Disclaimer: I do not own Yu-Gi-Oh 5D's. Otherwise Placido wouldn't stay so darn evil. Thus, this is the result.

Warning, this fanfiction is very blunt, so if you can't handle the spiritual bluntness that 5D's has already hinted at, you can't say I didn't warn ya. Also very spoiler heavy.

Really wishing there was a Placido character option right now. I guess I'm just OCD like that.

The sky let out one last ear-piercing thundershout, synchronizing with the rattling shriek coming from his vocal cords. His voice morphed into something low and rasping. He gritted his teeth and growled loudly, incredulous, "How could I lose?"

His hand clenched tightly into a fist, "God's Will was with ME! This can't be happening!"

Placido's red iris flickered as his eye narrowed, rage boiling up inside of him. The victor slowed his D-Wheel to look the android in the eye, "Maybe you lost sight of it."

With that, the horrifying hiss of rear jets of Placido's D-Wheel signaled the inevitable. It couldn't end like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen. His eyes flew wide open. A rush of de ja vu slapped against him like the wind he had previously felt against his face. Everything stopped. Then everything began to go backwards. Placido's gaze darted to the sky for a milisecond as the sun threaded through the tears in the clouds. It looked so familiar. As if it happened on a day that was similar to this one. He bit the inside of his cheek as he tried to shut out a remnant of a memory that uploaded itself into his brain.

The road was still wet. The slivers of sunbeams sliced through the corpses of dried out clouds, the remnants of the storm that had ended not a half an hour before. He was being reckless. Placido would never admit it, but he really should've listened. He could still feel the fingernails digging tightly into his waist. The shivering form riding behind him on the small vehicle pleaded one more time, asking him to turn around and go back or slow down. The plea went unheard.

This was his hayday, his chance to prove his strength and ability. The chance to prove just how awesome he was. He waved off his companion's worry as a cocky smirk crossed his face. His D-Wheel accelerated with a burst of speed, initiating a surprised squeak from his passenger, who clung tighter to his waist out of surprise. Said passenger let out one final worried plea, begging him to at least wear a helmet. He shrugged smugly, saying that he didn't need it and it was already being worn.

He really should've listened. The D-Wheel growled as it accelerated into the fast lane, passing a car that had been driving the speed limit. The wheels drifted across the pavement, spraying shots of water into his face. He really should have seen it. The body of the machine wobbled a bit as the wheels skidded against the puddles of water that acted as a fresh reminder of the previous rain. Hydroplaning. It was only for a second, so there was nothing to truly worry about. His companion's grip around his ribs tightened. He stifled a slight cough and rolled his eyes. So skittish. Suddenly, the tightened hold on his ribs melted into the sound of a scream.

Placido's head jerked to look at the road, but no matter how fast he could have slowed down, the wheels spun out and the brakes locked up as the silver machine careened across the the water on the pavement, preventing any escape from the sharp impending left curve in the road. His instincts kicked in to try to prevent the D-Wheel from going down, but he reacted a little late for time to be on his side.

The rubber made one last squeal before he was thrown from the motor vehicle as it was tossed into the engine of a tractor trailer in the other lane. He vaguely heard the resulting explosion, though his drifting consciousness allowed no mercy on the tearing, burning sensation of his skin.

At no point was he aware of where he was, what was injured, or even what parts of his body were attached or not. Everything became a horrifying painful blur. His vision faded between a throbbing blur to red before going black. Pain clawed at his eyes and his skin, seemingly leaving nothing untouched. It was such a weird sensation. Placido felt as if he could feel his whole body convulsing and wretching and wracked with torture, yet he felt as though he couldn't feel anything at the same time. The mild thoughts, whispers in comparison to the screams of agony that coursed through his veins, meandered about, lost in the burning fabric of his mind.

His raw ears lightly picked up on the sound of sirens in the distance before the last of his confused consciousness went black. The last thought that traced his mind was merely a glimpse. Where was she?

Placido's hand clenched tightly into a fist, and, coupled with his snarling lip, served to accentuate the fact that Placido would not accept his rival's words of logic. He really wished that that memory hadn't come up. That was the last thing he needed. Weakness. Memories of a past that was best left there, in the past. It was so worthless, thinking about such things. Now it was different. Now he was stronger, and he wouldn't lose to some wise guy that was lucky enough to be chosen. A fluke, nothing more. Humans were such weak, useless things.

That's not how it works, Placido-san.

Another angry growl escaped his lips. He refused to let that voice get into his head again. Yusei gave him one more stern glare before Placido and D-Wheel attachment lurched backwards, the wheels spinning out. Once again, Placido's timing was off, and the disconnection between him and the machine failed, sending him once again to a D-Wheel riden wreckage. Why had de ja vu suddenly declared a death match on his soul?

He gritted his teeth to prepare for impact. This time probably wouldn't be so devastating. After all, this time, half his body was completely machine. It would be no big deal. He was chosen by God Himself. That meant that Placido would be triumphant, and no one would be able to change that. He could rule the world without a care, knowing for sure that nothing could ever go wrong. Yet here he was. This time, he would only have to worry about himself.

The irritating bleeping of the cardiograph pulled him slowly and agonizingly out of unconsciousness. Placido groaned. He didn't even think it was possible to ache and burn this much. Everything hurt. He swore he hurt in places he didn't know he had. Yet, he couldn't move. Unwilling to open his eyes, he let out another painful moan and let his head fall lifelessly against the pillow. Where was he? What happened?

Slowly, his fuzzy memory settled into focus. The D-Wheel, he had taken her out for a ride right after the rain stopped. That's when...the explosion. Using his hazy powers of deduction, that must mean he was in the hospital now. That is, if he wasn't dead. No, if he was dead, it might not hurt as much, and he wouldn't have to listen to that blasted cardiograph in the background. He was definitely in the hospital. His D-Wheel was completely totaled, he watched it explode. But what about...

Where was she? What had he done to her?

He silently wondered if he'd ever see her smile again.

She was the kind of girl to smile in any situation, or at least try to. She may have annoyed him on more than one occasion, but she never bent her standards so people would like her. She was into the whole Jesus thing, and she always talked about Him as if He was her best friend in the world. No matter what she did or talked about, somehow the topic of conversation, whether he was conversing or not, would always turn into something about this Christ person and his 'awesomeness'. He never truly understood it, her whole God-complex, but something gravitated him to her. It somehow placated him to be around her, and his rage would cool. Though, his ego and cockiness had a chance to show off, no matter how much she reprimanded him about it.

She always tried so hard to make sure she didn't hurt anyone, and she consented when he tried to get her to go for a drive, despite her slight paranoia of the two-wheeled vehicles. He shouldn't have pushed her into it. Now this was his fault.

His lips pressed into a firm line. Part of him wanted to know, but part of him wanted to forget. Why had he been so stupid?

All his thoughts of his companion meshed together and flashed through his head a million miles a minute like a bad montage. Still hesitant to open his eyes, he tried to acquire a general sense of his body's status. Oh, man, but it hurt so bad. He could barely hang onto a single thought for more than a few seconds. His throat felt raspy, vocal cords strained and agitated. His eyes felt so heavy and his right eye, along with a good section of the upper right side of his face, clawed at him with a burning, stinging pain. His arms were sore but other than the general pain wracking his body, his arms seemed to be in relatively functional condition.

However, when he tried to move his legs, he was met with nothing. He couldn't feel his toes, his legs, or his waist. His shallow breath hitched in his throat as the realization dawned on him. He was paralyzed from the waist down and he had no idea the condition of his legs were in. He could feel his heart beginning to beat faster and tried his best to keep himself from hyperventilating. As he was calming himself, he heard voices, and they were close and getting closer. He couldn't quite hear what they were saying, but he could only assume he would find out. It wasn't long before he felt a pair of cold hands on his arm as a slight sting signaled the insertion of a needle, whether it was an IV or no, he didn't care to guess.

"He seems relatively stable, but he'll have to go into the OR soon or..." a feminine voice ventured.

"Yes, if he wants to maintain some mobility, we'll have to take him in by this evening." came the response.

A breathless groan escaped Placido's lips and the two voices were silent for a moment. The deeper voice, presumably the doctor, addressed Placido directly, "Can you speak, young man?"

Placido stifled a painful cough, his warbling, faltering voice gurgling out of his throat, "Uh-huh." he managed. He heard a sigh before the voice continued, "Do you know where you are? Can you remember anything?"

Who did this doctor think he was talking to? A two-year old? This physician was about eighteen years off the mark, to say the least. "I'm in medicated prison and you're here to ruin any pleasant dreams I managed to have, right?" the silver-haired male spat.

The doctor sighed again, speaking presumably to the nurse, "He's awake."

Placido groaned, almost afraid to venture a question, "How bad is it?"

The man cleared his throat in response and hesitated, "Well, that's what we were discussing. I know this sounds like bad bedside manner, but everything below your waist is useless, you've endured heavy blood loss, you sustained fractures to your skull and the smoke and burns from the explosion have rendered you blind in your right eye."

In response, the paralyzed patient let his head fall against the pillow again, resulting in another painful grunt. The nurse sounded incredulous, "Doctor?"

The doctor's voice sternly answered the woman's surprise, "We're losing daylight, I don't have all the time in the world to sugar-coat the truth. Speaking of..." he turned to address Placido, "There is a way for you to walk again. It's a medical-mechanical collaborative procedure engineered by the finest doctors and the executives of KaibaCorp. It involves highly technological mechanical prosthetics and is a costly procedure, but it's also the only thing that could guarantee your survival. Your internal organs suffered severe damage and will not function for much longer unless the bio-mechanical engineering is implemented."

Placido vaguely remembered nodding as the doctor continued, "In order to perform the procedure, we require permission from a family member, but, as I understand it, you have no living family."

The duelist shook his head, affirming the older man's assertment. In response to the acknowledgement, the doctor pressed, "No wife?"

Placido gritted his teeth, his hand clenching slightly, "No." he answered. A sigh, then the older voice returned, "Well then, we're going to need your permission, written or recorded. Because of your condition, I won't have you give your signature, but I will have to record your voice. My assistant will see to that and we can have you in the OR by this afternoon." his tone was gruff, sounding almost annoyed.

The sound of the doctor's footsteps exiting the room echoed in Placido's ears as the nurse spoke to him, "Now, I'm going to need you to listen carefully and repeat after me."

With every passing moment, the unsettling feeling in his gut grew and festered. If he'd had the energy, he may have just shouted the nurse out of the room. However, after the nurse had finished, one choked thought remained, and he voiced it weakly, "Where is she?"

He could hear her hesitation. He softly added, "Just tell me."

Her voice came back, sympathy evident in her voice, "Well, sir, she...didn't survive the crash..."

Placido's mind blanked before she had even finished. What had he done? In his arrogant effort to make himself look good, he had snuffed out the life of a vibrant young woman who had a future, where as he...

He wouldn't remember the next few hours, only the moment when he finally felt the strength to open his left eye to study the damage. His eye scanned himself over, finally reaching the area below his waist. His right leg was wrapped entirely in a cast and his left leg ended at the knee. He couldn't believe it. He not only indirectly killed her, but now he was half-blind and a cripple with only one leg! He groaned as his head throbbed. Reaching his arm to touch the offending cranium, he felt the bandages wrapped entirely around his head and his right eye. Just as he was about to give up on the idea of conscious thought and go back to sleep, his eye caught something lying on the bedside table, sitting there comfortably as if that was where it was meant to be. It was familiar.

He stretched his arm over to the object and touched its rough surface before picking it up. It was hers. This was the one object she had told him she couldn't live without. It was rough and leatherbound, its pages yellowed but sturdy with use. The scribbles of notes and the bright streaks of highlighter decorated almost every page. Turning it over and over in his hands, he bit his lip, swallowing hard. This was HER Bible, the cover now streaked with the angry red smears of blood stains.

Placido leaned his head back against the pillow, his eye closing slowly as he took a deep breath. His fingers tightened their grip on the book as his voice echoed softly, barely audible to anyone who wasn't within two feet of him.

"Look, I know she believed in You. And if she's right and You are there, and she's there with You, tell her...I'm sorry. I know I must be crazy for doing this, but if there's any way that You could forgive me too, she was always talking about that forgiveness stuff. If only...if I could just give this a shot, if I could give You whatever sad excuse for a life I have left, I want to know. I want to know why she smiled so much. I want that thing, that connection or whatever, that she had with You. I must be the most pathetic human being in the world right now, and I have no idea how any of this works, and I know I must be insane, but if You care at all as much as she said You do...I know I don't deserve it, I just want to know if it's true. Please, just give me one chance."

Placido bit his lip harder, swallowing again. No, the Great Placido never cried. But, he wasn't the Great Placido anymore.

His fingers trembled, the book in his hands falling open into his lap. Wiping his eye with the back of his hand, he turned his attention to the book in his lap. She said it was alive. Somehow. And he began to read.

Placido groaned. Somehow, this felt familiar. The pain in his lungs, his arms, his torso, his head. All of it was familiar. Most of his body had detached from his the wreckage of his D-Wheel, the lower half of one leg still clicked into place on the machine a few yards away. The lower half of his body, a bit mangled and evidently encountering a malfunction, dragged uselessly from his torso. His good eye fuzzed out for a moment before focusing on the crimson machine that had turned around and stopped only a few feet from the remains. He vaguely saw boots approaching before resting his head against the pavement, memories suddenly fresh in his mind.

Another voice reached him, "Placido?"

At the sound of the Signer's voice, a sudden rage built up in his gut. Yusei knelt on the pavement, his azure eyes darting across Placido's features. At this, the silver-haired man rose slightly, his gaze fixed on the asphalt, his voice coming at a mumble, "Don't let her die."

"What?" Yusei's slightly confused tone accompanied a raised eyebrow. Placido bolted upright, his hand seizing Yusei's collar violently as he pulled the Signer down to his level to literally scream in his face, "Don't you DARE let her die!"

Yusei's bewilderment was evident on his face as Placido immediately let out a string of coughs that resulted in him collapsing to meet the asphalt once more.

Oh, man, rehab had been a pain in the you-know-what. After receiving the highly technological prosthetics as well as some additional metal and technology to hold his skull together, it was as if he had to learn twenty years worth of mobility and physical activity all over again. He had to admit, after all that, though, that it did come in handy. He had even been told that in a month or two he may be well enough to take a D-Wheel out for a drive, if he could ever get a hold of enough parts to make a new one.

The new adjustments were troublesome in more than one way, but somehow, the new hope that he found was enough to get him through it, even if it took him a while to become accustomed to her absense. Even so, the nightmares still came for the occasional visit. Visions of blood and death and a flaming inferno, while voices kept going on and on. It was all his fault.

He had found out later that the truck driver involved was not seriously injured, which seemed to help a little.

Slowly, he had developed a habit of cracking open her Bible every night. It helped to keep him in touch other than the silent prayers he uttered throughout the day to keep him going. He still felt a little weak, but also felt as though it was healing.

They had moved him to a more relaxed rehab room, where they even brought in some books on machinery and robotics, since they couldn't have him handling the real stuff in a room that was supposed to be sanitary. It didn't fully satisfy his tinkering needs, but it was much better than nothing.

It was only a couple more months before they released him. His first goal was to get a job, a mechanic would do, at least for now, where he could also acquire parts for a new D-Wheel. Maybe he could make some modifications for his new...condition. He was relatively happy, considering. He had been saved from the grasps of death and felt as though he'd been given a purpose, and a chance to fulfill it. It still sometimes hurt to think about her, but he found it easier to deal with now.

He ended up getting a job working as a mechanic for a private company that produced D-Wheels for professional Riding Duels. This was when something began to change. It started with some sort of freaky dream or vision or something he had had a few weeks after getting the job. Though it was bizarre, he remembered it. He recalled lots of psychodelic swirling colors and a giant stone tablet in the desert. The most distinguishing part of it, however, was an almost audible voice that he somehow knew instantly. This only signaled the beginning, as his new reality was about to fall apart.

While working on his own modified D-Wheel after work hours one night, an older man in a white cloak approached him. The man's gruff voice echoed through a metallic mask he wore, "You are Placido?"

Placido stood and wiped the oil from his hands with a workrag, "Yeah, what is it?"

The figure's voice resounded deeply in the work area, "You can call me Jose. I have been alerted of your...situation."

Accompanying this comment was a studying scan of the eye on account of the older man. Placido instantly frowned, his voice suddenly chilled with an icy, cautious tone, "What about it?"

Jose continued, "I also know you've had a vision from God. You've been called, Placido. I am a member of Yliaster, a group of highly distinguished individuals favored by God. It would be highly advantageous for you to join our ranks as an elite."

The young man's frown deepened, his eyepatch tilting slightly as his eyebrows furrowed against the bridge of his nose. An angry growl churned against the walls of his stomach. He really should have listened. He should have thought about it harder. It seemed different...from what she had and what he found at that hospital.

Now he had gotten himself permanantly stuck in this situation, there seemed to be no turning back. Their goal was to complete the Circuit. By some strange reasoning, this was seemingly supposed to complete himself, but something seemed so strange and wrong about it. He couldn't put a finger on what. He did, though, relish in the power he'd received and that sword seemed to fit so perfectly at his side.

"I heard that Placido's a sappy pansy who keeps a dead woman's Bible, and he actually reads it!" Lucciano cackled from his seat atop his pedastal. Placido fixed the youngster with a glare that could kill a Blue Eyes. Oh, how he'd love to wring that little punk's neck.

Since joining Yliaster, he was showered with information and ego-boosting encouragement about his chosen status and the status of those lowly humans that crawl about in their agony, ignorant of the truth. He felt like he was being brainwashed as he desperately tried to cling onto what he had and those memories of everything she had ever said to him. He had clung to that Bible as the last shred of truth, but slowly his resolve deteriorated and, after being told over and over again, he began to wonder if all of it had been a lie and if the biased beliefs of Yliaster were the only truth. Over and over he was fed ego-boosters on a silver spoon. He was chosen. He was the one. He was hand-chosen by God to complete the circuit and meet his glorious destiny according to God's Will.

After a while, the crawling feelings in his stomach ceased altogether as he fully embraced his place. He was important, he was useful, and he was going to save the world from humanity. However, those feelings didn't stay away forever. Every time his eyes glimpsed that bloodstained leather-bound book, something boiled in his skin and he had to leave the room to escape the awkward, uncomfortable sensation that he was left with.

Finally, on a cold autumn night, he decided he had to end those foolish feelings once and for all.

He picked up the worn book and stuffed it in a paper bag to avoid touching it any more than he had to. He then slipped into the garage, shoved the bag into a compartment of his D-Wheel, and slipped the helmet over his head. The helmet had become a habit, to keep the brain of the elite intact, he told himself. He mounted the silver and white motorbike and took off into the night. He stopped on the outskirts of the Tops, where a park settled itself inbetween the inner city Tops and the suburbs.

For some reason, this whole ordeal ignited more unsettled nagging in his mind than he would have ever wanted to deal with. It wasn't hard at all to find what he needed. The sticks and dead leaves were everywhere. Pulling an electric lighter contraption from his pocket, he lit up the pile that he had so carefully thrown into a fire pit used for family barbeques. This seemed so unlike him. No, he had to get rid of that filth of a memory once and for all.

Retrieving the paper bag from his D-Wheel, he tossed it into the flame, watching the tongues of yellow and orange eat away at the paper bag in order to reach the large meal of leather binding and paper that was underneath. He glared intensely at the fire, waiting for the hungry flickers of light to begin its feast. Slowly, smoke began to rise into the coolness of the night, a last crying testament to the Throne of Heaven. As the binding began to peel backwards with the heat, Placido turned and remounted his vehicle. He couldn't place the reason, but oddly enough, he couldn't bring himself to stay there and watch the book burn.

From that day on, he had no qualms about fitting himself perfectly into the mold that Yliaster wanted him to be, though he still frequently disobeyed orders and never truly listened to them. No, no one could cage him. He may agree to run with them, but he would never admit himself to being their little pawn. He fulfilled God's Will in his own way, no matter how many people stood against him. He had killed once, what would a few more be in contrast to the greater good?

"You misunderstood it."

Placido opened his eye once more to find the victor, Fudou Yusei, still sitting there. Man, lectures stunk. Especially ones that hit the nail on the head or forced him to think. This most displeasurable experience was only heightened by the fact that it was Yusei Fudou.

"You said that you operated by God's Will. How do you know it wasn't your own will you were acting on? How do you know you didn't miss Him completely?"

Placido snarled, but Yusei continued, "Salvation isn't something that comes once, and it isn't something that can be gained through strength. You're not an idiot, Placido. Figure it out. You've done that once, that's obvious enough."

Why on earth did this Fudou kid only get really annoying when it came to salvation and friendship speeches? Placido groaned one last time before allowing himself to sink into sleeping unconsciousness.

The blasting blare of the cardiograph woke him obnoxiously from his drifting slumber. The experience seemed vaguely familiar. But he couldn't remember why. His eye opened to slowly adjust to the bright white color of the room. A feminine voice burbled beside him, one that he eventually assumed to belong to a nurse. As soon as his brain had fully arrived in the same place, he gave the nurse a blank stare, his expression unreadable. She gave him a slight smile and spoke, "Good, you're awake. You've been asleep for three days. Your vitals are looking well and everything looks good. Of course, the doctors and technological scientists will be in later to repair your...prosthetic parts."

She stood and began to walk out of the room, turning only to give him one last comment, "You have a visitor, by the way, Sir. I'll let you have a few minutes to gather yourself first." and with that, she was gone.

Shaking his head slightly, Placido ran a hand through his wild silvery hair. Suddenly, all the memories came flooding back again. Just like the last time, the same bad montage. Yliaster hadn't offered him salvation. He had had it way before then. When he was pitiful and weak, when he needed salvation, that was when he received it. He had grown to hate that feeling of weakness and helplessness that was subconsciously burned into his memory. After Yliaster, it slowly morphed into a hatred of all human beings, his memories imprinting that label on his own species. Yliaster had just twisted everything to make him feel empowered yet alienated from his own kind and the salvation that had found him in his weakness. Maybe it wasn't just a one-time thing. If God could meet him in his moment of weakness once, maybe...

His eye suddenly turned to stare at the bedside table. No way. There, sitting on the table as if it had always belonged there, was a leather-bound bloodstained Bible, now charred black around the edges.

The door creaked slightly as a light knock gave him a forewarning. He froze.

"Um, Placido-san?"

The look on his face was as priceless as the other's reaction. He never thought he'd see her smile again.

Thus, another instance in which Placido never let someone finish her sentence. "Well, sir, she...didn't survive the crash...in one piece..."

She leaned against the doorway, still getting used to the prosthetic arm and leg that were fitted to her body.

So maybe, after all that, if this Savior was as awesome as she had always said, he would be granted a second chance, and he knew that he already had it.

Truly, I don't expect reviews for this one. Pleading for reviews isn't what this story is about. I understand that Placido is probably 99% out of character, but God gave me the idea for this one, so I really don't care if "Andro-Boy" is out of character or not. I felt really free writing this one, the whole WGRP arc, Placido, and Yliaster allowed me the wiggle room to be blunt. Honestly, this is my favorite fanfiction story of all the ones I've ever written, canon or no. I'm just going to have faith and let the story itself speak louder than the bolded author comments underneath it.