What Would You Do? YuseixOC

Chapter 1

Okay! I was feeling nostalgic recently, and I was reading all the Yusei Fudo fanfics I could find, even on quizilla. I guess I just noticed that in almost every story, the O.C. is a signer, or is super good at dueling, or otherwise sort of a mary sue, or it's just a character that I don't feel any connection to. I know I've done the same in the past, no matter how much I want to forget it! Anyways, please enjoy! I didn't beta this so there may be some typos...
Oh! By the way, I'll probably use the Japanese names here and the Japanese terminology from the subbed anime. I drew an image of my oc but feel free to mostly ignore it. Her height, eye color, skin color, hair length and hair color are described in the story, but everything else can be left to your imagination! If you're wondering, she is a little bit taller than Yeager. The top of her head just reaches Yusei's shoulders. She's a meatball.

EDIT 08.21.2022: New and improved, fresh and shiny Chapter 1! PLEASE tell me how you feel about it, good or bad by leaving a review! Thank you to every reader new and old with the guts to sail away on a journey of exposition with me! Feeling saucy? Read this story up to Chapter 22 but be warned, for all is not family friendly on this ship! Italicized text is the character's thoughts. Italicized text in quotations can be a flashback or voices coming through a tv or phone. And yes I made up YGO-sounding names and places. There's a lot of headcanon here. This seriously took me all night to rewrite. It is currently 4 am why am I still awake? LOL Enjoy!

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Trash.

Heat sink.

Copper wiring.

Trash.

Trash.

Trash.

The conveyor belt rolls ever onrward, never getting tired or needing a snack. I sigh.

Optical drive.

Integrated circuit.

Trash.

The most exciting thing I've done all week is be held up at knifepoint on a Tuesday. It was a nice purse, but I have a different one by now, the kind made of faux fur textile. It looked like a cottonball. I hit the glaring red button to stop the belt. It was time to clock out.

Just enough time to get home, eat, sleep, and come back tomorrow. It's all the rage in Satellite.

I grab the cottonball from my locker, always locked up tight to prevent theft. I kept an umbrella in there as well, especially in case of nights like these. Outside the recycling plant, the sky rumbles threateningly. It had been drizzling since morning.

When the heavy door shuts behind me, I'm sure it hasn't been pouring for long. The wind had started to beat against the building just as I had resecured my locker. My umbrella would do little for my legs, so I thought it best to take the tunnels home. I open the umbrella, doubtful it would even keep my hair dry. I start a steady, yet brisk, walk to the nearest tunnel entrance, avoiding as many of the puddles as I can manage.

The stagnant air I take refuge in is a relief. I shake the umbrella, closing it and readjusting my outer layer just inside the lip of the pipe. The rain is loud, but less so in the subway system. I know the way home. Living in Satellite all your life will do that to you. I take a few turns down the pipeline, barely walking a half mile when I realize I am not alone in here.

"Is someone there?"

No voice answers me, but that doesn't mean it's empty. I strain my ears.

It sounds like a whine. Like a child or an animal.