Laser Tag!
Crouched down on the marble floor of the foyer, Kaiba shifted his weight from on knee to the other and started lacing his other boot.
It had been a while since he last played laser tag. In a far, far corner of his mind he was wondering whether it would show. At the height of his gaming addiction, years ago, he'd been virtually unstoppable, but much of that had had to do with the circumstances, and the state of mind he'd been in at the time.
The stain Gozaburo's body left behind on the pavement outside of headquarters had still been faintly visible by the time KaibaLand was well under construction. Between dismantling the arms manufacturing branch of the corporation and carving out a reputation for his own brand of ruthlessness in business world, Kaiba had studied aikido, and developed a taste for games where the punishment for losing was often severe.
The version of laser tag he once favored involved hired teams of former soldiers or professional grunts, and modified, remotely activated electroshock vests which served to inform the player of the kill-shot they'd received, the high-voltage often rendering them unconscious as a result. When he wasn't playing alongside these people to strengthen his own skills, he was watching them fight like dogs amongst each other for kicks.
And in hindsight, yes, a shrink might have liked to delve into the source of the satisfaction he got from such things back then, but Kaiba preferred to think he'd outgrown most of that himself without the aid of anyone else.
Save, naturally, for the day a nobody by the name of Mutou Yuugi - and his darker half - came along to rip his most prized title away from him.
Kaiba scowled at the floor as he straightened up, still sore over the loss (and subsequent repeat losses as he sought to regain that prestige) after so many years.
Not that any of it mattered now. This game was for fun, and they were playing the safe way, so the only penalty for getting hit was a sharp beep that came from the sensors inserted into a player's gear.
KaibaLand offered two types of gear: The classic, bulky, vibrating vests worn over any clothing for the visitors who played for recreation and didn't own or intend to purchase the specialized gear, and the specialized gear, made by KaibaCorp, which catered to the tournament junkies and was thusly tailored to resemble real tactical fatigues. The sensors sewn inside the latter were paper thin, so as not to restrict movement.
"Where are the others?" he asked Isono. The grunt was parked on the stairs nearby, knitting something of a garish olive color.
He'd had the man stop by KaibaLand to pick up gear for both Shizuka and Rebecca earlier in day. Kaiba and Mokuba, of course, already had their own. Isono had dropped the gear off at the mansion afterward, and now, upon returning home from work, Kaiba had decided to forgo the greetings until he'd changed.
The question now was, were the others ready?
Isono, who'd been sent upstairs twenty minutes ago to tell them it was time to leave, calmly laid his burdens down long enough to point up at the ceiling, ignoring the responding snort from his employer.
"How many times have I fired you this week?"
"Four, Seto-sama. Four times."
"Make that five."
Isono nodded gravely. "We have a new record."
Kaiba nodded as well, adjusting the fabric where his pants were tucked into the tops of the combat boots. "Let that be a lesson to you."
"Indeed," Isono said with a sigh and resumed knitting.
[Tag, Mokuba?]
It had been a while since he last played laser tag. In a far, far corner of his mind he was wondering whether it would show. At the height of his gaming addiction, years ago, he'd been virtually unstoppable, but much of that had had to do with the circumstances, and the state of mind he'd been in at the time.
The stain Gozaburo's body left behind on the pavement outside of headquarters had still been faintly visible by the time KaibaLand was well under construction. Between dismantling the arms manufacturing branch of the corporation and carving out a reputation for his own brand of ruthlessness in business world, Kaiba had studied aikido, and developed a taste for games where the punishment for losing was often severe.
The version of laser tag he once favored involved hired teams of former soldiers or professional grunts, and modified, remotely activated electroshock vests which served to inform the player of the kill-shot they'd received, the high-voltage often rendering them unconscious as a result. When he wasn't playing alongside these people to strengthen his own skills, he was watching them fight like dogs amongst each other for kicks.
And in hindsight, yes, a shrink might have liked to delve into the source of the satisfaction he got from such things back then, but Kaiba preferred to think he'd outgrown most of that himself without the aid of anyone else.
Save, naturally, for the day a nobody by the name of Mutou Yuugi - and his darker half - came along to rip his most prized title away from him.
Kaiba scowled at the floor as he straightened up, still sore over the loss (and subsequent repeat losses as he sought to regain that prestige) after so many years.
Not that any of it mattered now. This game was for fun, and they were playing the safe way, so the only penalty for getting hit was a sharp beep that came from the sensors inserted into a player's gear.
KaibaLand offered two types of gear: The classic, bulky, vibrating vests worn over any clothing for the visitors who played for recreation and didn't own or intend to purchase the specialized gear, and the specialized gear, made by KaibaCorp, which catered to the tournament junkies and was thusly tailored to resemble real tactical fatigues. The sensors sewn inside the latter were paper thin, so as not to restrict movement.
"Where are the others?" he asked Isono. The grunt was parked on the stairs nearby, knitting something of a garish olive color.
He'd had the man stop by KaibaLand to pick up gear for both Shizuka and Rebecca earlier in day. Kaiba and Mokuba, of course, already had their own. Isono had dropped the gear off at the mansion afterward, and now, upon returning home from work, Kaiba had decided to forgo the greetings until he'd changed.
The question now was, were the others ready?
Isono, who'd been sent upstairs twenty minutes ago to tell them it was time to leave, calmly laid his burdens down long enough to point up at the ceiling, ignoring the responding snort from his employer.
"How many times have I fired you this week?"
"Four, Seto-sama. Four times."
"Make that five."
Isono nodded gravely. "We have a new record."
Kaiba nodded as well, adjusting the fabric where his pants were tucked into the tops of the combat boots. "Let that be a lesson to you."
"Indeed," Isono said with a sigh and resumed knitting.
[Tag, Mokuba?]