Kiski's Note To Readers: I'm bored. And crazy. And a biology student. Fear me? Excuse this chapter, by the way. It may be a little slow, but it'll definitely pick up- the ball has to be pushed a little before it'll get rolling, you know!

THERE WILL BE MORE DIALOGUE NEXT CHAPTER!

Summary: Seto Kaiba is growing increasingly uneasy.Things are going missing in Kaiba Corp., and all of them seem to be related. Not only that, but strange things are going down in Domino. VERY strange things. Ancient Thief Bakura x Seto Kaiba, Ryou Bakura x Yami No Bakura

Rating: Teen, because it's unlikely it'll go beyond that. But there will be perversion, creepiness, violence, anger/hate, angst... etc.. Don't ask me, I don't know.

I'm just writing it.

Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would've been so frighteningly morbid they wouldn't have released it in North America. Amen.

'...' - Thinking

"..." - Speaking

Simply Biological

KiskiMee

Chapter One

Seto Kaiba was extremely perturbed. The figures weren't matching up. The figures always matched up.

There was a grand total of three hundred thousand dollars missing from various Kaiba Corporation accounts over the course of the past two years, as well as several missing pieces of the corporation's newest and most profitable prototypes- all of them in the virtual reality sectors.

More specifically, the sections that specialized in human sensory control.

And the figures weren't matching up. He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed before. It was a massive gap. But this year he had had the computers doing the checking, with orders to report anything over a two-hundred dollar discrepancy in any one department in a month. Goof-ups happened. It was part of owning a company- somebody forgets to log a blown fuse on a new prototype and goes and buys a new one and the whole company gets thrown up in an uproar.

But this wasn't- couldn't be- a coincidence. For one thing, he didn't believe in such things. For another, exactly two hundred dollars was missing from every affected sector. Not a cent out of place, he thought coldly, deep unease stirring in his stomach.

He clicked through the purchase logs and the withdrawals, growing more and more uneasy and irritable. No, nobody had bought new parts. No, nobody had decided to slip out for a quick expensive lunch and hope that they got away with it. No, nobody had withdrawn two hundred dollars to help funding in another section and forgotten to log it. Why? Because it wasn't in another sector.

It had simply disappeared. Just like the machines. He spread his hands out on the desk and stared at the computer screen, willing it to correct itself or disappear and leave him alone. This was ridiculous. Nobody had access to monetary resources and prototype storage rooms except himself and the project leaders.

And that gave him a total of sixty-two suspects, discounting a sudden dual personality with strange ambitions or a truly world-class hacker with the luck of the devil himself. The whole mess was giving him a headache.

He jammed his hands into his hair and stifled an angry scream behind his teeth.

'It doesn't make sense!'

(Simply Biological)

It was dark, but warm. And wet.

And it hurt.

Akefia tried to growl through the slow wetness that seemed to engulf him, but found that sound seemed to be impossible. He opened his eyes and discovered no difference in his perception. It was blindingly dark. Panic rose sluggishly in his mind. Had the Atemu, that cruel, sadistic tyrant sitting atop a golden throne while he wallowed in the streets, blinded him? Was he dead? He realized he couldn't feel the cold, comforting weight of the Sennen Ring against his chest, and felt the panic he had suppressed explode.

He thrashed, pulling hands towards his chest, feeling the heavy resistance of the liquid slow them, feeling a slow tearing out his skin around the inside of his left elbow. His legs felt heavy, useless. And his chest was mind-breakingly bare. In fact, his whole body was.

And his mind seemed not to work, he thought angrily. Everything was dreamy, seeming to insist calmness and a vegetative state. He came to the enraged conclusion that the bastard had drugged him, and, perhaps, blinded him.

And taken the ring.

It hurt without the ring. The ring would fix everything. The ring would make him strong again.

He felt his arm cramp, and pulled it towards him, fingers feeling around the needle stuck fast in the tender flesh. The black world began to disappear.

'...Kill you...' he thought, and fell unconscious.

(Simply Biological)

Yami no Bakura didn't like where this conversation was going.

"What do you mean, a clone?" he scoffed uneasily, glowering Ryou, who was chewing his lip nervously. Ryou clasped his papers closer to his chest and took a deep breath.

"Yami," he said firmly, setting his jaw, "theoretically speaking, there is no such thing as a soul. The human psyche is contained in the brain," he said, trailing off as his Yami's jaw clenched and his posture grew belligerent.

"And what does that make me? I came from the Sennen Ring, ne? That's not a brain! So what does that make ME?"

Ryou sighed as Bakura crossed his arms and glared at him through narrowed brown eyes. "A copy, Bakura-sama," he explained gently.

"Are you saying I'm fake?!"

"No, Bakura-sama, I'm saying that you're a copy- not the original, just exactly the same. When a cell splits using mitos-"

Bakura jumped to his feet. "Don't try and confuse me with those fancy words of yours, yodunshi!" he growled. "I know what you're saying! You're saying I'm not the real King Of Thieves! That I'm a fake!" He stamped his foot and bared his teeth chillingly, eyes narrowed. "Don't think I can't hurt you anymore simply because I'm confined to this flesh-bag, hikari," he snarled. "I am the King Of Thieves. I am who I was born, and no one else. I remember everything I have ever done! I remember my life! If I was a creation, I- I-"

Ryou curled around his notes, face waxy and pupils small. He had feared his Yami would react this way. But it was better that Bakura hear it from him, instead of someone else. No matter what he said, he wouldn't hurt him. In his own strange way, Bakura had a twisted sort of respect for the delicately resilient human who struggled so uncomplainingly through the hardships he had inflicted on him. Ryou knew that. But it didn't quell the deep-seated fear that was epitomized so clearly by the large circular scar on his palm. Bakura did stupid things when he couldn't get his way. He was like a very spoiled, yet very dangerous, child.

Ryou waited patiently for his other half's ranting to subside. Biology had been good to him- he even looked different then he had two years before, beyond the last passing of youthful baby fat- he looked wiser, more alive, like he'd found something to inspire him. And, in a way, he had. The fascinations of Biology and Chemistry had filled him with speculative 'what-if's- the same sort that had led him to his latest conclusion about the Sennen Items. And earned him a scholarship to a very prestigious university.

He smiled a little, stomach fluttering at the thought. He would finally be free- he would finally be able to pursue something he wanted. Without having to cater to someone's else's wants and needs.

The thought hit him out of the nowhere and made him slightly nervous. He hadn't been completely alone and independent since he was... what? Eight? He closed his eyes, nervous and excited.

Bakura had finally quieted down, he realized, and he opened his eyes to see the older boy- 'Is he a boy or a man?' Ryou wondered thoughtfully. After all, he was thousands of years old- staring down his long, pale nose at him. Ryou examined his Yami's features for what seemed like the first time, though he knew he had done it hundreds- no, thousands- of times before. The other boy's face, so like his own, yet so unlike.

When it came down to raw bone structure, they were identical, he knew, tracing his eyes down that so-familiar jaw. But they held themselves differently. Bakura had a tendency to look taller, because he carried himself with an arrogance and intensity that seemed to amplify everything about him; he was different, Ryou thought musingly, quietly examining. He tended to, well, slouch. To look smaller, shorter, more vulnerable. There were so many differences that showed through carriage, he realized. Especially in their faces. The set of the lips, the haughty arch of his thin eyebrows his Yami affected, and the way he narrowed his eyes and set his jaw slightly to the side so it looked harder then it actually was; Ryou smiled inwardly. Everything about the other boy looked more powerful, while in reality, if both underwent surgery, they would be identical.

Scars and all.

He smiled a little, looking down. Bakura stiffened suspiciously, and crossed his arms. "What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing, Yami-sama."

Bakura felt put out. There was obviously something going on in Ryou's head he was unaware of.

In a spontaneous moment of total resolve, he decided to discover it.

Whatever the means.

(Simply Biological)

He scrubbed his scalp angrily. It had been two days. Two precious days. And still, he was facing what looked increasingly like something out of The Outer Limits, which he had always found rather intriguing but incredibly unlikely. He resisted the urge to bash his forehead on the desk.

It was still gone. He had called the banks. No, no large deposits had been made. He had called the investigators. No, they had been unable to find any physical evidence pointing to break-ins, nor had they found anything on the security tapes that pointed even vaguely to a particular person. He had called the hackers. No, there was no electronic paper trail. All of the withdrawals had occurred here from various different, very legitimate terminals that were open to all of the higher clearance staff.

There wasn't a single person in those sixty-two that could be discounted or put under more scrutiny than another. Of course, suspicion had to lean towards the

virtual reality developers, because of the nature of the missing equipment, but he didn't feel that was the answer.

Quite frankly, the whole business stank. Because everything was too perfect. And he felt that someone who had taken such incredible pains to remain unfound would also keep themself out of active suspicion- or, believe that he would think as such, put him or herself into passive suspicion, to incur the reverse effect. And elaborating on that, he thought pessimistically, whatever they were doing obviously wasn't of a terribly legal nature.

Or of a terribly ethical one, considering the nature of the machine.

'Crackpot scientists,' he snarled inwardly. 'All of them.'

He rose from his seat and stalked out of his office, hands shoved into pockets and eyes on the floor. He brooded. There had to be some connection- some little, unnoticed detail. Which of them had the best in terms of computer programming? Mistushi, of course, but something of this scale could hardly have been less then the effort of a group of people. And who was the most charismatic when it came to large groups? Well, that was inane, since it could easily be a person of lower employment leading this escapade. Not that that was likely.

He halted in the middle of the hall, staring blindly at an empty coffee cup between the rows of cubicles, the last amber drops hovering on the edge above the coarse grey carpet.

All of Kaiba Corporation's project leaders were picked not only for their talent, but for their competence with getting people to do what they wanted, how they wanted. It was the only effective way to make large groups of slightly eccentric and highly talented people work together. Meaning that the perpetrator would be among the most charismatic of the project leaders, and the most ambitious and interested in thing involving human neurological study.

Everything fell perfectly into place, forming a chilling and highly volatile picture in his mind.

Kaiba's lips drew back from his teeth in a very hostile, primal grin that sent the one lonely engineer at the copy machine scuttling back a few paces. He paid it no mind. He knew his target.

He snorted heavily through his nose. "Only you, you cunt." He growled softly under his breath. "Only you."

(Simply Biological)

Akefia was growing bored. Even the pain couldn't entertain him anymore, and though he felt as though his stomach his stomach had swallowed itself, even that had ceased to amuse him after the first three hours. But what he really couldn't take was the bodily silence. He could hear nothing, see nothing, say nothing. It made the Shadow Realm seem like a paradise. Even the hot Egyptians sands, with its battles full of blood and the screams of horses and the ringing silver of metal on metal and metal on bone, seemed like an oasis in this lukewarm prison.

He had felt around, and found that was the only thing that seemed to work, and even then, only semi-well. He could feel that all around him was smooth and rounded, and that it all seemed to go up and down endlessly- or, at least, beyond the reach of his long legs or arms. It was close, though- he couldn't stretch his arms out side-to-side beyond a ninety-degree bend at the elbow. And the needle ached. He had once attempted to take it out, but it was bound tightly to his arm by something even he couldn't tear loose.

And so he drifted in and out of wakefulness, breathing deep, thick breaths and waiting for something to happen. And, finally, something happen.

At first, he wasn't sure he heard it- it was a tiny noise in his prison, a small flare of deep, resonant sound. Though he knew there was no need, he froze on hearing it, straining against the quiet eagerly.

And it happened again. Louder. Angrier. And full of almost palpable rage. His body sang with it, and he scrabbled at the walls of his cell, eager and unaware as an unborn child, heart racing with sluggish suspicion and weary hope and excitement.

And then the world filled with light.

It burned at his eyes so abruptly that he yanked his arms up through the sludge to cover them, but even closed, he saw nothing but white. And things were changing, too- rapidly. Suddenly he could hear the scrape of metal on glass, the mutter of low voices, and, above all, the loud, resonant purr of one voice. A thought came to him. Was this his judgement from the heavens for disobeying their chosen ruler?

He uneasily pushed that aside as nonsense. The Gods would not take notice of one lowly mortal. Ah, but the King Of Thieves... perhaps, he realized. Feeling his stomach turn, he cracked his eye open again as the whiteness receded. The voices had muted, but the one still remained prevalent in his mind. That one, powerful voice. It was a voice of Authority, he thought, quelling his fear with anger. Akefia didn't like Authority.

He wondered briefly if it was the voice of Osiris, come to judge him, with Anubis at his side; or perhaps Set, amusing himself with another trifling mortal being. The white-haired male decided that if he could avoid finding out, he would.

Curiousity was not worth satiating if it meant suffering and doom.

Finally, he could see. There was a being beyond the hard, clear walls of his cell, and it held itself as a God would, he thought. He recognized, through the muted sounds, that it was the owner of the deep, resonant rumble that felt so good in his newly singing ears. The voice of Authority.

He blinked against the light, startled. It was so... small. It was true. The being beyond the glass was whisper-thin, tall, and nothing but a dark, tiny silhouette against the light. But how could something so powerful come from someone so small?

His anger subsided reluctantly as he stared, pupils tiny against the glare, at the figure. It stood with a familiar arrogance, he thought curiously, and it seemed to believe it was much larger then it's size. Akefia briefly considered overpowering it physically, then dismissed that notion. If it acted as though it was larger then the other figures, it obviously had access to something they did not. The Pharaoh stood like that, and he had been even smaller.

But the Pharaoh was arrogant, he brooded. The Pharaoh believed he held even more power then he did. So, perhaps...?

Abruptly, things began to become cold. He withdrew into himself, shivering in suspension. And then his world began to tip sideways, and he yowled soundlessly in protest, alarmed. The figure loomed, a bare, slender frame, above his cell as it shifted into the horizontal position.

Akefia was terrified. Obviously they had finally come to a conclusion. He was being judged by this slender thing that wielded so much power and had no face, backed by so many others that seemed to grey in the light while it simply seemed yet more palpable. For the first time since early childhood, he felt the need to cower, and that filled him with hate.

And then the world began to settle, and he was dragged towards the bitterly cold wall of his cell that was now 'down'. Cold air struck his face as the liquid in which he had been suspended poured out above his head, and he coughed and retched in the air, assaulted by nausea and dizziness. Sounds crispened to crystal clarity, and suddenly, the world was painfully loud and he wished vainly for his black, calm prison. He groaned, and pulled heavy arms over his head.

Warm hands pulled at his shoulders, and after a little painful tugging, the constant prick of the needle was gone from his arm. He slid forth into the world into something soft and engulfing, staring balefully up at his figure of Authority. It stared down at him with narrow blue eyes and pale skin, and he tried to spit at it, but ended up vomiting fluid on the floor.

(Simply Biological)

Seto Kaiba exclaimed in disgust at the incompetence of his employees. "What, are you stupid? Get it to the hospital unit- no one will stop you, you idiots, they've all been arrested," he snapped restively, suppressing the thought that this being was obviously- and magnificently- male, without a shadow of a doubt. He stared down at is it coughed up the last of the fluid in its lungs, massive body rippling with muscle. Nervousness churned his stomach.

If this creature had been in the Tank for two years, its body muscle must've atrophied intensely, yet it was like something out of Mary Shelley's The Modern Prometheus- Frankenstein's monster, perhaps. Estimating quickly, he concluded that it was at least twice his weight, and quite surely taller. His lips tightened uneasily. He himself was six feet, four inches, when last measured. That would make this beast of a man possessing of the bone structure of some sort of fairytale Viking. Odin, God of thunder, maybe, he thought, watching the four of them dragging the heavy giant away.

But, God, who was it? Why this particular monster? Did Takashi simply have some sort of superiority complex that inspired him to chose the biggest, worst thing he could?

Seto stalked around the room, searching idly for a place start and deciding on the small desk in the far corner. On top of it their were schematics for the Tank's design, he saw with satisfaction- it was a good start- and jumbles of half-created junk. He shifted it around, searching, and began to carefully pull open drawers, leaning back in case the crazy asshole had decided to leave him a going away present that even his company's scanners wouldn't pick up. He was brilliant enough, Seto thought. Brilliant, but crazy.

"Fuck," he swore softly, as he came up with a large manila folder buried beneath heaping piles of receipts and paperwork. Flipped open, it answered a few questions and opened a thousand more.

His immediate assumption upon all of this was that Takashi had decided to create himself something. In reality, it appeared that he had revived something. And that this particular something was chosen because it been preserved in such a manner that left it mostly intact- but, prevalently, its brain. "You crazy son of a bitch," he murmured, half impressed, but mostly disgusted.

A hassled-looking blonde fellow he recognized as one of the employees that had accompanied him there bolted in the door, screaming for him. He saw that blood was dripping the man's nose and leaving dime-sized splats on the floor.

"Kaiba-sama! Kaiba-sama, it's escaped custody! When we tried to administer an I.V. it just starte-"

Seto Kaiba grabbed the man and shoved him aside, rushing down the hall.

"Fuck!"

(Simply Biological)