I .γɒʞo ɘɿ'υoγ ɈɒʜɈ bɒlϱ m'I

Yuya looked astounded, but in an exasperated sort of way. He fogged up the glass and began scribbling out:

υoγ ɈʜϱυoʜɈ I !⸮bɘiɿɿow ɘɿɘw υoY

Yuya erased it hastily:

You were worried?! I thought you were dead at first!!!

Yuto clouded the glass again:

γɿɿoƧ

Yuya's face puckered as he replied:

Don't be!!! >:(

Yuya renewed the steam on the glass as his old message faded:

Nobody would tell me if you were okay...bunch of jerks :(

Yuto laughed. He knew full well the lowbrow insult came from the result of being watched; he was sure Yuya could come up with a stronger, more appropriate descriptor. Yet the idea of someone genuinely using a word more apt for litterers and people who cut in line to describe maniacal torturers caught him off guard. Yuya flourished with pride at the reaction.

Yuya wrote again:

You have a nice smile.

A blush blossomed on Yuto's face. Rubbing at the back of his neck while the tips of his ears pinked, he turned away, unsure of how to respond.

Yuya was quick to amend:

Sorry!!! I didn't mean to be weird!!!

Yuto replied:

...ɈɒʜɈ bloɈ nɘɘd ɿɘvɘn Ɉƨυį ɘv'I !booϱ ɘɿ'υoY

He let the fog evaporate before he drew again:

.ooɈ ,ɘlimƨ ɘɔin ɒ ɘvɒʜ υoY

Yuya smiled sheepishly, turning back up to scribe in the smoke:

Where are you fr

Dr. Daguchi stopped him, stalking over before violently pulling back Yuya's hand. Yuya shrank back, flinching, his jubilant demeanor draining away and leaving nothing but fear in its wake. She said something to him, and the color slipped from Yuya's face.

Dread halted Yuto's breath, quickly chased by a rush of anger. "Leave him alone!" he demanded, thoughtlessly, fruitlessly.

She eyed Yuto through the glass, relishing in Yuto's pointless rage, and made a spectacle of dropping Yuya's wrist. She murmured something into Yuya's ear, and Yuya decayed, refusing to look at Yuto. Dr. Daguchi pinched Yuya's cheek with a condescending delight before stepping back again, reopening her modules. Yuto didn’t know what she’d threatened him with, but he could speculate.

Yuya tried to recompose himself, his shaky smile matching his shaky writing:

!γɒʞo ƨ'ɈI !γɿɿow Ɉ'noD

Yuya grimaced when he realized his mistake, and he wiped away at his message, but Yuto replied too quick:

.γɒʞo Ɉon ƨ'ɈI

Yuya reacted as though Yuto slapped him. His lip trembled, his smile disintegrating. He leaned forward to refog the glass, but Yuto beat him to it:

⸮υoγ Ɉ'nɘvɒʜ ,ɘnolɒ llɒ qυ bɘʞɔol Ɉqɘʞ nɘɘd ɘv'υoY

Yuya watched as Yuto’s message dissolved completely. He turned slightly, nervous eyes planted on Dr. Daguchi, who’d turned away from the pair to marvel again at her modules. Almost imperceptibly, Yuya nodded.

Swallowing thickly, Yuto returned to writing:

.υoγ Ɉɿυʜ ɘv'γɘʜɈ bnA

Yuya was frozen.

Yuto continued:

.γɒʞo ʇo ɘɈiƨoqqo ɘʜɈ ƨ'ɈɒʜT

It took Yuya a moment to respond, but eventually, his inactivity was broken by him huffing upon the glass:

It isn’t.

Yuya wiped the message away vigorously, still self-conscious about the potential reactions of his fellow occupants no doubt. He scribed anew:

I don’t like to… but we can’t just…

His note dissolved before it could be finished. Yuya blinked furiously, rubbing his eyes. Yuto aggressively wished he could reach through the glass and wrap Yuya up in an embrace, a fierce protectiveness spurring in his chest.

Yuto responded:

...γɿɿoƨ m'I

Yuya shook his head, writing again.

It’s not okay now. But it will be okay again...one day.

Yuya added:

I hope you believe in that as much as I do. You have to believe…

Did he? Yuto hadn’t entertained the thought of freedom in weeks. Although he couldn’t say with utmost truth that he was eager to meet the grim reaper, he’d come to the conclusion long ago that he was more likely to exit this purgatory in a body bag than not. And even if, by some holy miracle, Yuya and him managed to wiggle out from their clutches, would anything really be okay? Can someone be so acutely afraid for so long and return to normality unfractured?

Yuto scourged Yuya’s expression for a hint of well-meaning deceit--a sign that his declaration was nothing more than a platitude. But Yuya radiated nothing but earnesty.

He fogged up the glass:

.ɘƨɿυoɔ ʇO

When Yuya’s smile returned, Yuto’s heart softened. He added:

.ɿɘʜɈo ʜɔɒɘ ɘvɒʜ ɘw ,won bnA

Yuya rested his head against their barrier, and Yuto followed the action. He wanted so badly to feel the boy's warmth through the glass, but it yielded only the cold. That could be forgiven, Yuto decided.

For now, he was content just to have Yuya close.