The stale air in the abandoned warehouse tasted of rust and desperation. Ryuki leaned against a stack of empty crates, his stomach rumbling a low, insistent growl. Two days since he’d eaten a proper meal, four since he’d slept more than a few fitful hours. The makeshift cloak, salvaged from a drying line in a forgotten alley, scratched his neck, but it was a small price for anonymity. Every distant siren, every shadow that moved too quickly, sent a cold spike of adrenaline through him. He was a Signer Fugitive, and the Satellite, once a chaotic haven, now felt like a cage closing in. He needed to move, to find a way out of these districts and towards the city proper. But first, he needed to eat. His eyes scanned the crumbling walls, then settled on the pathetic stack of cards in his hand: a handful of generic monsters, a couple of weak spells. Nothing like the power he once commanded. Nothing like Blue-Eyes. He clenched his jaw. This wasn't a game he was used to playing. Footsteps echoed from the main entrance, slow and heavy. Ryuki pulled the cloak tighter, shrinking into the shadows. A hulking figure, draped in layers of patched fabric, lumbered in. The man's eyes, bloodshot and wary, darted around the cavernous space before landing on Ryuki. Recognition, or perhaps just a desperate calculation, flickered in them. He held up a grimy, bent card – a ‘Spirit Reaper’ – and a half-eaten loaf of stale bread. “Duel?” the man grunted, his voice hoarse. “Winner takes all.” Ryuki pushed off the crates, the movement stiff. He knew the drill. In these outer districts, resources were scarce, and reputation counted for nothing. Survival was the only currency. He nodded, pulling his duel disk from under his cloak. The plastic felt cheap and flimsy in his hand, a stark contrast to the custom-built models he’d wielded in his past life. This wasn’t about strategy; it was about scraping by. He met the man's gaze, a flicker of his old intensity hardening his expression. Even with a deck of trash, he wouldn't lose. The duel was brutal, swift. Ryuki played defensively, conserving his meager hand, baiting the man into overextending. He watched for the tell-tale hesitation in the man’s movements, the slight tremor in his hand as he committed a monster to the field. It was a dance he knew intimately, even with unfamiliar partners and different music. He sacrificed weak monsters to absorb attacks, waiting for the precise moment. The man, focused on overwhelming power, laid down a ‘Goblin Attack Force’, leaving himself vulnerable. Ryuki seized the opening, using a timely ‘Mystical Space Typhoon’ to clear a back-row trap, then summoning his strongest monster, ‘kaiser sea horse', to finish the job. The man slumped, defeated, his shoulders caving in. He tossed the bread and the Spirit Reaper card at Ryuki’s feet before turning and shuffling out, leaving only the echo of his retreat. Ryuki picked up the bread, tearing off a piece, the dry crust catching in his throat. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He swallowed, the meager sustenance a reminder of how far he had fallen. He pushed the Spirit Reaper into his deck. Every card counted now. He had to keep moving. He couldn't afford to stay still. --- Days blurred into a monotonous cycle of walking, dueling, and scavenging. The districts grew progressively quieter, the graffiti fading, the windows of abandoned buildings gaping like vacant eyes. The sounds of distant traffic, once a constant hum, grew faint, replaced by the whisper of wind through empty streets. Ryuki moved like a ghost, his cloak a second skin, his eyes constantly scanning. He’d learned to tell the difference between a hungry stray dog and a lurking Sector Security patrol by the subtle shifts in the air, the way shadows stretched too long in the evening light. He fought more duels, each one a desperate gamble. A young woman with a tattered deck of ‘Harpy Lady’ cards, her face gaunt but her eyes burning with defiance, dueled him for a half-full water bottle. An old man, his hands trembling, challenged him for a rusted can of beans, using a deck of ancient, forgotten monsters. Ryuki won them all, his old strategic mind adapting to the constraints of his new reality, but each victory felt hollow, a further erosion of his former self. He was a duelist, reduced to taking food from starving people. The irony was a bitter taste on his tongue. Sleep was a luxury. He curled up in abandoned shops, under collapsed awnings, his hand never far from his duel disk. The mark on his arm remained dormant, a constant, silent presence. He thought about the Crimson Dragon, about the Signers, about Goodwin’s chilling interest. He was a pawn, a marked man, but he would not be broken. He would find KaibaCorp. He would find his answers. He would find his deck. One afternoon, he spotted a flash of blue and white in the distance. A Sector Security Duel Runner, a newer model, sleek and fast. Ryuki ducked behind a derelict bus, his heart hammering against his ribs. He felt the familiar surge of adrenaline, but this time, it was mingled with a profound weariness. The Runner slowed, its rider scanning the desolate street with a thermal scope. Ryuki held his breath, pressing himself against the cold metal of the bus. He could feel the heat radiating from the machine, hear the low thrum of its engine. It was close. Too close. The Runner idled for a long moment, then, with a burst of speed, accelerated down a side street. Ryuki waited, counting to fifty, before cautiously peering out. The street was empty again. He let out a slow breath, his shoulders slumping. He couldn't keep running like this. His energy was draining, his resolve tested. The idea of reaching Neo Domino City felt like a fading mirage. He pushed himself forward, one tired foot after another, the image of the ruined city from his dream flashing behind his eyes. He couldn't let it become real. --- The further he ventured, the more the structures around him changed. The ramshackle buildings of the inner Satellite gave way to more robust, if still derelict, concrete shells. The roads, once fractured and potholed, became smoother, though still cracked and overgrown with tenacious weeds. It was a slow, almost imperceptible transition, a creeping desolation that hinted at a past grandeur, now consumed by neglect. The silence was profound, broken only by the wind and the scuff of his worn boots on the asphalt. He found fewer people now, sometimes going a full day without seeing another soul. The duels had stopped. There was no one left to challenge, nothing left to win. He subsisted on the last of his scavenged supplies, rationing every bite, every sip of lukewarm water. His stomach still growled, but it was a dull ache now, a constant companion. His body felt heavy, his movements sluggish. Each step was a conscious effort, his mind a haze of exhaustion. He saw mirages in the shimmering heat – a familiar blue-eyes soaring overhead, the distant gleam of his old Duel Disk. He blinked, and they were gone. He pushed through the fatigue, fueled by a stubborn refusal to break. He was Ryuki Sato, and he had faced down greater threats than starvation and Sector Security. He had to believe his deck, his real deck, was waiting for him, a beacon in this alien world. KaibaCorp, the name a whisper on his lips, became his mantra. It was the last link to his past, the key to understanding this bizarre new present. If he could just reach it, if he could just find something, anything, that connected him to Seto Kaiba, then maybe this whole nightmare would make sense. The sun beat down mercilessly, baking the asphalt. The air shimmered, distorting the horizon. He topped a rise, his breath ragged, and stopped. Below him, the landscape stretched out, flat and barren. No more dilapidated buildings, no more crumbling roads. Just an expanse of cracked earth, dry and dusty, leading to a distant, hazy line. The city proper, Neo Domino, was a smudge against the sky, a faint promise of a different world. But between him and it lay a desert. He had reached the edge. The true edge. The final district had dissolved into nothingness, swallowed by the vast, empty expanse that marked the beginning of the outer districts, the ghost towns, the forbidden zones. He looked out at the desolation, then back at the silent, decaying districts he had traversed for two weeks. This was it. This was the boundary. He could feel the shift in the air, the raw, untamed nature of the land before him. His journey through the Satellite was over. Finally Ryuki met the edge of all districts, the beginning of his journey into the desert of where KaibaCorp building should be.

Chapter 10: The Journey of Districts