Chapter content: Nothing to be scared of.
TITLE CHANGE: Used to be Hikari No Yasha
Yami no game: Shadow game
Chapter edited as of: 1/17/18. Plot has changed. Details have changed.
Playing With Demons
Ryou wandered through the dark corridors, humming a forgotten tune. His humming bounced off the walls and wide ceiling, becoming much louder. If this had been daytime, and the halls filled with crowds, the song would have been swallowed. His boots trod silent from practice and good quality leather. Every so often, his humming would lower an octave and his eyes shine garnet before flicking up in pitch and back to doe brown.
He smiled to no one, full of lighthearted cheer, adding to his already conflicting appearance. His black trench coat screamed of dark intentions, while his blue and white striped sweater underneath whispered of gentle kindness and naivety. The gait was that of an arrogant thief's, yet the smile melted away such thoughts.
Ryou stopped at a sign, and changed his trajectory, turning the corner in the direction of the Egyptian exhibit. One might have questioned this action, seeing as the lights had gone off an hour ago and thick clouds prevented the moon's light from shining through the dotting windows. However, the museum had closed for the week due to the new ownership, so no one wondered.
The pitch turn a downturn as his feet decided to take a detour to another exhibit. He resumed his path soon after, smirk on his face and a slight weight in his pockets. The smirk softened; the pitch raised.
"Hey! Hey, you there! Freeze!"
Ryou halted and ceased his humming. Annoyance flashed over his features, but only for a second, the expression barely processed by the approaching security guard before pushing the thought aside.
The shaky beam of a flashlight landed on him. The guard had his hand at his belt, but hadn't drawn his gun and visibly relaxed as he came closer. Two minds calculated his actions, coming to form a bias against him before they themselves had realized it.
/His hand trembles-/
/-first day on the job, fear of failing-/
/-anticipation, eager for action-/
/-thinks us a kid-/
/-Mistake! Won't draw his gun-/
/-lets down his guard - Mistake!/
Unaware of the psychoanalysis, the man leveled a questioning glare at the albino, angling the flashlight to see the culprit better. "What are you doing here? Don't you know the museum is closed?"
"I'm well aware. My father's the new owner."
The man's eyes bulged. Ryou continued, "Father left to go to a meeting an hour ago. He gave me permission to look around, seeing as I only just arrived in Jump City. If you'll excuse me, I've been looking forward to exploring the Egyptian exhibit."
The guard blanched at the clipped tone and stepped aside, stammering an apology as Ryou swept past. He resumed humming, taking no heed of the suddenly flickering flashlight. Behind him, the man grumbled a curse, and smacked the light against his thigh a few times. Ryou vanished into the darkness even as the flashlight hummed with light. A crackle of a radio, mechanical, "Yeah, just a head's up, we got a kid who's claiming…"
The Egyptian exhibit could easily be called the largest section out of all the rest, filled to a crowded fashion from generous donations and the the new owner's obsession. Several cardboard boxes were scattered around, clustered in corners and against the walls, taped shut and plastered with hundreds of stickers that shouted FRAGILE. Those contents would be emptied and given a home within the exhibit over the next few days.
Clay tablets and papyrus preserved in acrylic glass slabs allowed hieroglyphs to cover the walls, translations squeezed in beside them. Quite a few translations were absent, presumably due to a lack of space.
The ceiling had not escaped the designer's grasp, painted with designs found on ancient tapestries too old to be moved. A paint-stained ladder had been shoved into a dark corner with a few of the boxes. The smell of paint and sand hung in the air, creating a strange perfume mix of old and new.
Ryou laughed when he came across a room detailing the origins of Duel Monsters and how Industrial Illusions had used ancient designs as inspiration. A few laminated photographs detailed faded designs, but they were few in number, and the tablets shown were chipped from poor preservation. Ryou's humming dropped when he came across the interview with Pegasus, the game's creator.
He mourned for a minute longer, before jerking his head away, hissing, "Alright, I'm going!" He dropped to his knees beside the table, grabbing a box that had been left opened. They'd been in the middle of setting out its contents before going home for the night. Ryou picked through the contents, pocketing a pack of Duel Monsters cards and stealing away a copy of Book of the Dead. They sold copies of the same book in the gift shop on the first floor.
Ryou stalked out of the Duel Monsters room, book tucked under his arm. However, he soon lost himself in the strange familiarity the exhibit brought him, and resumed humming again; this time a different tune, more lighthearted than the last. His eyes followed the lines of hieroglyphs and glazed over the laminated translations, mumbling words in another language under his breath. To a spectator, it would look like the humming was broken up, alternating between spoken word and humming; to Ryou, he never stopped humming.
A door caught his attention and Ryou went over to it when he read the sign - Storage. He gripped the knob, but it didn't turn. Moments later, the lock clicked and a strand of wire vanished back into his pocket.
Inside lay fragments of the buried civilization, some wrapped like the mummies beside them, some bound in boxes and duct tape and endless FRAGILE stickers. The priceless artifacts hid here, waiting for jurisdiction on whether or not they would be put on display.
Bakura snapped his head to the side. A growl started in his throat, yet it reverberated through the room, not like an echo, but as though it came from all around.
A flashlight scanned the area. The shadows whispered of the emotions and intentions this intruder had, yet Bakura let the light pinpoint on him, his own intentions none too pleasant.
"You aren't supposed to be here," Bakura noted. The black-clad individual chuckled.
"Thinking to make it big, kid? The security cameras already caught your face, and with that hair and outfit they'll catch the rest of you."
"I may be a thief, but I have permission. If you play my game, I'll let you be," Bakura suggested, chuckling.
Caught off guard, the man didn't reply at first. Frostily, he said, "I don't have time for games."
"This room has no video or audio feeds. It's detached from the main hallway. It's like it's not even there. The only way someone would think to check is if one of us yells. We have all the time in the world."
"What if I don't want to play?"
"I'll yell."
The man paused, thinking it over, no doubt wondering how fast he could muffle this interruption. He said, "I'll play. But if I win, you have to hand over that pendant of yours."
/Mistake!/
Bakura stated his prize quietly and quickly: "When I win I get your soul."
Before the robber could question what drugs the kid was on, Bakura's head snapped up, leering at him with blood red eyes, and only the robber heard the next shout, the security guards deaf to the conversation.
"Yami no game!"
Author's Notes
Of all of the chapters that were here before revision, this chapter has changed the least. Until everything has been fully updated, some parts of the story might not make sense.