Devil's Dues

In December, he would turn nineteen, but eighteen was plenty enough for now. The city was sprawled beneath his feet, thirty storeys down, spreading further than his eyes could see. Not that he was looking. It was the sunset he was watching from his vantage point.

The sun's dying rays stretched his dark shadow across the sparse suite, making it appear nearly tangible, bigger in the emptiness. He'd been living here for the past half year, so the suite had been refurbished to his needs, on the company's account, of course. However, his time here was almost done. One more month, one more expense check and he would have to leave again.

After the Pharaoh returned to the afterlife, he spent a month preparing before bidding his siblings farewell. They were reluctant at first, but they understood in the end: he was the only one who could exorcise his own demons.

He watched the lights turn on as the sun finally vanished beneath the horizon, eyes moving back from the distance to focus on his own reflection in the glass, on the arms wrapped carelessly about his shoulders.

"I think I'll miss this place," whispered the voice beside his ear, his and not his.

"You mean you'll miss the hot tub and the bubble bath," he responded wryly, still focused on the reflections in the glass.

"And the room service and the international cuisine," agreed the voice. "But I'm sure you'll miss it too."

Malik shrugged lightly, taking care not to displace those arms. America had definitely been fun when he wasn't out there hunting down the remains of the organization he set up so many years ago. No, it would be arrogant to say that he set up the Ghouls. There were already syndicates in place, scattered organizations that required only a leader. He'd stepped up to it with the intent to use them, knowing that, at the same time, they were using him.

A leader, a focal point for the authorities. They'd only wanted him as a figurehead, to mislead the world into thinking that getting rid of him would get rid of the Ghouls. He was to be the red herring, the distraction, until he took over by force using the power of the Millennium Rod. It was still a relatively convenient arrangement, even then, because he'd been so fixated on his thoughts of revenge that he paid little attention to the functions of the rest of the organization.

The entire point of taking over a card syndicate was to get a hold of powerful cards to boost his deck/s so that he could eventually defeat the Pharaoh and kill him. What the Ghouls did with the cards he didn't need, he never really cared. Looking back, it was rather obvious that he had been a complete idiot, coming up with an unnecessarily grand plan just to murder someone.

"Come on, you never really wanted to kill anyone…"

Malik looked down at his hands, then stilled them against the glass.

"Well, not back then, anyway," amended the voice.

He'd killed, with his own hands, by his own intent. Self-defense, but he'd killed, and there was no one to blame but himself. He was surprised how calmly he'd dealt with the situation, but, then again, he'd killed his own father when he was just a child.

"No, that was me, remember?"

"Same difference," murmured Malik softly, removing his hands from the window. The arms dropped from his shoulders as he turned around and he clasped those hands lightly in his own. Cold, lifeless, immobile.

It was so easy to take a life here, so easy that it scared him. He'd been unprepared when he got here, so much so that he'd laughed when he was issued with a gun. It didn't seem so funny after he had to use it. He nearly quit there and then, but what would he be if he didn't see things through as he promised?

One more month to tie up some loose ends and America would be settled too. There was no way to get rid of all the card syndicates, but at least he would have gotten rid of most of the Ghouls. Card games were serious business. The raging popularity of Duel Monsters made it highly profitable to enter the market, legally or otherwise. It was one of the reasons why he could afford to stay in a place like this. After all, Industrial Illusions had a lot to protect.

"And then, what will you do?"

Malik looked into those eyes, through them, seeing only what he wanted to see. "Go home, I guess," he said after awhile. It had been years since he'd last seen his siblings face to face, though they had communicated on occasion through video calls. Yes, going back to Egypt would be good.

"How are you going to explain my new body?" asked the voice, amused.

"I'll tell them I bought a sex doll," replied Malik rather flatly. It would soon be true anyway. The shipping notice indicated that they were only a day or two away. Ah, America. You could get just about anything here. His darkness burst into giggles at his reply and he couldn't help but smile too, reaching out to touch the cold face.

"I can just imagine the look on their faces," crowed his darkness. Then, the mood turned somber, serious. "But how are you going to tell them about me?"

Malik shut his eyes, seeing in his mind's eye his doppelganger standing before him uncertainly. He opened his eyes and, for a moment, saw the lifeless mannequin, dressed and wigged for the part. Then it was his darkness again, looking solemnly at him.

"I'll tell them," he said very lightly, "that no one can live without a shadow."