THIS WILL BE FACING A MAJOR OVERHAUL SOON. SORRY ABOUT THIS...

Comments copied from dA:

[coming soon; sorry]

PROLOGUE -_-_- Idea

Yami Bakura leaned against the wall of the alley, looking at his fingernails dispassionately. It was cold and mist was rising from the ground, but he didn't feel it. He was too pissed off to notice some environmental inconvenience.

The hum of a motorcycle.

"About damn time," he spat, pushing himself off of the wall. A shape appeared out of the mist and quickly grew larger and more defined. Not that Yami Bakura had any doubts about who the person was; who else would be riding a motorcycle at one-thirty in the morning through the narrow alleyways of the black heart of Domino City?

"You were supposed to be here twenty minutes ago," he said angrily as Marik stopped beside him and took off his helmet. Marik scowled at him and put the kick-stand of the motorcycle down. Yami Bakura noticed the green paint job and arched an eyebrow at Marik. "How many of these things do you have?"

"As many as I want," Marik replied without missing a beat. He leaned against the motorcycle and crossed his arms, the Millennium Rod glimmering at his side. "So? What news on Yugi Mutou?" Yami Bakura scowled and folded his own arms.

"What do you expect me to say? That he's suddenly fallen over dead and he left the Millennium Puzzle to you in his will?"

"That'd be terrific," Marik replied. Yami Bakura scowled angrily.

"He sleeps with the bloody thing on," Yami Bakura replied, looking away from the arrogant smirk on Marik's face.

"So you mean you don't have it," he said, the slightest hint of arrogance in his voice. Yami Bakura ground his teeth together but forced himself to cool off before saying anything.

"It means that I'd have to rape Yugi Mutou to get it while he's sleeping," he spat. Marik's smirk pissed him off—a lot. He chose to ignore Marik for Marik's own good. He would kill that pest the moment he had his Millennium Rod. He'd swear it on Zorc's name—he would kill that little bastard.

"Then what do you propose you do about it?" Marik asked, crossing his arms.

Not now, I can't kill him now.

But there are no witnesses…

"I intend to bide my time, just as I have been doing—" he started.

"And look how far that's gotten you," Marik pointed out. Next thing Yami Bakura knew he had his hand twisted in the collar of Marik's shirt and Marik was hanging a couple of inches off the ground.

"I was doing fine before you decided to show your ugly fake-tanned face and screw with Yugi's head!" he shouted angrily. Marik wasn't smirking now—he wasn't scared, but he was certainly not pleased. "Now you're here with your little army of Rare Hunters and you've scared the little bastard to the point where he's more Yami than Yugi! How the hell am I supposed to do anything when he realizes he's been pushed into a corner and is fighting like he's in one?!" He dropped Marik, who managed to catch himself neatly on his feet, bending his knees only slightly to take the force. "I'll get it, just watch. And with the puzzle Yugi will be powerless, and you'll get your damn little god card and I'll get both the puzzle and the rod." He stared pointedly at the Millennium Rod, not bothering to try and hide his greed at all. Marik held it out, his fist clamped tightly around it.

"You want this?" he asked, his voice angry. Apparently he didn't like being picked up by the collar of his shirt. "Then you'll do as I damn well say, won't you? The more of a threat I am, the more he'll need his friends. Don't just hide your host away—he's more than your landlord, he's your greatest asset. Learn about him—and after a while you can finally destroy the boy completely and know him well enough that Yugi won't know the boy is gone until long after you've put the puzzle around your own neck." Yami Bakura scowled at him, but he couldn't deny the truth of what he'd said. He didn't allow Bakura out much; he had a body again, and he was damn well going to use it. And as such, he didn't like to be around Yugi too often—the less Yugi thought of him, the better for his plans. But that little Egyptian bastard had a good point; Yugi was a softy in the truest sense. If he put his host in danger, Yugi would panic. He could easily force Yugi to do anything he wanted, except for one big problem.

The Pharaoh.

It might have been easy to steal the cool from the little midget kid with the hair taller than he was, but the Pharaoh was something else entirely. You couldn't steal his cool—you couldn't steal what wasn't there. And as a thief he'd know. The Pharaoh didn't wear his cool like a mask like most people; it was in his very skin, like Yugi wore his innocence and Yami Bakura wore his hatred.

Marik's was too poorly sprayed to see anything through.

He pushed himself off of the wall violently, registering but ignoring how Marik's eyes narrowed but he didn't move, as if preparing himself for Yami Bakura to attack him. It wasn't entirely as unlikely as Marik might have thought—he wouldn't have to bother with Yugi or that damned Pharaoh if he just killed Marik and took his rod. But Marik had his uses, and he supposed for the time being he would try to use him.

Besides, Marik's death would give Yugi hope, and why would Yami Bakura bother with that?

"Fine," he said, although he was well aware nothing had really passed between them. "Then why don't you return to that cancer-causer you call a tanning booth and make yourself a little darker, Marik? After all, right now you only look like someone left you in the oven a little too long." He arched an eyebrow at Marik as if trying to make him get the point sooner. He turned on his heel and walked towards the end of the alley, feeling the ring strongly against his chest. It wanted more than just itself, and he would be happy to deliver as soon as he could.

Against his motorcycle Marik scowled disgustedly. He grabbed his helmet and put it over his head, strapping it in place. He would kill that British prick as soon as he had the god cards. Upon the name of the new pharaoh—himself—he would.

He put up the kickstand of his bike with a violent impact from his shoe and got on it.

Somewhere many miles away Yugi slept peacefully in his bed, curled on his side, a concerned shadow figure perched on the edge of the mattress, his face set with worry.