Chapter Text
In the shadowy confines of his home lab, concealed from prying eyes, Kaiba stood amidst the pulse of advanced technology and innovation. The air buzzed with anticipation as an array of sleek virtual reality pods loomed before him, their surfaces shimmering under the harsh fluorescent lights. These cutting-edge devices, a culmination of his relentless pursuit of excellence, were designed to unlock the hidden chambers of the human mind, allowing users to access lost memories—an audacious solution for those suffering from memory loss, dementia, and Alzheimer’s. The intricate code he had painstakingly written intertwined with sophisticated neuro-responsive algorithms, allowing for the seamless recreation of one’s past.
Despite his arrogance, a flicker of trepidation gnawed at Kaiba, urging caution. He feared that if the true capabilities and potential risks of his technology leaked, it could spark a frenzy of skepticism and misuse. Yet, driven by a fierce pride and a fear for others’ safety that he would never openly admit, he resolved to test the system himself. Adjusting the sharp collar of his jacket, he stepped into one of the sleek pods, securing the helmet fitted with neural interfaces and biometric sensors.
As Kaiba prepared to start the virtual reality confines of the pod, a wave of unease washed over Mokuba. The chilling memories of their past flooded back—the time Kaiba had been ensnared by the malicious grip of the Big Five, trapped in a nightmare of his own design. He could still feel the dread that had settled in his chest as he feared he might lose his brother forever.
“Seto,” Mokuba urged, wringing his hands nervously, “I really think we should run a few more tests before you dive in. What if something goes wrong? We can’t afford another disaster like last time.”
Kaiba’s gaze remained steadfast, a flicker of emotion crossing his features. “Mokuba, I’ve run countless tests, analyzed every piece of data, and reviewed the software infrastructure more times than I can count. You’ve pushed me to delay this for months, and now it’s time. I need to do this. You’ll be right here with me the entire time. Pull me out after thirty minutes.”
“Fifteen minutes tops,” Mokuba shot back, his tone laced with concern.
Kaiba sighed but relented slightly, extending his hand to seal the agreement. “Twenty minutes, then.”
“Deal.” The brothers shook hands, Mokuba’s grip a mix of resolve and worry.
“Mokuba,” Kaiba continued, holding onto his brother’s hand a moment longer, “it won’t be anything like the virtual nightmare created by the Big Five. They’re gone, and Gozaburo is dead. I destroyed all the hacked software he left behind."
Mokuba’s face fell, doubt shadowing his expression as he withdrew his hand. He swallowed hard, the weight of their past lingering heavily in the air. “Seto, please be safe.” Moving to the control panel beside the pod, he felt his heart race. “What memory are you planning to explore?”
Kaiba’s lips curled into a rare, earnest smile as he answered, “One of the happiest days of my life—the day you were born.” With that, he closed the pod, sealing himself in a world where nostalgia and hope intertwined, while Mokuba braced himself with palpable apprehension.
The world around him faded into darkness as the machine whirred to life, the virtual reality program booting up with intricate precision, tempting him to confront the memories he had buried deep within. As he took a deep breath, surrendering to the unknown, Kaiba could only hope that he wouldn’t become a prisoner of his own creation once again.
——-
The sterile scent of disinfectant filled the air as five-year-old Seto Kaiba eagerly perched on the edge of his seat in the waiting room, flanked by his grandparents. He could hardly contain his excitement, bouncing in his seat with anticipation at the prospect of meeting his new sibling. His parents, keeping the gender a secret, hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm; in fact, but Seto was certain he’d have a little brother. He listened intently as aunts and uncles surrounded him, their voices rich with warmth and encouragement as they shared stories about the responsibilities of being an older brother—how it meant protecting and supporting his younger sibling, a role he was more than ready to embrace.
At last, after what felt like an eternity, the moment arrived. Seto was ushered into a bright, pristine hospital room, the white walls gleaming under the fluorescent lights. There, in his mother’s arms, was the tiny bundle he had been waiting for, an infant who would soon become his closest friend and partner in countless childhood adventures. Her bright blue eyes sparkled with tears of joy as she looked up at him, her smile radiant.
“Seto, come meet your brother, Mokuba,” she said, her voice melodic with love.
As he reached out to hold the fragile infant, a wave of warmth enveloped him, and everything felt perfect—until, suddenly, the world around him shifted violently. Reality tore away like a fragile curtain, and Seto found himself unmoored, thrust into an overwhelming void. The comforting embrace of his brother’s presence faded as he was drawn from the cherished moment into a chaotic swirl of memories.
Kaiba was no longer aware that he was inside a virtual reality simulation; flashes of his tumultuous past bombarded his mind, each one vying for attention as he grappled to reclaim his sanity amidst the torrent of emotions and shadows that swirled around him.
In the glow of the control panel, Mokuba watched intently as holograms flickered to life before him, a safety feature his brother had implemented specifically for his peace of mind. The vivid images danced in the air, each one depicting intimate moments from their shared history. As he caught sight of their mother cradling him in her arms, tears of sorrow stung his eyes. It was a memory that had long faded for him, but here it was—vivid and tender, yet painfully bittersweet.
Suddenly, the holograms shifted with alarming speed. Mokuba’s heart raced as he realized his brother was being thrust through a cascade of fragmented memories—each scene flashing by too quickly to recognize, a chaotic montage that felt disjointed and terrifying. The joy of seeing a cherished moment twisted into a frantic nightmare.
Kaiba's face twisted into pain, Mokuba’s resolve hardened, borne of desperation. He sprang into action, fingers flying across the control panel as he desperately tried to halt the machine. “Seto! Wake up! You need to come back!” he shouted, panic flooding his chest as silence enveloped the room ominously, heightening the tension gripping him.
Then, without warning, the sounds shuddered to a halt, the once-vibrant holograms freezing in midair like the stillness before a storm. For a disorienting moment, Mokuba was left staring at the empty space where the holograms projected, the silence pressing heavily against his ears. Just as he thought relief was within reach, a new hologram burst forth—a haunting scene that chilled him to the core. It was a memory from their past, one filled with tension and dread, and Mokuba’s breath hitched as he gasped in horror.
“Seto!” he pleaded silently, his heart aching as he realized what his brother was reliving—a painful experience he had long suppressed but could never entirely escape. The dread of watching his brother experience such torment again coursed through him, gnawing at his insides. With every fiber of his being, he fought to pull Seto back from the depths of that darkness, fearing what might unravel if he didn't act quickly.
The hologram shimmered to life, revealing a memory that clawed at the edges of Mokuba's heart. The scene unfolded against the backdrop of a cold, unwelcoming day, where a dreary gray sky loomed overhead like an ominous cloud, suffocating the warmth of hope. Seto, fragile, stood frozen in place outside the orphanage, the harsh reality ripping through him like a jagged blade. His young face was etched with heartbreak, eyes wide as he watched the social service worker’s car pull away, the vehicle disappearing into the distance like a dismal omen of abandonment.
With trembling hands, he clutched Mokuba’s small, delicate fingers, feeling as if their bond was all he had left in a world that suddenly felt vast and empty. The despair etched on Seto’s face spoke louder than words ever could, echoing the crushing weight of guilt and loss that had settled in his chest. Even at such a young age, he understood the gravity of their situation, and the ache of fear wrapped around his heart, tightening with every passing moment.
Mokuba, innocent and confused, sensed the somber air and didn’t understand why they couldn’t chase after the car, why their lives had suddenly been uprooted. He tugged on Seto’s hand, his little feet moving instinctively as he tried to run after the departing vehicle, a desperate plea for the familiar comfort of their past. But Seto, overwhelmed by his own turmoil, quickly shifted from sorrow to protectiveness, reflexively yanking Mokuba back to avoid the path of oncoming traffic.
“Mokuba, no!” Seto’s voice was strained and filled with panic, a reflection of his internal struggle. He pulled his brother into a tight embrace, pressing his forehead against the top of Mokuba's head. Tears pooled in Seto's eyes, their salty warmth mingling with the chill of the air, as he whispered fervently, “We have to be strong. I won’t let anything happen to you. I’ll be your father now. I promise.”
Mokuba’s small frame trembled against his brother, the stark reality weighing heavily on both their hearts. In that moment, time seemed to collapse in on itself as the memory washed over them, each painful detail woven together—the sight of the car disappearing, the frail grip of Mokuba’s hand, and the desperate love that bound them amidst the chaos. In that fragile embrace, they were two lost souls clinging to one another, grappling with a world that had been all too cruel, their unbreakable bond a flicker of light amid the encroaching darkness.
Mokuba’s heart raced as he flung himself towards the sleek, glowing control panel, illuminated like a fortress of hope against the pressing shadows of despair. His fingers moved in a blur, frantically typing algorithms into the sophisticated interface, watching numbers and code cascade across the screen like a digital waterfall. Panic fueled his every keystroke, each line of code an attempt to wrest Seto back from the abyss that his reckless experimentation had unleashed. He could practically hear the whir of the machine’s circuits as they responded to his frantic commands, but each frantic attempt to reset the program was met with a cruel refusal. The virtual world kept spiraling, dragging his brother deeper into memories best left undisturbed.
“Mokuba, think!” he whispered to himself, desperation clawing at his throat. Time felt like it was slipping through his fingers like sand, and the chill of dread nipped at him as the seconds turned into endless minutes. Deep breaths. Studies. Focus. But his heart was in a frenzy, and he could feel the weight of helplessness pressing down on him. The holographic display showed Seto in the grips of turmoil, lost in a labyrinth of old wounds, and frustration bubbled like lava in his chest as he fought against the limitations of the technology his brother had so expertly crafted. What would his brother do? What would he say? A surge of determination flared within him, but it was quickly suffocated by the gnawing realization that he was powerless in this moment.
With a shuddering breath, Mokuba finally reached for his phone. His hands trembled as he fumbled to open the group chat with Honda, Yugi, Jonouchi, and Anzu, each tick of the clock echoing like a countdown in his mind. “I need them here, they’ve helped before,” he thought, frantically typing out a message, fingers slipping as he struggled to focus through the haze of fear. “SOS. Come to my house ASAP.” His heart pounded against his ribcage as he hit send, praying his friends would see it in time. He knew he could trust them, he didn’t want this story to be leaked to the press.
The brief moment of silence that followed was deafening, filled with the violent pulse of anxiety thrumming in his ears. Mokuba felt isolated, his brother lost in a digital wilderness of memories while he clung to the hope that his friends would arrive before it was too late. The possibility of losing Seto to this virtual hell threatened to consume him, and he raced against the clock, fingers dancing once again across the control panel in a desperate attempt to devise an alternative means of extraction.
“Come on,” he muttered, his voice breaking under the weight of desperation. “You have to come back to me, Seto.”