A Christmas Carol with Kaiba

Seto Scrooge

He stumbled through the door and onto the floor. He felt his head hit something not quite soft and cursed. Then he flinched back when he realized nothing was supposed to touch him when he was like this. He was a ghost or something, he was---

A small, slender body hung from the ceiling. They had designed these rooms so suicides wouldn't be possible, seeing that those in psychiatric wards had the highest tendencies to do just that. But, of course, Yugi could solve any puzzle, conquer any obstacle, and obtain any goal.

                                                                                 ***

"Spare me your measly excuses. Either you get me the prototype by tomorrow or you lose your job."

The balding, weak-chinned man before him quivered, as was right for anyone in his position to do before the wrath of Seto Kaiba.

"But, sir, tomorrow's Christmas." He sounded weak and, to the irate CEO, somewhat ball-less.

"All the more reason that I should have it done. I don't want to worry about your sorry overdue excuse for a controller for my gaming system to clog up my already busy season. Do you have any idea what Christmas is for companies like ours?"

"Well--"

"It's hell. Every little brat out there wants a video game system and every cheapskate parent is going to be calling in expecting us to expect every little problem their spoiled child comes up with in their new present."

"But, sir, couldn't that just be left to the administration?"

"You'd think, wouldn't you? But that's not all, there are last minute sales to watch, stocks to upkeep, systems to fine-tune--"

"What does my prototype have to do with--"

"It's added stress, you nimrod, and don't interrupt me." Seto turned on his heel to step back behind his desk, which he slapped with the palm of his hand, making the other man jump. "Prototype on my desk by ten a.m, Mr. Whitaker, or you're just adding your next paycheck to cleaning up your dismal resume."

The man's balding head gleamed in Kaiba's office light. "Yes, sir. Of course, sir."

"You're excused."

Mr. Whitaker didn't need any encouragement. He scurried out like a mouse running from a ravenous cat. Seto stared at the closed door for a long moment before pinching the bridge of his nose and plopping back into his office chair with a sigh. The idiots just never stopped coming. You'd think humanity would figure it out after all this time that neutering the especially challenged would only improve life for the rest of them. Hitler was on to something with that whole 'pure race' stuff. Maybe if he hadn't gone all holocaust people might have actually considered what he had to say.

Rubbing his eyes against the growing headache, he moved on to his next assignment for the day. Numbers and request forms passed by his eyes, and he went through them mechanically, trying to ignore the throb in his head. Through the western, glass wall of his office, he barely noticed the sun setting before his secretary came in to excuse herself for the night. He glanced at the time. 5:46.

"It's not quite eight," he said. "Your shift is not yet over."

The secretary didn't even bother to turn around when she said, "It's Christmas Eve, Mr. Kaiba. I have a date with my fiance."

He frowned. "I did not excuse you."

"Then you're going to have to, because I've been planning this for weeks."

"Then you should have informed me."

"I did." she glanced at him over her shoulder. "You declined, sir. Told me you didn't pay me to waste my time playing romance."