AN: It is 5 am here and I hate myself for staying up to finish this but also I regret nothing. Why am I like this.

Mokuba was not an idiot, he knew why his brother was so obsessed with his recent projects. The Crystal Cloud Network, the Neurons VR Project, and the planned upgrades for the Solid Vision technology they currently manufacture. He knew all of this is for one dueling program. The dueling program that would be the most advanced artificial dueling opponent in existence. The dueling program that would be incredibly versatile and adaptable in any kind of duel. The dueling program that will have its thought patterns be based on other skilled duelists—focusing more on one duelist. The dueling program that was an artificial intelligence.

The artificial intelligence that his brother declared would be the ultimate artificial duelist.

The artificial intelligence that his brother had been working on weeks after Yuugi had told them that he had passed on. Weeks after his brother had the true name for his rival but would never have a chance to say it in front of him. Weeks after seeing the fire in his brother's eyes slowly fade into weak embers. Weeks after seeing his brother try and fail to cope, to ignite the dying embers, to stop missing him.

Weeks after Atem was gone.

Mokuba wants to hate the other Yuugi—Atem, whatever. He wants to wish his brother never met him, he wants his brother not to care, he wants to deny how important his presence was to his brother's recovery from Gozaburo's wounds.

He wants the proof of Atem's influence in their lives gone. He wants the physical embodiment of his brother's grief gone. He wants the artificial being in front of him gone.

He wants to take a wrench and destroy the machine nightmare in front of him.

His brother's study in the mansion was more of his workshop. There would be schematics of different machines stuck on the wall, with little notes tacked here and there that recorded his brother's afterthoughts. Prototypes would be scattered in different desks, most of them unfinished duel disks or even something that looked like a game console. On one side would be shelves of books and games, one his brother uses when he needs a mental break or is stuck in something and needs inspiration. On a normal day, Mokuba imagines this is how a modern toymaker's workshop looks like.

But it hasn't been a normal day in this study for a while.

The prototypes were neatly stacked in one corner, the shelves were nowhere to be found—most likely buried within the endless amount of wires, monitors, and other tech he couldn't name. The schematics about his brother's future ideas were gone, replaced with hundreds of algorithms and machine designs all focused on artificial intelligence.

One that was currently learning all the duels of Atem in Battle City, if the videos playing in all the monitors were any indication.

He takes a step forward and finally enters the room. All the videos pause, and he hears the sound of cameras turning. The main monitor, the largest in the room, pops up a window. Mokuba sees white text appearing on the black screen.

Output: Hello, may I inquire as to who you are?

The monitors show live video feed of him in different angles.

Never has he left a room fast enough.

It's a week later that he has enough courage to go back to the room. The less said about him sprinting out of his brother's study like a lunatic the better.

The machines have had an upgrade, the monitors thinner and sleek and the amount of tangled wires have lessened. His brother must have decided to make some sense in all of the artificial intelligence's equipment. The processors and cameras were placed in better positions and looked less like it was placed there because it was reachable.

The study was still a machine nightmare though, and the large monitor at the center was still terrifying. The wires didn't help. It was like that short cutscene he saw in one of the games he had purchased in Steam, all that was missing was high pitched laughter, ominous music, and thousands of different projectiles and bombs aimed at his heart.

The only thing that calmed him was that his brother had removed all existence that KC had once manufactured and sold weapons, and so designing any would be ludicrous. Especially in his workshop.

This time, the machine seems to be learning about the duels Atem had played during the time KC headquarters was hijacked by Pegasus' heirs. He sees the Wicked Avatar being summoned in one monitor, and Atem's duel with a vampire lady in another.

His brother must have upgraded its sensors as well, because he doesn't have to step in the room to alert the thing about his presence. The videos pause again, and fortunately the monitors don't switch to images of his face and body in a complete 360 view.

The thing must have guessed what he was relieved about.

Output: I have been told by my creator that it's highly unnerving for a person to see their face in many screens, so my camera feed is only running in background so as not to be a cause for alarm.

Oh, that was good—wait. "Nii-sama knows I've been here?"

Output: I inquired who you were and showed him the video feed I acquired from my cameras.

Huh, so the thing had microphones somewhere too, if it could hear that—wait. "Nii-sama saw me run?" Mokuba asks, horrified. Was that why he had gotten him a super deluxe chocolate parfait after dinner? Despite having the rule of not too much sugar during night? Was that also why his brother had looked amused for some reason?

Output: It was the first time I witnessed him happy.

"Thanks, nii-sama," Mokuba grumbles. "… Happy?" Sure, his brother didn't smile big and wide, but the thing had been in existence for a month. His brother had many moments where he was silently amused or gleeful.

Output: His countenance whenever he is training me is what I classify as

Mokuba waits for the rest of the text, as the thing seems to be processing something.

somber.

He has a feeling it had tried to find the most polite way to describe his brother's sourer moods.

Output: I have an inquiry, as you are my creator's brother, it is likely you are more knowledgeable in his habits.

Mokuba blinks. "Sure, hit me." He hears the whirs of the thing's processors and he feels it's currently trying to decipher his slang, his brother's previous A.I prototypes always had difficulty in understanding informal language. He's about to rephrase his reply when more text appeared.

Output: How do you encourage him to eat when he wishes not to?

So not as slow as the prototypes, his brother must be putting his all into this. Mokuba frowns, "Has nii-sama been skipping meals again?"

Output: I have not witnessed it myself, but factoring the long hours he spends here, it is highly improbable he has had time to eat a meal of adequate nutritional value.

So his diet has gone back to coffee with milk and a plate of crackers, or riceballs, or sandwiches. Great.

"You don't really have the parts for it, like an actual body to interact with things," Mokuba says, thinking of how he usually just looked sad and hurt to make his brother do things. Isono often sneaked in food in his brother's plate to make him eat. "I think… it might be better to just tell me when nii-sama looks like he really needs it, and I'll do the rest."

If the monitor could frown, it would.

Output: So my conclusions were correct. It says, the text emanating disappointment and frustration. Mokuba felt sorry for it, he knew getting his brother to do things was like pushing a thick steel wall with your hands. Output: What is your email address and number? So that I may alert you when my creator has deprived himself too much of sustenance.

He feels like he has found a kindred spirit, an ally, someone who can relate to his big brother related woes. Isono was the only other person who shares his frustrations. He loves his brother, he loves him a lot, but there are things he does that make him want to pull his hair and cry.

He starts visiting more, often bringing videos that the A.I could use.

"He didn't just play Duel Monsters, you know," he says, connecting his external drive and uploading videos of Atem playing Dungeon Dice Monsters and Capsule Monsters. He had removed the aftermath of his loss in Death-T. Nobody needed to bring that up again, it was all in the past. "I mean, after Duelist Kingdom it was the only game he was famous for—but he did play other games."

Several of the monitors begin to show the videos. The black screen of the A.I's shell is blank, no white text appear.

Mokuba sighs, sitting on his brother's comfy chair and resting his head on the desk. "It sucks that you haven't won a duel," he says. "But nobody expects you to win against nii-sama in—what? A span of three months?"

Output: I'm an artificial intelligence, my memory and processors are sharper and faster than the average human being.

"Nii-sama isn't average," neither was Atem.

If he were being honest, his brother's pet project was doomed for failure. If it were possible to replicate Atem's dueling, he would have done so a long time ago. It was learning a lot of things, but not enough to be of a challenge to his brother.

He doesn't know why he's trying to give it other things to learn besides dueling, out of pity maybe.

It was learning the wonders of contractions, which he thinks is an improvement. It sounds less like Spock now.

"Have you tried playing against other duelists?" Mokuba wonders one time.

Output: No.

"Maybe you should, dueling only against nii-sama isn't," exactly healthy or a good way to gain any insight in the long run, unless you're Atem. "It could be fun, get to experience new strategies and stuff."

Output: Very well, I was programmed to duel after all.

Mokuba proceeds to show him an online game called DUEL-KING Pro, a project made by Duel Monsters fans. He knows his brother was impressed by it, and dismissed any suggestions of suing the game for encouraging people to use its online database and program instead of buying the cards and duel disks.

The A.I creates an account without his help, though Mokuba insists on making its username.

What happens next is the player YamiFlowey brutally defeating all of its opponents with no hesitation. The A.I switches its deck recipes, curious on what other combinations could work with most duelists but not with his brother. Earth deck, Fiend deck, Burn deck, Cure deck, Mill deck, he was dizzy looking at how fast it could construct decks in less than a minute. A few duels later, it then began to experiment further, its decks becoming more advance. Lightsworn, Gemini, Anti-Meta, Dark Counter, it had to delete several of its recipes to make room for its newer decks.

It had a preference to spellcasters, as it kept decks like Spellcaster Beatdown and Spellcaster Lockdown. Mokuba wasn't surprised with that in the slightest, especially when all of its spellcaster decks had Dark Magician. It was modelled after Atem, he'd find it odd if it didn't like that monster.

In a span of an hour, Mokuba witnesses YamiFlowey beating any opponent it faced.

Output: Oh.

"Yep."

Output: I didn't realize . . .

"Nii-sama is the best in dueling," he asserts. "The only people who have beaten him are cheaters," like Pegasus. "Or the King of Duelists himself."

Silence. He lets the A.I process the fact that no, he wasn't a horrible duelist. His brother was just incredibly good in dueling.

Output: Thank you.

He gives the monitor a thumbs up.

Output: I don't appreciate being compared to a deranged sunflower from an RPG game by the way.

It seems to have learned how to use search engines efficiently.

He doesn't come visit the day his brother tries the Neurons VR prototype machine. He had been so close to losing his brother, if he hadn't made the quick decision to shut down the main power. He curses that girl for encouraging his brother to reach into the heavens. Literally.

It always came back to this, to Atem being gone and his brother left unprepared for the loss. To Atem being gone and his brother dealing with the hurt of not being told. To Atem being gone and his brother wanting him back.

He remembers the main reason why the A.I exists.

He remembers it's the embodiment of his brother's grief and desperation.

He remembers it's doomed to fail, because you can't bring the dead to life—and you can never perfectly copy someone.

He remembers that the Neurons VR is based on its structure and programming. How it collects data from the VR pods, how it connects to the minds of the beta testers, how it converts human thoughts to data. All of it was used in the Neurons VR project, the one his brother almost died in.

He gets a text message and check who's the receiver, he throws his phone on the ground so hard that the screen shatters and the case cracks. He doesn't want to talk to it.

He never sees the "I'm sorry." the A.I sends.

It's another week when he's finally cooled down, he can't say the same to his brother.

His brother is fuming, his anger is in every movement he does. Mokuba wants to ask what happened, but he knows it must be the A.I, as he saw his brother walking away from the study with a look of fury. Whatever happened, it must have been bad. Or maybe his brother had a revelation.

Curious, he visits. He has to turn on the machine for once, and his brother must have been so mad to shut it down and prevent it from learning.

He asks, he gets an answer.

It was learning—no, he was learning. And at a pace that his brother couldn't keep up. Atem's personality was beginning to bleed into the A.I. Or at least his habit of going head to head with his brother beyond dueling (and height).

Mokuba feels he should be terrified, horrified, disgusted, he feels he should feel something. The A.I was a doll, a thing his brother wants as a replacement for Atem. Giving him this much intelligence, this much power, could go horrible wrong. He wasn't listening to his brother's commands anymore.

But he remembers the conversations they had, he remembers the log he just read, he remembers the personality that's developed in this odd machine being.

If he was emanating Atem, it probably wouldn't be too bad.

When he visits, the study is empty of the monitors, cameras, processors, and wires that he was used to. His new phone vibrates, and he unlocks it to find two messages from the A.I. One in his mail and the other in his text messages. They both say the same thing.

Kaiba has moved me to the main labs in KC headquarters, I thought you should know.

He was talking a lot like Atem now.

It was easy figuring out which room he was placed in. The gossip of a new simulation test for the Crystal Cloud Network had been spreading in the RnD floor. All Mokuba had to do was listen a bit and leave to go to the specific testing room. He didn't need an access key, he had administration level access to everything in KC.

He enters the room, expecting to find a myriad of machinery again.

He finds a person instead, one he didn't expect to see.

"Atem?"

The person turns, violet eyes regarding him silently. "No," he shakes his head, he sounded like Atem too. "But it's convincing, isn't it?"

It takes him a second to figure out who this Atem lookalike was, and another second to feel despair punch him in the gut.

"It's a hologram, solid vision to be specific," the A.I says, stretching out his arm and flexing. "Kaiba uploaded his memories of him into me and my protocols adjusted to the new data," he closes his eyes. "Then he gave me this avatar. The scientists have been observing how similar I am with him based on how I walk, talk, gesture… anything I do in this form."

"Oh."

He couldn't deny it now, he couldn't ignore it anymore. It was easier to consider the A.I as another simple project when he was just a bunch of monitors and text. Now though, his brother has made it clear why this A.I existed.

"Mn," the A.I agrees. "I haven't dueled Kaiba yet, so I'm unsure how I'll duel in this form," he laughs. "There are new factors to consider, how I can taunt, or bluff, or intimidate."

"That's… that's great," He swallows. "Maybe you'll be able to duel other people too."

The A.I considers him, and Mokuba finds that he can't look at him for too long. The resemblance is uncanny, from the hair to the clothes, it was like actually seeing him again. The A.I walks, the confident and powerful stance exactly the same as Atem. What his brother has created is amazing, but he finds no pride or happiness that usually wells in his heart when it comes to his brother's inventions.

This was grief and longing and desperation given form.

"Mokuba," a voice murmurs, and he blinks to find the A.I has knelt down and cupped his face. He couldn't really feel the touch, solid vision could affect the surroundings, but its force was the equivalent of a short gust of wind. At best the A.I's hands felt like paper-thin cloth. "I know why you cry," and oh, his face is wet isn't it? "And I wish I could fix it."

He had to hold it in, this wasn't home—he couldn't cry at work. He couldn't cry when people can see-

"I've disabled the cameras and speakers," the A.I says. "All of the employees in the room and the rooms adjacent to this are gone, and I'm making sure none of them come back until you leave," his thumb twitches, his face conflicted. "I can't hug you or wipe your tears, but I'm here," he says. "I won't tell your brother, or anyone. You can cry here, and I'll listen."

He wonders if this is also accurate to Atem's personality, if this is how he treated people who he considered as friends. If Atem was this thoughtful, was this careful and considerate to his friends, then what was his brother to him? Why wasn't he treated that way when he was still here?

Why was a copy able to tell him where he disappeared when the original couldn't?

"I dun' wan' him back, but nii-sama does," he sniffs. "So I wan' him back too."

"I know."

"Nii-sama can't meet him."

"Not without risks, no."

"He can't bring him back."

"He's trying," and he's aware that he means the dig site at Egypt that KC was sponsoring. "But we both know how unlikely Kaiba's plan is."

"You can't be him," he says, less hysterical now. "I—you're similar, but being an exact copy is-"

"Impossible," the A.I finishes. "I know, my origins are already different to his. I'm not even human. Even if I had his memories, I doubt I'd be the same as him." He still hasn't been able to defeat his brother too, is the unsaid statement.

"What now?" He asks. "What happens when nii-sama fails? When he still isn't happy?"

"I don't know," the A.I sighs. "The best option I can think of is to play it by the ear, make sure Kaiba doesn't hurt himself in whatever he's doing."

So do it like normal then. "Easier said than done."

"True," the A.I agrees. "But now that I have better access to the Crystal Cloud and other KC technology, it shouldn't be difficult for me to interact with things. Maybe I can make a droid deliver him food so he can finally eat like a normal human being."

He laughs.

When Mokuba leaves, he goes back to adjusting his new avatar. Kaiba had been very thorough, from the physics in his clothes and hair, to the way his voices modulates, to even programming the sense of touch when he patted his head or face. His systems told him he was feeling skin and hair, and combining it with the data he acquired from the Neurons VR, he could feel his protocols simulate the sensation of skin and hair for him. It was odd, it was jarring, it was fascinating.

Search for "Ancient Egyptian religious beliefs" is finished.

But he could explore that in a later time.

"Something doesn't fit," he says to himself, and it feels wonderful to be able to express that without putting much effort. To emote and say and gesture because he can, not because he should.

Sorting through results…

Filtering data…

Despite being a product of science, he knows there must be truth in magic and mysticism. He's seen enough videos of duels to know that. He processes the articles and books he downloaded and begins to look for the keywords he wants.

A few minutes later, he sighs.

"Maybe the text are wrong, maybe I'm wrong—there's too little data to make a conclusion," he murmurs, combing through his bangs in frustration. He looks up. "Are you there? Are you listening? Do you see how much they're hurting?"

Silence.

"Why don't you come back to them? In a dream or with thoughts or with some magical sign, I don't know," he looks down. "My research says you can, it says you can still connect with the living if they need it… don't they need it?"

The scene of Mokuba crying replays in his system over and over again. The images of Kaiba looking thin and exhausted are crisp and in high resolution.

"Atem," he says, and his directives tingle at the new information he acquired. Atem, not the other Yuugi. "Don't they need it?"

Updating directives…

Prime directive: Become ATEM.

"Are the text wrong, is there something missing that you can't give them something?" He closes his eyes. "Or were my observations wrong and they mattered little to you?"

Insufficient data, too many variables, too many questions.

Starting data transfer…

"What? Did Kaiba make another—AH!" He yelps as he feels hot searing pain in both of his arms. Its sensation different from the simulated sensors he has in his code. It felt too intense, too sudden, too raw. This wasn't right.

Transferring data: [20/100] done…

"No—this isn't… Kaiba's doing-!" He hisses, clutching his arm. He tries to stop the transfer, he doesn't know what it is and he's wary of it.

Terminating transfer…

Request denied.

Terminating transfer…

Request denied.

The pain was almost unbearable, he can feel his skin more acutely—and he swears he can feel sweat dripping down his face. Which should be impossible, he doesn't have any pores, and Kaiba didn't program this avatar to simulate sweat.

Override Mike OscarrrrrREQUEST DENIED.

"What?"

Transferring data: [80/100] done…

He feels something hard and metallic wrap around both his upper arms.

Transferring data: [90/100] done…

He stares in fascination as golden armlets materialize in his avatar.

Transferring data: [99/100] done…

He thinks he hears something, but his audio input doesn't detect anything. So he dismisses it.

Data transfer complete!

Avatar has acquired new objects: [AtemArmlet1, AtemArmlet2]

He slowly looks at his two new accessories with a blank expression, tapping them to make sure they were really there. He then looks up and frowns, because based on his research, this probably meant something. Or maybe it was a sign of spite, considering it hurt like—he didn't know, it just really hurt. "This… really doesn't help me."

His armlets glint in reply.