After the near death encounter experienced by the hands of a child on a motorcycle, Bakura stood warily in the alley. "We should hang out, or something," the blonde boy in front of him said in a tone so noncommittal that it sounded more like "We shouldn't hang out." He refused to make eye contact and rolled the Millennium Rod to punctuate his sentence. But the boy made no other conversation as if hoping the other would break the silence with some form of an acceptance of the proposal.
Bakura could see the loneliness in those eyes that refused to focus on anything for more than a few seconds. The idea of hanging out with a child for any period of time did not sound fun for the five-thousand-year-old spirit in the least. But his own eyes settled on the golden artifact now hanging limply in the boy's hand at his side. He really wanted that Millennium Rod. The boy shifted his weight, and Bakura brought his eyes back up to those violet spheres. He saw a deep-seated rage swirling in those violet spheres, something he could relate to. Still, Bakura preferred to be alone, and this brat was already getting on his nerves.
"Well?" the blond spat out impatiently. He crossed his arms and huffed; he was closing himself in, Bakura noted, readying himself for inevitable rejection.
Closing his eyes, Bakura brought his arms up in a non-aggressive position. No, his answer was no. "Honestly, we should be looking the Pharaoh's friends." There was a small flash of rejection in those young eyes before the calm anger that usually inhabited them returned. Bakura reveled in the small show of pain.
Before either could utter another sound, an older male voice called out and echoed in the alleyway, "Hey, what are you punks doing?" Miffed at being interrupted, Bakura turned and saw the blue uniform first, then the broad frame. He eyed the police officer, deciding the fate of this mortal. "This part of Domino City is closed off from motorized vehicles due to the Battle City Tournament." With thundering footfalls, the officer wobbled his way towards them, wagging a stern finger. It was comical in a sad way.
"We're sorry, officer," the boy looked genuinely surprised at this information. He looked at the motorcycle he had almost hit Bakura with, and rubbed the back of his head. "We'll move it, I promise." The smile he gave the officer was so genuine and offsetting, that it gave even Bakura pause. The kid was a natural deceiver. Reluctantly, Bakura grabbed a handle and gave the officer a forced smile and a nod. There was no use in getting into trouble with the local law enforcers. Under the firm guidance of the man in blue, who really just stood in place with his hands upon his wide waist, the two teenagers rolled the vehicle back unto a street where motorized vehicles were allowed. With a "behave yourselves, now" and a tip from his hat, the officer left to patrol the city.
The road they found themselves on had cars parked haphazardly along the side of the street, some on the sidewalk, because the city's inhabitants had abandoned their vehicles in hopes of catching some of the duels in progress. The buildings on this particular street looked like they had seen better days, and the concrete walkways were dirty and cracked in many areas. They stopped rolling the bike in front of an apartment building that looked as if the very bricks were becoming dust before their eyes. "The bastard left two unsuspecting high school students in a nasty part of town," Bakura commented. He wasn't angry, just amused and uncaring. The boy gave him a look, a warning to keep his humor to himself. "Probably wouldn't care if we got jumped by a gang," he continued, and he laughed at his bad joke. The boy forced a chuckle when he realized it was supposed to be funny. The boy. It irked him now; if the boy was going to glue himself to Bakura's side, then he could no longer be called "boy." But then Bakura would have to ask for his name again. He took in his surroundings. A group of teenage delinquents scouring the abandoned cars for anything worth grabbing caught his eye, and without drawing his attention away from them, he asked, "What was your name again?" A few of the delinquents had their faces pressed against a particularly average car, while the rest stood watch for any witnesses. Bakura and the boy had not been noticed yet.
"What?" the boy asked sharply. Bakura rolled his eyes and manifested all his disdain in one icy stare at the boy.
"Your name, genius," Bakura repeated. He really didn't care about his hurt feelings.
He saw the Millennium Rod rise in a semi-threatening manner, the arm shake in anger, but it settled at his side again. "Marik Ishtar, and you better remember it when I kill the Pharaoh." Bakura cared nothing for Marik's aspirations and said nothing. Instead, a car alarm drew their attention to the delinquents, and the delinquents' attention to them.
A particularly stringy fellow with clothes so baggy they barely hung on his frame demanded their attention, "You gonna start something?" He swung a metal frame piece into his palm. Merely raising an eyebrow, Bakura kept his cool indifference. When it became apparent neither Bakura nor Marik were intimidated by their group, four of them approached like a pack cornering prey. A particularly large figure led their pack.
"That's a nice bike," the female cooed. "Mind if we borrow it?" The irritating car alarm was suddenly silenced as two bodies crawled out of the car, victorious. Whatever had grabbed the attentions of these delinquents was now in their possession. The alpha male gave them a thumb up, and they scampered away with their prize. "Are we going to have any trouble from you?" He cracked his knuckles in what Bakura assumed to be a menacing manner; his weaved fingers buckled under the pressure of being pushed from his body.
Bakura could only laugh. These brats knew not what they were messing with. Even Marik looked nonplussed. "I'll handle this," Marik said as he waved the Rod as if oblivious to the fact he was holding a powerful, magical weapon. With a twirl of the wrist and a few steps, Marik had thrust the Rod in the face of the pack leader. "You." Not understanding the danger he was in, the pack leader smirked and brushed the ancient item with the back of his hand in an attempt to get it out of his face. It was hilarious to Bakura, who could only continue to laugh. The other pack members were getting restless, stepping from one foot to the other, shoulders hunched, waiting for the okay to tear into their flesh. One of them was actively pacing.
The pack leader whipped out a handgun from the waistband of his pants, hidden by the folds of his multiple shirts all in various stages of being tucked in. "Give us the bike, and we'll be on our way." Bakura had already envisioned three scenarios of using the alpha male's bad posture against him, but this was Marik's fight, and he wanted to see what the boy's got. Still, he couldn't help but put his two cents in, "I see you are not a duelist. Oh well, I was looking forward to a shadow game," and he laughed at how his words caused them to look at each other questioningly. Those punks had no idea who they were dealing with.
Marik activated his Rod, and the eyes of the pack leader dulled as they became unfocused. "Mind slave, shoot your friends." The lackeys didn't see it coming. With precision that only comes with practice, the alpha male spun and shot the pack members. Some screamed before they died. As each round left the barrel, the unmistakable "pow" echoed off the stores and travelled down the road. There would be enforcers here within moments. But still, to see the Millennium Rod in action was mesmerizing.
"Make him give me the gun, Marik, and then break your hold on him. I want to have a little fun." Marik only shrugged, and the mind slave replaced the used clip with a fresh one and handed the gun to Bakura. As soon as the handgun touched Bakura's hand, the color returned to the vacant eyes of the mind slave. Bakura snatched the handgun from the open palm before him. By the time full consciousness returned to the boy, Bakura had the barrel mere inches from the his face. Chuckling, Bakura waited for the fear to culminate on his victim's face before pulling the trigger. It was beyond satisfying to watch the head recoil under the impact and watch the blood and brain matter splatter as the body dropped to the sidewalk. He kept the gun and tucked it in his pants waistband (after turning the safety on, of course). "We need to leave before the police arrive." He took off down the sidewalk. Marik looked at the alpha male's corpse curiously before catching up with Bakura.
"Why would you dirty your hands like that? I could have made him kill himself, easily." Marik was twirling his wrist, the rod going in a casual circle in the air.
The stupid grin on Bakura's face hadn't faltered. He'd miss going on violent killing sprees. With this host, his fun was always cut short. "It's more satisfying," Bakura laughed. Perhaps hanging out with this boy wasn't so bad. He had a possible pupil. There was so much this boy had to learn about the thrill of killing his adversaries. The thought irked him. Marik was not much older than his current host, but the age difference seemed so large. What do kids talk about these days? But, such thoughts were unnecessary, as Marik kept up the conversation for the both of them. It was mostly his plan of defeating the Pharaoh. Bakura only added a few "Uh-huh"s when required, but he catalogued a few details for his own plan.
Their feet had carried them a good block by now. He glanced at the shops they walked by—three food take-out shops, a DMV office, a local grocer, a mattress store, a hair dresser, and a Rite-Aid. A particular shop with large, ceiling-to-floor windows caught his attention. Inside, rows of stands holding treasures of pop culture all centered to a round counter, where a twenty-something-year-old part-timer could glance down all the isles in one lazy sweep.
"See any good movies lately?" Bakura asked idly, indicating to the movie-rental shop. He really did suck at idle chatter. He was much better at mocking the futile struggles of his enemies.
Marik flinched uncomfortably at the question. "I haven't seen many movies."
"None recently?" He faked curiosity. Even his host managed to find time to watch the latest blockbusters. What with Bakura taking over and implementing his own evil actions. "Know any good classics, then?" From what he understood of teenagers was that films and music were a big deal.
Marik became uncharacteristically quiet. "I just haven't had the time for such things." Marik was no longer looking at Bakura, but at his feet.
"Well." That's all the encouragement Bakura needed to push the door open, upsetting the bells tied at the top. The pimple-addled girl at the counter glanced at him momentarily before returning to her magazine. Marik followed him in a bit apprehensively. "How many can we rent?" Bakura asked the girl behind the counter. The isles were categorized by genre, and Bakura noticed some CD albums against the back wall.
"The max is three," she replied without looking up from her magazine. In her peripheral, she caught sight of Marik and blushed. Marik seemed oblivious to the attention. Bakura rolled his eyes at her antics, and browsed through the sparse collection.
Marik had the same idea and wandered down sci-fi/adventure isle and mindlessly picked up Attack of the Clones. Bakura noticed his selection and snatched it forcefully from him. When he received a questioning look, Bakura explained, "That one's crap. Watch this one instead." He handed him A New Hope. Marik only stared at it blankly. "You mean to tell me you've never seen Star Wars? You been living under a rock?"
Marik rolled his eyes. "Something like that. I've been trapped in a tomb for most of my life." He snorted but kept the movie. Bakura said nothing. He didn't feel like apologizing for bringing up a touchy subject, so he wandered off into another isle. But, Marik followed. "So, what's your favorite movie?"
"Shawshank Redemption." He picked it up and Invincible. He heard Bruce Willis was in it, and he really liked his movies. As he put the movies on the counter he realized the commitment he made. Renting these movies with Marik implied he would watch them with him. His impulsive action to enter the rental store was ensuring that they would hang out more. The cashier seemed not to care about his dilemma, for she was too busy staring at Marik, who continued to be oblivious. Bakura snorted. The boy sure could be dense sometimes. Unless… But that wasn't really any of his concern anyway. Wiping the thoughts before they could form, Bakura paid for the DVDs. With a cute smile, she bagged them and handed them to Marik.
Like a dutiful puppy, Marik followed Bakura out of the shop. They continued walking. For a few brief moments, Marik was quiet in thought, but the silence didn't last long. "So, when can we watch these together?"
"Dunno," Bakura shrugged and lifted his hands for emphasis. It occurred to Bakura that perhaps the two of them should find the Pharaoh's friends. Domino City wasn't particularly large, but it was proving difficult to find those stupid teenagers. They passed a strange chicken and taco fast food eatery, a dollar store, and a bank. Sure there were plenty of teenagers loitering about these locations, no doubt looking for a duel to watch, but they weren't the teenagers Bakura and Marik were looking for.
As the pair passed the bank, the doors flung open for a particularly sharp-dressed, older-looking gentleman, who unceremoniously crashed into Marik not moments later. Marik let out a particularly adorable squawk. The older gentleman looked crossed and frazzled at the meeting. "Watch where you're going, idiot." And he hurried down the street.
"Idiot?!" Marik exclaimed. "Maybe it is you who should be watching where he is going!" He yelled at the retreating figure.
"Way to go, Marik. That sure showed him," Bakura smirked.
Marik swiveled on his feet and shoved the Rod into Bakura's face. "Shut up." The thought that Marik really didn't understand the weapon he wielded appeared in Bakura's mind again. Trivial information, Bakura thought, for he would wield it soon enough. He only needed the patience to wait this out. There was brightness in Marik's eyes, and, then, Marik dashed down the sidewalk after the man.
Bakura sighed. Another side-track it was. "Where are you going?" he asked as he jogged to catch up.
"I'm going to give that man a piece of my mind." Marik growled. "Thinks he can treat me like that, ha!" They followed the sharply dressed man down a few side streets, but Marik kept enough distance that a confrontation would seem unlikely. Bakura noticed they were nearing the outskirts of the city. As Marik seethed and muttered under his breath during the whole journey, Bakura kept his eyes peeled for any of the Pharaoh's friends, but his search proved fruitless. Oh, well. They had to be in the city somewhere.
The man stopped in front of a humble-looking nursing home. The white bricks could use another coat, and the roof could use a re-shingling job soon. It was tiny; it probably could hold no more than fifty or so residents. In front of the parking lot that could only hold ten vehicles, a sign promised a comfortable stay. "Perfect," Marik chirped. With a tug with his Rod, the man turned around and kneeled at Marik's feet. Brightness flashed in Marik's eyes again. "Gimme the gun," the boy commanded, flexing the fingers of his extended palm. Curious as to where this would go, Bakura handed over the gun. After checking the clip and the safety, Marik gave it to the mind slave. He rose and entered the nursing home.
Marik chuckled to himself and stared at the door. He gave a sideways glance to Bakura before returning his gaze to the home. "Grab my Rod."
"What?" Bakura couldn't help but sputter as he squashed the thoughts from earlier.
Marik glared and looked downright offended. "The Millennium Rod," he clarified as he shook the artifact.
"Oh." He felt a little dumbfounded with the request. He held his fingers at bay for a brief moment of hesitation, but then he grabbed the Rod. He held it lower than Marik, but a few of his fingers were on top of Marik's. This bothered him little as he felt his mind separate from his body. It was not an uncommon experience considering his track record, but the sensation of still feeling rooted to his host while not feeling connected was entirely new. He felt a few brushes of Marik's conscience before he was guided into the mind slave. He saw, felt, and heard everything the mind slave did. It took a moment of settling before the smell of cleanliness hit his nostrils. The invasion of cleaning supplies was nauseating at first as the mind-slave traveled down a cream-colored hallway. Bakura heard music. It was upbeat but dated. Very dated. The hallway opened to a large living space, decorated with bright colors. A couple of round tables were set up with many colors of tablecloths. The disarray of colors hurt Bakura's eyes. There just was too much. Around the tables the nursing home residents were sitting, some in wheelchairs and others in metal, collapsible chairs. They were dressed festively, singing joyously. It was someone's birthday.
A younger woman, dressed festively, came up to the mind slave and asked why he was late. She asked for money. He gave no verbal response. No, he just raised the hand gun and shot her in the face. The loud "pow" reverberated in the room, and the mass hysterical screaming ensued. Bakura almost missed this feeling. To watch the ants squirm under his might as they realized they were completely hopeless. But this time, it was Marik's might. Still, he enjoyed it for what it was worth.
The mind slave pivoted and turned towards the frightened elderly people, so close to the grasp of Death. The rest of the shots were fired at random. It wasn't until it was too late that Bakura noticed the lit lanterns on the tables. A warning hissing sound filled the room. An oxygen tank was punctured by a bullet; the metal on metal at that velocity caused a spark. It took less than a second before it exploded, and the lanterns latched onto the new oxygen in the air and expanded. A few popped. It was absolute mayhem as the victims crouched to avoid the bullets. It took barely a moment before the exploded oxygen tank started a chain reaction. The air caught fire for a brief moment and then everything was on fire. More oxygen tanks were set to explode.
Bakura ripped his consciousness from the Rod and forced Marik into the ground. The bag of DVD rentals tumbled away as the explosion broke through the windows, and Bakura could only laugh gleefully, as the inhabitants screamed and died. He was breathing erratically; he could watch the flames forever, but he knew they had to leave. "Marik, we have to leave," his voice was deeper than it should have been.
Marik only studied his handiwork dumbfounded. "I don't understand…" Sirens in the distance encouraged him to his feet. Bakura grabbed both Marik's arm and the plastic bag before all but dragging the boy to hide behind the gas station across the street in order to block the rescue crew's view of them. He leaned up against the brick and laughed. He was having so much fun today. After his bout of confusion passed, Marik joined his laughter. "My, aren't we happy?" Marik chuckled once he caught his breath.
Bakura coughed; his voice was still gruff. "I can't help it. The teenage boy I'm possessing gets really excited from explosions."
Marik smirked. "Oh, really?"
Using as much contempt as he could muster in his glare, Bakura replied, "Don't even go there."
"Go where?" Marik shrugged and peeked around the building. There was a pandemonium of frantic movement as the first responders tried to figure out what had happened at the nursing home.
Bakura eyed his profile few just a few brief moments. It had been a while since he had seen someone from his home country of Egypt, so he admired the beauty of his people. He kept his stare short and looked elsewhere. Another teenager heading their way caught his attention. Of course the explosion would attract the attention of any nearby soul. A crowd of curious citizens had collected along the yellow warning tape. But this teenager looked more interested in Marik and Bakura than the fire. "Making out with your boyfriend, Bakura?" The boy had a square head with a wide mouth and a round nose. Bakura recognized his as one of his host's classmates.
"I'm not gay," Marik squawked, as if this accusation was the worst offense.
Bakura couldn't help himself. "You're not?"
"What? No!"
As he dropped the DVD rentals, Bakura only shrugged helplessly. The classmate snorted. "That's too rich, Bakura! How much is he paying you, then? Oh, maybe blondie's buying you..." Perhaps the day of pointless violence got to him, but Bakura couldn't help it. His host would berate him later, but the satisfying thunk as his fist connected to the classmate's jaw was far too satisfying for reasoning to take control of his brain. The oaf stumbled from the surprise attack. "Tch. I ain't judging you if this is how you make your money."
Bakura threw a fake punch at his head, knowing his opponent would dodge, and redirected his momentum into a roundhouse kick. In the close quarters, Bakura brought up his knee into his tender side. The boy buckled under the onslaught. As a last measure, Bakura brought his fists down on the back of his neck. The boy dropped to the ground. They were drawing unwanted attention. Bakura stepped back so that he would be less tempted to pummel the boy. He took a few calming breaths and smirked. He swooped dramatically to pick up his rentals, and he held out his hand to Marik. "Shall we?" Marik just stared at his hand. With a little huff, he put his hand back to his side and headed for the CVS to their right. Marik followed.
"Not gay, huh?" Bakura asked. It was about time they found the Pharaoh's friends. They should be in this section of the city.
"No! Why would you say that?"
Giving him a blank stare, Bakura replied, "The shirt, really."
Marik tugged at the hem of his top. "It's not gay; it's expensive, and it looks good on me."
"Hmm…" Bakura didn't give him a response. It did look expensive, what with the gold chains on the front. Though, Marik was running a large thieving organization, so he could probably afford it. Bakura's vessel could never hope to wear something like that; Ryo was too scrawny in figure—it wouldn't look right. If he had his old body, he could easily pull it off, if it didn't look so gay. It wasn't intentional to think Marik was gay, but he was wearing something so gaudy…
"Is the shirt really that bad?" Marik was still playing his shirt.
Bakura opted to take the moment to sweep his eyes over the area in hopes of finding any sign of those stupid brats. "No, it looks good on you, like you said." He kept his voice as level as he could, not putting any inflections on any of his words.
"Are you, are you hitting on me? I told you I'm not gay," Marik punctuated his sentence by shoving the rod angrily into Bakura's face.
Annoyed, Bakura looked past the rod at Marik. "I only repeated what you said, idiot."
The crossed look on Marik face told Bakura that was not the right answer. Marik dashed off without another word, leaving a very bewildered Bakura in his wake. The boy had run off to the parking lot of a burger joint, where a good collection of kids his age were hanging out. Having no desire to chase after him, Bakura chose to watch as he strutted into a circle of females. His back was to Bakura, and he was too far away to catch the actual dialogue, but he could hear the giggles from the girls. As Marik tried to fix his broken pride, Bakura searched the area for any signs of duelists. If he found a duelist, he was that much closer to finding the Pharaoh's friends. The roads were empty of cars and duelists. The plastic bag of DVD rentals felt heavy all of a sudden. Why was he carrying these around? He had rented them for Marik, so why wasn't Marik carrying them? He should return them.
"HA!" The sudden presence of the Egyptian boy startled Bakura, and the huge grin on the boy's face made him uneasy.
"Weren't you talking to those girls?"
"Well, yeah," Marik rolled his eyes, and presented a napkin with strings of numbers scrawled on it. "If I were gay, would I have gotten the numbers of five different girls so quickly?" The look of pride on Marik was absolutely adorable. "I suppose I should get a phone now," he added, putting a finger on his chin.
Shrugging, Bakura replied, "I suppose this does prove you are not gay." He decided not to ruin the newfound good mood Marik had found by saying that gay people could collect the numbers of the opposite sex, too. "If you would like to be useful, we need to find those bumbling fools soon."
"Oh, the Rare Hunters are cornering them as we speak." He rolled the Rod with his wrist.
Bakura stopped and glared. "You didn't mention this earlier."
"We were having too much fun. I got this."
"Where are they?"
"Hm? Oh, right, this way." The rod glowed, and he pointed it in the direction they were already headed, much to Bakura's relief. "We'll be there shortly." He reluctantly took the lead. "So, does this mean our hanging out together is coming to an end?"
Bakura sighed. "We still have use of each other. I'm sure this is not the last time we'll see of each other. Besides, we still have these movies to watch together."
This must have been the right response, because a bright grin stretched Marik's face, and he skipped a little. Eventually, they did find the Pharaoh's friends, and everything happened so suddenly. Bakura found himself sitting in a cab, sporting an injury, next to Yugi's grandfather. As the cab pulled out, he glanced one last time at Marik, now "Namu," trying to convince Yugi's friends that he could be trusted. The bag of DVDs rested at his feet.
"Whatcha got there?" Yugi's Grandpa asked, pointing at the plastic bag.
Bakura shrugged and put on his best Ryo impression. "I was renting DVDs before we were attacked. Guess I could always watch them at the hospital." He gave the old man a disarming smile.
"Don't worry about that. I can help you set up the DVD player in the room." He smiled, always the type to help somebody out. It almost sickened Bakura, but he had to keep up his Ryo façade.
"Oh, thank you." He smiled back, the most childlike smile he could muster. The old man bought it. He had gotten these movies for Marik. He really didn't want to watch them again. He clutched his bleeding arm. It hurt.
They arrived at the hospital, and the staff ushered them into a room, where he was examined and treated, blood was taken, and tests were run. Eventually, they did all they could do, and left Bakura with Yugi's grandpa. As promised, Yugi's grandpa fiddled with the TV in the room until he figured out how to work the DVD player. "Which movie do you want to watch first?"
"Shawshank Redemption," Bakura replied. He was tired and was probably going to fall asleep in the middle anyway.
Bakura, his name hung in the air for a brief moment. It had not come from Yugi's grandpa. He glanced around. Bakura, it repeated. I'm in your head. He recognized the voice as Marik's.
"How…?" he asked aloud, catching the attention of Yugi's grandpa.
"I heard this was a good movie. Never really saw it myself. Can you believe that? It's like a movie everyone has seen, but I haven't seen it," he laughed to himself as he sat in the chair provided by the hospital staff.
When you touched the Rod at the nursing home, I connected our souls. I can't take control of your body, don't worry; you have too strong of a will for that… Anyway, I thought that we could watch that movie of yours like this.
It felt so strange to have a presence inside his head like this, but he said nothing, fearing the reaction from Yugi's grandpa. Instead, he settled in bed to get more comfortable. "Don't talk all the way through the movie." He hadn't meant to say it aloud.
"Wouldn't dream of it," Yugi's grandpa blinked. Wouldn't dream of it, Marik repeated. It felt so strange, but truth be told, he had missed the Egyptian boy a little bit. He offered a small apology to Yugi's grandpa for his rude comment. He could feel Marik snickering. He would have to learn how to talk to Marik without drawing attention to himself. He didn't want to be transferred to the seventh floor, where the other mental patients were.
As the movie progressed, Bakura was growing more comfortable with the presence in his mind. It still felt weird to him, but perhaps it felt like one of the quirks he would have to endure through this friendship. Friendship. The word was foreign to him, but he suppose that was an accurate description between Bakura and Marik. The first time in thousands of years that Bakura gave that title to anyone: Friend. As the movie neared the climax, he could feel Marik emotionally reacting. Because he had already seen the movie, he knew what was going to happen. Still, he liked sharing that experience with Marik. Yes, he could call Marik a friend.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed this! This fic was inspired by the song "I Kill People" by Jon Lajoie. (And I know Bruce Willis is not in Invincible; Bakura doesn't know that.)