Jason adjusted the cracked plastic chair beneath him, the sharp edge digging uncomfortably into his thigh. The chair creaked with even the slightest shift of his lean frame. His expression remained unreadable, but a deep discomfort tugged at the corners of his mouth. The warehouse they occupied was an old, forgotten relic of the industrial era, littered with rusted metal and cobwebs. Dust floated lazily in the dim yellow light overhead. The air smelled of mildew, copper, and dried blood.
Facing him were the other two members of the group—the inner core of the Neo Revolutionaries. Beside him sat the stitched-together corpse of George Felix, a once-loyal follower Jason had personally revived using his memory restoration technology. The resurrection process had been a success, though the stench that clung to George's reanimated body remained distinctly unpleasant.
Across from Jason sat Vessel—a thin, wiry man with skin stretched tightly over sharp cheekbones, his hair slicked back and his eyes constantly twitching with excitement. A bloodstained dueling glove clung to his hand, worn with use and age. His expression carried a mix of paranoia and wild glee.
"Our great leader plans to have himself be the vessel for when Napoleon returns," Jason mused silently, a glimmer of pride lighting up in his tired eyes. Of course, he'll do it using my memory transfer technology. All those years of research—finally paying off.
"How's the objective of getting Seto Kaiba to open the tournament to more participants?" Vessel asked, his voice low but urgent, filled with the buzzing energy of a fanatic.
Jason didn't answer right away. He looked around the dim warehouse where the other Neo Revolutionaries gathered, each one hooded and masked, their identities hidden but their loyalty absolute. Some stood along the walls, others crouched over maps and glowing tablets showing dueling intel.
He finally spoke, his voice calm and analytical. "I called Seto out. He took the bait. Forced his hand. The Battle City Tournament has been opened up to duelists worldwide."
He smiled to himself faintly, then added, "And the Rare Hunters think I'm working for them. Idiots. They'll be nothing more than puppets, dancing on strings they can't see."
George Felix let out a wet, gurgling chuckle. The reanimated man leaned back in his own chair and absentmindedly ran a bony finger—quite literally—along his lips. Jason wrinkled his nose.
"They're all idiots," he thought coldly. "I only care about who's going to fund my science. The Neo Revolutionaries are convenient for now. Their goals intersect with mine. But once something better comes along…"
He folded his hands in front of him. "I think I'll stick around. For now."
"Good work on manipulating the Rare Hunters," George rasped. "Now we move on to the next stage. Reviving Napoleon."
Jason's eyes gleamed at the mention of his most ambitious goal. George continued, "We'll need to secure the body—steal it from the tomb. We can't proceed without having his physical remains. That's the only way the vessel can retain Napoleon's memories."
Vessel tilted his head curiously. "Who exactly do we need to neutralize to make that happen?"
Jason's tone turned colder. "The major world governments. The King of Games. Seto Kaiba. The Rare Hunters. And…" He paused.
"Dartz," he said finally. "And his remaining followers."
George sneered. "Dartz. The one who stopped Napoleon the first time. We'll have to make sure he doesn't interfere again."
Jason nodded, arms crossing over his chest. "He'll come out of hiding the moment Napoleon rises again. He always feared the emperor would return at full strength."
Vessel leaned forward eagerly. "So why don't we just eliminate the King of Games? He doesn't have much protection. One man can't stop a movement. Eventually, even he will lose a duel."
Jason looked away, thoughtful. "Seto and the Rare Hunters are occupied with Battle City. We could frame someone else. Maybe stage a false flag operation to redirect global surveillance."
George grinned wide, revealing stained teeth and gums too pale to be living. He produced a small, bloodied bone from his coat pocket—a finger, gnawed and cracked—and began using it to pick his teeth.
Jason didn't flinch. He was used to George's theatrics.
"I can tell he ate one of Dartz's men from the bite marks," he thought with a flicker of disgust.
"I've still got some Orichalcos cards lying around," George said proudly. "It'll be easy to blame them. Make it look like the Order is resurging."
Vessel laughed. "Perfect. Everyone else stays busy. We move quietly."
Jason's eyes narrowed. "I don't think it'll be that easy. This new King of Games... he's different. He's not just a duelist."
Vessel rolled his eyes. "Come on. He's just a man."
"No," Jason replied sharply. "We'd need hundreds of duelists to even make it possible to stop him. At that point, it's not worth the risk. The attention would bury us before we get a chance to act."
George leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You say he's so special—what proof do you have?"
Jason's voice dropped to a near whisper. "He wore the original Millennium Puzzle around his neck. That awakened the Pharaoh. The spirit of the undefeated ancient king. I've seen him duel. Watched him grow taller, stronger during the match. That's not human. That's something else entirely."
Vessel's grin faded. "Damn... I wish we could just use a sniper rifle. But knowing our luck, the Egyptian God Cards would probably swat the bullet mid-air."
Jason smirked. "The world doesn't work like that anymore. Everything is decided by duel. Even violence is bound to card rules. You want to harm him? You'll need to beat him in a duel."
George's pale eyes narrowed. "So the only way to remove him... is by winning."
Vessel slammed his hand onto the table. The wood cracked with the force.
"This is bullshit!" he spat. "The world obeys some ancient prophecy now. It's rigged against us! The Pharaoh has to beat the Darkness. That's what the prophecy says. Everything else just gets crushed under his path."
Jason remained calm, his fingers drumming softly on the table.
"I may have a solution," he said.
Both George and Vessel turned to him.
"I told you about the prophecy before," Jason continued. "That the Pharaoh must defeat the embodiment of Darkness. That much is inevitable. He's fated to win."
George frowned. "So how does that help us?"
Jason leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. "We don't stop the prophecy. We sidestep it."
"How?" Vessel demanded.
Jason's expression turned sly. "Let's say, hypothetically, we proceed with the resurrection. As the Pharaoh duels Darkness, we launch our final stage. He must face Darkness. The prophecy demands it. But it says nothing about him stopping us while doing so."
Realization dawned in George's expression. "He can't be in two places at once."
Jason nodded. "If we time it perfectly, we act while he's fulfilling his destiny. That's the moment we finish our own."
Vessel folded his arms, skeptical. "But how do we guarantee the Pharaoh beats the Darkness? If he fails—we all lose."
Jason stood, his chair scraping loudly against the warehouse floor.
"Then we ensure it happens. We study the prophecy. Create conditions that make his victory inevitable."
He looked toward the far wall, where blueprints for Napoleon's vessel were pinned alongside maps, data files, and dueling profiles.
"If the Pharaoh has fate on his side—then we let him keep it. While we rewrite the world behind his back."
And with that, Jason's cold smile returned.
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