A silent gasp parted Tea's lips. Had he just said what she thought he had? But there was no mistaking the lust in his eyes, or the predatory gleam of his smile. Her eyes widened and she stumbled backwards. The wall pressed behind her, trapping her. Her eyes darted to the door, but it was closed and Bakura was between her and it.

He stepped toward her, closing the space between them. "Come now," he cajoled. "You're not going to make me angry again, are you?"

Tea closed her eyes. She could still feel the leathery coils of the snake wrapped around her, pulling tight… Bakura was a cruel man. Who was to say what he was capable of when pushed?

She opened her eyes. Smiling, Bakura caressed her cheek. "I knew you would be a good girl," he said. "You always are, aren't you?"

Tea scowled, but Bakura was unperturbed. He leaned in and captured her lips, lightly tasting her. Tea stiffened. Bakura drew back, laughing. "What's wrong, my sweet? You liked my kisses well enough before." He pulled a strand of her hair out from her ear and played with it, rubbing his fingers over it. "It's a powerful thing isn't it?" he mused. "Control."

"What?"

He let the strand of hair fall from his fingers. "Before, when I was tied up, you thought you were in control. It emboldened you, intoxicated you. You did things you'd never have even considered in other circumstances." His eyes flickered. "And you enjoyed them." Tea looked away. "But now the tables have turned and I'm the one with the control." He reached for her again and pressed another kiss to her lips. "The same touch," he whispered against her skin as he pulled away. "The same act. But without the control, everything is different."

His eyes met hers. "Power," he said. "Once you've had a taste, it changes everything." He smiled. "Really, we're not so different, you and I."

"We're nothing alike," Tea said flatly. "Everyone wants control over their life. That's not some kind of deep revelation." She crossed her arms. "It's all about what you do with the power you have. That's what separates people like you from people like me."

Bakura chuckled. "People like you?" he echoed mockingly. "You white-frocked goody-two-shoes beaming rays of self-righteousness?" He shook his head. "The only difference between people like you and people like me is that I have power and you do not. Weak and strong, not right and wrong." He leaned in so close that the scent of his skin filled Tea's lungs. "Allow me to demonstrate."

"No!" The word squeaked out. Bakura frowned, drawing back only fractionally. "I mean," Tea tried again in a more normal sounding voice, "this is exactly an example of why your theory doesn't work."

Bakura cocked an eyebrow. "Care to explain?"

Tea took a deep breath. "If our positions were reversed—"

"We can try that later," Bakura said with a lascivious grin.

Tea ignored him. "If our positions were reversed," she repeated, "I would never do to you what you are doing to me."

Bakura considered this. "Not the exact same thing, no," he allowed, "but you would seek your pleasure, however you found it. Mine happens to be found in you." He started to lean in again.

"No," protested Tea again. "Sure, I might do whatever I wanted, but not if it hurt people. I would never use power to manipulate others or to force them into things against their will."

"Really? And what about your friend Yugi?"

Tea froze. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do. You smile at him, you flirt with him, you use your beauty and your feminine charms. He succumbs, and he is yours. But do you really want him? You don't know. There are others—the Pharaoh inside of him, for one—so you string him along, while promising him nothing, while casting your lures at others. You keep them all dangling on a string—Yugi, the Pharaoh, my poor little vessel, others too, perhaps—all waiting for you to make your choice. Isn't that manipulation?" He smirked. "And what will happen when you make your choice and discard the others like last year's fashions? Don't you think they'll be hurt? Don't you think little Ryou's heart isn't broken every time he sees you making eyes at the Pharaoh?"

"I care about Ryou," Tea protested feebly.

"And you care about Yugi, and the Pharaoh too. Don't you?" His words dripped mockery. "You care about them so much that you'll twist and bruise their pathetic hearts just so you can feel like you matter in this world."

Tea shuddered. His words pierced her like daggers. Hadn't Ryou said much the same thing to her last night? She could still remember the look in his eyes as he'd flung those words at her. "You've got enough boy trouble with one possessed teenager. Two would just be nuts." Bakura was right. She had hurt him. Yet he still kept coming back to her. Was that because he cared about her? Or because she was manipulating him, just like Bakura claimed.

Watching the emotions play over her face, Bakura chuckled. "Don't feel so bad," he murmured as he put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her against him. "It's only what anyone else would have done if they could. It's like I told you; there are no good people, only weak people."

"You're wrong," she said. She tried to pull away, but his strong arms held her fast.

"Oh, it's not merely my opinion. It's scientific fact. They've done studies on it. Frankly, I'm surprised a little bookworm like you hasn't heard about them. What kind of school is this?"

"What kind of studies?" Tea questioned.

"Ever hear of the Stanford Prison Experiment?" Bakura smiled. "Take twenty-four of your 'nice, normal people' and divide them into prisoner and prison guard and watch the abuses begin. It's a pity the guards weren't permitted to use physical violence. Not that it stopped them from attacking the prisoners with fire extinguishers—or from being quite creative with psychological violence, for a bunch of beginners. Men after my own heart, really."

"One study doesn't prove anything," Tea protested, but she shuddered. She had read about the Stanford experiment and she knew that Bakura wasn't embroidering any of the facts.

Bakura's lips brushed over her jaw. "Want to make a 'person like me'? Give him power and no one to stop him."

"Is that all there is to your story?" Tea asked. "Someone gave you power and no one stood in your way?"

Bakura scowled. "No one gave me my power," he said. "I took it. That's what strong people do. They make themselves into the people they want to be."

Tea looked up at him. "Then is this really who you wanted to be?"

His eyes drifted over her and his fingers tightened on her waist. "Right now, I'm exactly who I want to be," he said, and a sardonic grin twisted his mouth. "Your master."

Tea's jaw tightened. "You keep calling yourself that, but it won't make it true." She jerked away from him.

A storm cloud descended over his features. Before Tea had a chance to react, Bakura slammed her against the wall, pinning her with his weight. "How quickly we forget." His icy fingers gripped her chin. "You are mine." His mouth descended on hers in a hard, searing, possessive kiss. He lifted his head. "Mine to do with as I please."

"Never," Tea whispered, though her whole body trembled beneath his.

Dark fury settled over his features, rendering his visage demonic. "We'll see about that."

Far above the welling blackness, the gunmetal sky shimmered and Ryou knew there was light behind it. The light of reality, the world beyond this dark cocoon, the world that he had to return to. The light, however dim and distant it was, gave him hope. It was possible to break through. It had to be.

The sea of shadows around him tossed, purpura frothing at the tips of its waves. He stretched his arms towards the sky. There were no magic passwords, no spells, no secret doors, none that Ryou knew of, anyway. There was no key to turn, no lock to pick. There was just will, pure, unadulterated will. And his had never been strong.

He lifted his face and a wordless cry burst from the depths of his being. The shadows shuddered and the sky shook, growing more translucent, like a widow's thick veil. Ryou could almost peer through it the outside world. Almost. For now, all he could see was lighter shades of grey. Endless, endless grey.

He dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand and sucked in a gasp. Neither nails nor palm were truly corporeal, but the illusion of pain was still bracing. He clung to it, letting it feed his determination. He had to be stronger if he was going to force his way out of this holding cell. For Tea's sake, he would have to make himself stronger.