Within a subterranean complex alive with cold machinery, fluorescent lights buzzed faintly, casting an unforgiving white over polished steel and glass. The temperature was clinical. Screens flickered along the walls like surveillance sentinels, tracking every duel across Battle City in cold precision. Duelist locations. Life point changes. Deck scans. Statistical overlays. Each monitor pulsed softly with data—chronicling a war most of the city didn't yet realize had already begun.
At the command deck overlooking the room, Jason Whitesmith stood like a statue. His tailored white coat draped neatly across his frame, ironed with surgical exactness. Gloved fingers formed a steeple beneath his chin as he leaned lightly on the railing, his expression unreadable but intense. The screen before him showed frozen footage from the previous night's duel. The warehouse skirmish. Joey Wheeler,. Yugi, triumphant. Connor, pocketing the Exodia deck.
Jason's lips curled slightly—not in satisfaction, but acknowledgment. Everything was unfolding just as he had predicted.
"It played out exactly as I said it would," he said quietly, voice like tempered steel sheathed in silk. "The Pharaoh triumphs. Predictable."
Standing a pace behind him, arms folded tightly across his chest, Marik Ishtar watched the same footage. The flickering screen painted ghostly shadows on his face. Gone was his signature platinum hair—now dyed a raven black, combed back with an air of forced austerity. The eyeliner and ceremonial markings were long scrubbed away. What remained was still striking—but muted. Less prophet, more insurgent.
Jason turned slightly, offering him a sideways smirk. "You look... remarkably average."
Marik's lip curled. "And you look as arrogant as ever."
The venom in his tone didn't quite mask the irritation twitching beneath his otherwise calm facade.
His tone was biting, but restrained. "You really think a change of appearance is enough to bury a legacy of pain?"
Marik's dark eyes studied him, searching for weakness. Jason straightened, turning to face him with calm detachment. "It's not about hiding. It's about pacing. Subtlety. You already played your hand with the Exodia Hunter. And Yugi dissected it."Jason straightened, turning fully now to meet his companion's gaze. His posture was composed, but his eyes glittered with cold calculation.
Marik's eyes flared. His jaw tensed visibly, the tendon at his temple pulsing. "Then maybe I should stop hiding behind half-measures. Maybe I should unleash everything."
Jason didn't flinch. But his voice dropped half a register.
"You mean the Egyptian Gods."
Marik stepped forward, nostrils flared slightly. "Slifer and Ra. Together."
Jason raised a brow, tilting his head faintly in mock consideration. "That's quite the escalation."
"He's made a mockery of Exodia," Marik spat, voice rising. "The most feared deck in Duel Monsters, reduced to a set piece in the hands of a child. It's an insult."
Jason turned to a nearby console, fingers dancing across the keys. Duelist profiles loaded: Kaiba, Yugi, Connor, and others, displayed with win ratios and calculated threat scores. The silent hum of the machinery filled the space between them.
"You're angry," Jason said calmly. "And anger clouds judgment. That's how you lose to people like Yugi."
"And what do you propose?" Marik asked, voice sharp. "Let the Pharaoh keep winning? Keep smiling through that boy's skin while the world applauds his return?"
Jason exhaled lightly through his nose, then returned to his full height, eyes locking on Marik's. His expression softened—only slightly. It was a mask, but a convincing one.
"We still have one last asset," he said. " The Duelist Exterminator."
Marik gave a dark chuckle. "The assassin? The one you said was only to be used in emergencies?"
Jason offered a tight, polite smile. "This qualifies."
"And what makes you think even he can defeat the Pharaoh?" Marik's expression darkened with doubt.
Jason's tone was cool, measured. "Because he doesn't duel for pride. Or vengeance. He fights like it's a battlefield. No theatrics. No delay. Just execution."
A pause. Jason's eyes dropped briefly to the glowing console. He hesitated—not visibly, but enough that a careful observer would notice the faint tightening of his gloved hands.
He was afraid.
Not of failure. But of the Exterminator himself.
Jason had reviewed every mission file. Every kill. Every clean, efficient duel that ended not just in loss—but destruction. And now, the man was different. He'd adopted a child. Developed rules. An honor code. No killing the young. No children harmed. A conscience had been born within the perfect killer.
Jason hated it.
A man with morality was a man with limits. And limits stood in the way of Jason's vision—of a world rebuilt on the back of science and reason. A world free from gods, fate, and pharaohs.
And eventually, the Exterminator's conscience would turn him against that vision.
But Marik couldn't know any of that.
Jason leaned forward and activated the communications console. The device hissed to life.
A low beep echoed in the room.
"Exterminator," Jason said clearly, voice like steel being unsheathed. "This is your final assignment."
The silence that followed was heavy—charged.
"You are to eliminate most remaining Japanese duelists in the Battle City preliminaries. Cull the herd. Isolate Yugi Muto."
He paused, letting each word settle like a nail in a coffin.
"Then… when the field is clear—destroy him. After this, you're free."
Another pause.
The voice that returned was distorted, mechanical, emotionless.
"Understood."
Jason shut off the feed with a flick of his wrist.
Marik watched him, his brow furrowed, suspicion burning in his eyes. "You're lying to him."
Jason turned, feigning surprise. "Am I?"
"You don't intend to set him free," Marik said, folding his arms. "He's too dangerous. You said it yourself."
Jason shrugged, the ghost of a smile flickering on his face. "If he survives the Pharaoh… we'll cross that bridge."
"And if he wins?" Marik pressed.
Jason's smile deepened, too calm to be sincere. "Then he will have earned a brief moment of peace… before we make him vanish. Conveniently."
Marik looked away, jaw flexing. His voice dropped to a whisper. "When I was a child… I believed the Pharaoh would bring salvation. That his return would bring balance."
Jason said nothing, letting him speak.
"My father believed too," Marik went on, voice hardening. "He devoted his life to guarding the tomb. But he was betrayed. Not by gods. Not by fate. By the Pharaoh himself."
Jason's expression turned somber, gently empathetic. "Then let's ensure no one else makes that mistake."
A long silence followed.
Jason turned back to the monitor, tapping a command. Kaiba and Connor's profiles lit up in crimson.
"The remaining Rare Hunters will intercept Kaiba and Connor. Silently. Strategically. By the time you release Slifer and Ra, the Pharaoh will be alone."
Marik turned, a small, vicious smile curling on his lips. "Then let the gods taste blood."
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