"Hikaru" was all that Sai said for some time and then "I am sorry."

The ghost lowered his eyes unable to look at the abused figure of his friend.

A soft laugh could be heard and then Hikaru replied with a hoarse voice so unlike his own:" You don't have to. It's all my fault. My fault for following Jamison in this bar, my fault for thinking that it would be over after what he did to Akira and me. It's my fault for not fighting him more than I did." He paused for a moment as if fighting with himself. "He might have killed me by now if I did, but I was just too scared to die."

Hikaru seemed to come to a conclusion. Determination showed in his eyes. "Not anymore. I am ready now, Sai, I can't take this any longer; I won't take this any longer."

Sai knew how Hikaru felt, but he could not allow him to give up; like he had done so many years ago. "There are still people waiting for you, people who love you and care for you. I won't allow you to give up now; I came to help you to get out of here."

Hikaru smiled weakly at Sai. That was all the strength he could muster for now.

Some time passed before Hikaru could speak again. " Did you forget about it, Sai? You are a ghost. There is nothing that you can do. You can't even lift a Go stone."

The smile faded again and Hikaru lowered his eyes to the stone ground. "Besides, I don't want Akira to see me like this."

There was nothing more to be said.

Instead of words, Sai showed Hikaru what he meant. He reached down to the broken figure on the ground and touched Hikaru's hand. Slowly he moved his touch up along the arm towards his chest and without any forewarning, slipped his fingers deep into Hikaru's body until they reached his heart.

Light began emanating from the ghost but then slowly, bit by bit, faded away, as if Sai's soul was slowly entering Hikaru's heart.

Surprised the boy looked up only to encounter that sad smile that he knew so well from their last time together.

"I will give you everything to get you out of here. Even myself," Sai answered at last.

Then he was gone.

Hikaru had thought that he had spent all his tears during his time here but suddenly felt them flowing over his face, making a path through the dirt and sweat.

After some time they finally stopped. Somehow he felt better, as if crying had eased part of his pain and desperation. Now he felt calm but empty, like a hollow vessel. He did not know what would come but he would be able to react.

Slowly he climbed to his feet, realizing that he could move again. He was clad in a lightweight garment now. It was completely white and looked a little like the one Sai had worn. And maybe a little like the one that Samurai had worn when committing seppuku.

He wasn't surprised to find his prison door open and that no guard was to be seen anywhere.

Slowly, not yet trusting his new found strength, he walked toward a staircase that lead up to the floor above. He did not care where he was going; it was more like there was nothing else to do but climb the stairs ahead of him. It felt as if Sai was leading him out of here, with Hikaru being only a spectator in his own body.

The stairs dead ended in what looked like a solid stone wall. Without hesitation, Hikaru pressed the spot that opened the hidden door. He didn't question why he knew how to open the door. He didn't care.

Bright light blinded but after a moment's adjustment he discovered that he was standing in a corridor that could have been taken from an ancient European castle, if not for the soft carpet and the modern lightning.

He walked silently down the hall towards the far end, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the thick carpeting. He passed one closed door after another, not stopping until he came to a room whose door stood partially open.

He looked inside.

Hikaru could see part of a desk and on it a dark, shiny thing.

It was a gun.

Opening the door completely he entered the room and walked to the desk, reaching out to take the gun. Suddenly a wave of pain overcame him. He could hear Sai yelling in his mind, but he could not discern the words.

Despite the pain he took the weapon in his hand and stroked it gently, like someone would stroke their car after cleaning it on a Sunday morning.

He sat down in the chair at the desk. And waited.