October


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"We don't serve pipsqueaks under sixteen, kid." The bartender smiled a nearly toothless smile, globs of saliva accumulated at the corners of his mouth. He was one of those men whose fat couldn't be mistaken for muscle tissue; it bulged all the way over his light gray pants. Malik Ishtar had no doubt he could take the man on. One punch in his flabby gut should be enough to take him down. He clenched his fists. Control your temper. Stay calm.

"I'm not a kid."

"Let me hear your ID."

"Fine." Malik put his index finger on the familiar square box and waited until the LVS, the laser verification system, finished scanning his print. A mechanical voice called out his identification number, stating his age with its very last tone: "Seventeen."

"You're lucky," the toothless man mumbled and turned around. "So, what will it be?"

"Green voran," Malik answered, holding back a "...and make it snappy" at the last moment. The bartender reached for the bottle and unscrewed the cap, pouring the drink with lazy, bored movements.

"You know your stuff, kid." He put the glass on the bar and jerked his head. "Doesn't he want something?"

"Huh?" Malik looked quickly in the direction the bartender was pointing- behind him. He refrained from gnashing his teeth when seeing the man, standing a few inches away.

"Weapons on display," Malik hissed at him, but the other didn't move. Irritated, Malik spun around to face the bartender.

"He doesn't drink."

The burly man shrugged, unfazed. In his years as bartender and owner of The Square Circle, he had seen a lot of weird people come and go, dark strangers and shabby travelers- tattooed, pierced, naked, leather-clad, or armed as this guy. Even so, his intuition had never screamed "danger" so loud before. He eyed the stranger behind the kid, dressed in black, and with weapons attached to his left leg- unidentified weapons. Smuggler, thief, renegade? His keen eye caught a sparkle; something was glittering- an earring in the man's right ear. The right side of his face as covered by the short, dark gray hooded cape he was wearing, tattered and ragged. Long, platinum blond strands of hair peaked under the hood, contrasting his dark tanned skin and bland, violet pupil-less eye, glaring directly at him. The bartender only noticed the strange black lines under his eye before quickly turning his head. He felt like he was exposed to his very core; that gaze hadn't been friendly. He swallowed.

"You said you were staying on the ship," Malik mumbled, nursing his drink. Green voran was as cheap as it was bitter; the aftertaste was hard to get rid of. It was, however, the only drink with a relatively low alcohol percentage and even though he wanted to, it wasn't in Malik�s intention to get drunk.

"We have a problem."

Six years and he still wasn't used to his voice; it grated like nails on a school board, a knife on a plate, screeching tires from a getaway car. Get away. Yes, he wanted to get away- far, far, far away. Malik shivered. It didn't help that the other didn't talk that much- but if he talked, most of the times it held the promise of trouble. Like now.

"What is it?"

"There is One here."

This made Malik curious and he turned around, abandoning his drink on the bar. "One?"

No answer. He pondered. There were only two who qualified for being an "One". "Which one?"

"I don't know."

"Well, that's a great help." Malik rubbed over his wrists, out of habit. It looked like he was rubbing over dark brown leather, common bracers- he hadn't forgotten to switch his alterfactor on, a device that altered parts of his appearance, inconspicuous to the human eye. "So, what's next?"

"Get back to the ship."

"I want to finish my drink."

"As you wish." The man turned around and stalked out of the Square Circle, unconcerned. Malik frowned; there hadn't been a single tone of submission or politeness in his last words, something that didn't surprise him. After all these six years, he knew that the other couldn't care less about him. Malik had to be used to that now, something he casually scolded himself for. There was nothing he could do about it. Six years was a long time, especially after...

"Hello there, cutie."

He turned his head so fast he heard his neck almost crack. Next to him sat a very attractive woman, clad in a vinyl type leather skirt and jacket, combined with a lace top that left nothing to the imagination. Her long blond hair flowed freely over her shoulders, and she had paid careful attention to her make-up; long black lashes stressed her purplish eyes, while a fiery red colored her small lips.

"Hello there, too," Malik answered lamely. Almost obsessively, he put a hand on his drink. She saw the movement and smiled.

"Want another one?"

Before he could answer, she waved at the bartender. "Green voran and a Daiquiri for me."

The bartender nodded and bustled about, his fat body wiggling behind the counter. Malik snorted.

"They still make those?"

"You have to know who makes the right one," she winked at him. "I don't like those synthetic drinks very much."

"Real ingredients are hard to get sometimes," Malik pointed out. The woman shrugged and put her purse on the counter. She rummaged in it and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and some tokens.

"Cigarette?"

"I don't smoke. Why are you offering me this?"

"I'm just looking for some company."

"Don't mess with me. This joint is far too crappy for small talk and picking up company. What do you want?"

"Busted," the woman smiled, without looking embarrassed. She squinted her eyes a little for the harsh bar lights- who, for some reason, didn't do any harm to her appearance-, shifted the purse a little bit around and smiled again, albeit a bit wanly. "I saw you arguing with your boyfriend..."

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Your co-pilot..."

"Pilot," Malik corrected her, patience wearing thin. "He's the pilot, I'm the co-pilot. If you're looking for a ride, you're doing it the wrong way, lady."

They were interrupted by the bartender, who put the drinks in front of them on the counter. "He's not giving you any trouble, Mai?"

"Not at all," the woman answered, flipping long locks of blonde hair over her shoulder. She looked again at Malik. "It's okay."

"What's this all about? You want a ride? We don't take people with us."

"Cargo ship?" Mai fumbled again in her purse, apparently looking for a lighter. She closed it and addressed Malik again. "You have a cargo ship, right?"

"Yes, so what if we have? Look lady, like I've said: if you're looking for a ride, you're asking the wrong one. I'm not the one who decides who or what goes on board. I'm sorry." Malik stood up, suddenly irritated. "Thank you for the drink."

"No problem. Too bad. I bet we could've had a lot of fun on your ship."

"It's not mine," Malik pouted, composed himself the next second and hurried out of the bar. He still had a lot to do and he had to get back to the ship, as per the pilot�s orders. He gnashed his teeth again. One of the Ones had appeared and he didn't know which one. A good looking woman had approached him in a dirty bar, offering him drinks and cigarettes.

"Madness, just total madness," he muttered under his breath and reminded himself firmly to stay calm. His temper shouldn't get the best of him. Not like before.

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Mai remained seated at the bar for another half an hour, casually calling off other men's attention and offers for drinks or something else. The bartender didn't give her any more attention, not that she wanted it; she waited patiently for thirty minutes to pass, then she stood up, leaving another fifty genz token on the counter and walked to the back. Two out of the three videophones were out of order and Mai went to the last one, closing the cubicle behind her. She took out two black strips out of her purse and attached them to the door. Afterwards, she clicked a small device to the strips, immediately and effectively creating a small force field that would prevent any eavesdropping, or someone trying to open the door, forcefully or not. Mai put her finger on the LVS, which stated promptly her identification number and age. She rolled her eyes and quickly tapped in the number of the one she wanted to be transferred to. It didn't take very long before an impeccably groomed woman appeared on the screen.

"Thank you for calling Kaiba Corp. Please select your choice from the menu." Mai winced at the loudness of the voice. Why had that stupid system be so freaking loud? She navigated through the menu until she reached the Human Resources Department, Shizuka Kawaii to be exact.

The young woman smiled widely when she saw Mai on screen. "Mai! It's been a while!"

Mai flinched, knowing that that innocent remark forbade a scolding preach from her boss himself. That was the one and only reason she was happy she wasn't in the office in person.

"Shizuka, I have a 755 call..."

"I'll transfer you," she said, an uncharacteristic frown disfiguring her pretty face. "Hold on."

Mai took in a deep breath and straightened her back. Maybe the boss wasn't in and she could talk to his brother, who was a lot easier to...

"Kaiba here. What is it, Mai?" No such luck.

She was a bit thrown off and almost took a step back when he barked: "You said it was a 755. Well? What do you have for me?"

"I...I have an almost positive identification on Malik Ishtar," she stammered.

"Almost positive? What's that supposed to mean?"

"The scrambler had difficulties with his alterfactor," Mai reported. "Someone has magnified the density of the thing." She was a little bit taken aback when she heard Kaiba clearly draw a sharp breath.

"No one alters an alterfactor without being fried. This is one clue, but you'll never know- there could be more people with a...never mind, continue."

"He wore bracers- those were altered, but my scrambler couldn't make out if they were made out of that gold you're looking for, boss." Kaiba didn't answer.

"They have a cargo ship..."

"They?"

"There were two of them. The second came in at least fifteen minutes after Ishtar, and said something about having a problem. When I talked to Ishtar, he said that one was the pilot of their ship."

"Did you get a good look at him?"

"No, but he was creepy as hell. Taller, bigger than Ishtar. He was carrying weapons on display."

"Weapons on display in that environment isn't that big of a deal, Mai."

Now she played her trump card. "It is when you're talking about unidentified weapons..."

"He still could be a smuggler."

"Unidentified weapons with laserpack feed and double clips," she said and waited for the quarter to drop. When she saw him stiffen, she knew she was on the right track. Now she could finally get out of this dump.

"Interesting...very interesting." Kaiba folded his fingers together, contemplating his options. "Even if it isn't Ishtar and this is some smuggler or thief, it's still an interesting catch. Anyone who can alter his weapons to hold feed and clips is probably also capable of altering an alterfactor. They weren't related?"

"No. He was the pilot of their ship. That's all I could get out of him."

"Very well. Await your new orders, Mai."

The connection was cut before Mai could ask when her mission was finally over. With surprising force, she banged at the videophone, effectively rendering the third one out of commission.

"Damn you, fucking Kaiba!"

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"Did you hear it?"

"Of course, brother."

Seto Kaiba hadn't changed his posture; he leaned with his elbows on his gigantic mahogany desk -the last mahogany known-, covered with neatly arranged stacks of papers. The videophone was logged off. Only calls with a code of 750 and higher were transferred. He didn't have the time to answer the rest. His icy blue eyes were often described as 'piercing', a look only his younger brother Mokuba, was resistant to. In fact, the only time he looked soft and caring, was if it concerned Mokuba.

"Who are you giving this case to?"

"Hmm?" Seto was interrupted in his thoughts. "You mean, this one? Who do you suggest?"

"Me?" Mokuba frowned. "I don't know half of what's going on, Seto. Is this one of the cases you pursue yourself, or do you have a contractor?"

"We have someone walking around freely who's apparently genius enough to change the working of devices that are esteemed unchangeable," Seto said, ignoring his question. "And, also apparently, connected to someone who is a murderer and a thief."

"Malik Ishtar?" Mokuba pronounced the name syllable for syllable. "What's his bounty?"

"Five million genz."

Mokuba whistled. It took him only a second to frown. "Five million for a murderer? There must be something else he's done- there's no way a bounty for a mere murderer is this high."

"Sharp as always," Seto said, and showed one of his rare smiles. For his brother's sight only.

"Isn't it bedtime for you?"

"Seto, I'm not a kid. I still have to answer your question."

He nodded. "Go on."

"There are laser weapons involved, so first of all, I'd recommend Hiroto Honda. He's a weapon expert after all, and capable of dealing with all kinds of firearms, altered or not. Second, Mai said that the other guy gave her the creeps, and her intuition is normally always right. We're dealing here with a potentially dangerous man, so I'd suggest Ryuuji Otogi, expert at martial arts and a strategic genius."

"Excellent choices, so far. And...?"

"Jounouchi Katsuya as team leader."

"I hoped you would pick another one."

"Seto, you shouldn't be so mean to him. You know damn well how good he is and I don't know why you refuse to acknowledge him. He has more successful missions to his name than any other, and still you think he's average. Honda and Otogi are masters in their fields, but they don't keep an objective overview of the mission and they lack certain qualifications to deal with these kind of situations- and we're talking about a murderer and an unidentified dangerous person here."

"Okay, okay, I'll have the secretary notify them. Now you should really go to bed."

Mokuba nodded, jumping of the couch. "Don't stay up too late."

"I won't," Seto answered, and before Mokuba reached the door, he called him back. "Before I forget- what did I say to you about swear words?"

Mokuba rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine, I'm sorry. I won't say it again!"

"Very well, off to bed."

The door slammed close. Seto Kaiba untwined his fingers and pushed a button from his intercom. "Get me Jounouchi, Honda and Otogi here. Within fifteen minutes."


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  Chapter 2