Domino City was not the best of cities, and Bakura did not live in the best of neighbourhoods. He saw gang fights and petty crimes and even pettier murders play out before his eyes as he watched from his window, every day.
He didn't want these sins to exist. He didn't want to see, didn't want to know. He didn't want to have his innocence shattered more and more every day with the horrors he saw, the horrors he was almost numb to now. He didn't want this.
"My rent is not yet paid, Landlord. What do you want?"
And because the Voice sounded kinder than usual, and Bakura was tired and sad and sick of the world, he answered, "I want... I want to be separated from this. All this pain and death... I want to be disconnected from it, in my own small perfect world floating above the chaos."
"What a selfish wish," the Voice commented, with slight amusement in its tone, and it did not speak again after that.
When he woke up, he was in bed (he didn't remember getting in it, but told himself that he had been so tired he had forgotten).
"It's quiet today."
The ticking of the clock echoed through the empty apartment, through Bakura's empty mind.
He suddenly yearned for the snide commentary of the Voice, for the muted noise of the world through his thin walls.
He left the apartment, locking the door behind him and putting the key in the pocket of the clothes he hadn't changed out of for the night. He didn't know where he was going, but he knew what he was looking for: sound. Something to fill his mind with anything but the fuzzy silence.
When he saw the streets, he did not gasp or scream or cry.
He looked with dull almost-horror at the bodies piled high before him.
"What is this?" he asked, though he already knew.
"A floating world," the Voice said, and it laughed.