----Disclaimer----The probability of me owning Yu-Gi-Oh!, "Wake Up", and you is pretty much equal to that of an army of Dark Magician Girls taking over the world and turning it into a giant creampuff factory. So needless to say, it will never happen.----

Cookies go to: devil-62, miyako 14, White Fanged Wolf, Shayba, Akiko, lunar-wolf(), and marinaaurora. Thank you so much for your reviews! tosses Jumbo Cookies at everyone, getting both cheers of delight and moans of pain as the cookies hit some people in the face o.o;;

Me: my eyes are dull and blank, and my voice has no emotion whatsoever Thank you....for the reviews....but I've noticed what a horrible story this really is, and I've decided to discontinue it.....and you people are idiots for even considering reading it in the first place. So go away.

Malik: sitting nearby, smirking, his Sennen Rod glowing

Yami Bakura casually strolls in

Yami Bakura: he gives a familiar glance to Malik, but then looks in my direction Mind controlling another authoress? he suggestively looks me up and down

Me: I suddenly snap out of it, my eyes regaining their light, and I slap Malik across the face Malik, you ass! How dare you mind control me! Even Hiei's never pulled that crap! :(

Bakura laughs, obviously very amused, but the blonde Egyptian in front of me just gives me a hateful, frightening glare

Reminder: Please remember that this fic is rated 'R'. This chapter, along with the rest of this fic, will have graphic violence and some things that younger readers might be disturbed by. This chapter is not as bad as the last, but I still advise those who think this is just another innocent CYOA to be careful.


----Previously---- His companion nodded, obviously sharing the same sentiments. "You'll be given a few days to heal, then you'll be expected to work like the rest of us. And don't even let the thought of escape cross your mind, because we will find you, and when we do, you'll wish you were full of holes back in that alley." With that, the two left, leaving you alone.

You gulped, wondering if it would be any safer here than it had been out there.----

CHAPTER 2

For the majority of that morning, all you could do was lay in your bed and rest, the concept of time abandoning you as you slept. There were times when it finally registered in your mind that you had been staring at the ceiling and not even realizing.

Once, as you felt your eyelids slowly slipping closed, you were jerked awake by a loud Tick! sound. You jerked up and awake, yelping in surprise and looking around in practically hysterics, half fearing it was them (Oh shit it's them it's them and their guns). But in fact, it was a clock, ticking with stern disapproval from the opposite wall, the dim light from your ceiling catching its copper frame and making it seem to practically glow. You felt unease creeping up your spine, your pulse and heartbeat quickening and the hairs on your neck standing up, unplaced familiarity seeping through the cracks of your fragile mind..Some unknown time later, you shakily got up and took the damn thing down off the wall, stowing it with fearfully harsh movements into the mothball reeking dresser.

It was still raining, the drops hitting the grimy window like bullet shells, only adding to your pounding headache...thunder boomed occasionally, loud and ominous, as if a warning as to what was to come for you... Now that you thought you about it, this could very well be a kidnapping, no, it's not like you could think of anyone who would bother to try and get you back, so what was this? What did they want with you? Who were these people? More importantly, who were you? You hardly knew anything about yourself, save your name. Who were you? How were you supposed to feel? How were you supposed to act? Who were you? The rain was still pouring outside, and you looked out the window vaguely, muttering almost mutely, "The heavens are crying..."

And what about you? Could you cry? Were you even capable? You vaguely remembered crying when you were running but that was all very hazy, and even then it was merely pain tears. Could you shed a single emotional tear anymore? Nothing better to do, you experimentally squinted your eyes and tried to concentrate hard on something sorrowful. It didn't work. After all, how could you recall anything distressing when you hardly remember anything before yesterday? Your brow furrowed. You couldn't cry. You couldn't feel sad. Aside from this fear, you half-doubted you could feel at all...(Can't shed a lone tear. Are you even human at all?) This thought caused such a great agonizing pressure in your chest that you could only let loose a small yelp before you fell back on the pillows, time and thought dissolving for a few more hours...

When you next came to, there was a loud and irritated knocking at your door. Shakily pushing yourself up on your elbows, you throatily told whomever it was to come in. The door creaked shrilly open and a cloaked, hooded, and very stern-faced woman bustled in, her voice just as grating and lifeless as the two men before. She muttered about it being about time, and then quickly grabbed your wrist and yanked off the now clean tank-top of yours. You made a gasp, animalistic terror and nervous instinct roaring to the top of your thoughts; your eyes growing wide as you instinctively squirmed. The woman just gave you a hard pinch on your good shoulder and set about changing the bandages on your shoulder and leg, pinching or slapping whenever you whimpered or fought her at all. She then left, leaving you sorer than you were to begin with.

This was not pleasant. A sick feeling of dread was settling in your stomach, your skin was getting goosebumps....something was definitely going to happen...something that you could not control. Not the fact that you would be stuck here for who knew how long...something else. Helplessness and trepidation washed over you, your fist on the sheets clenched. Damn it, what was going to happen to you?

You needed something to do...anything, but obviously that wouldn't be happening, as there was nothing in here other than "your" bed and dresser. Nothing to do but sleep and think. (I don't want to think anymore, it's only making things worse) You just wanted something to busy your hands...but for how long? How long until someone came to see you? How long until you healed? What would you do after you healed? How long would you have to stay here?

(Who am I?)

Eventually the rain cleared up, the dark, angry clouds departing like some vanquished yet grudging beast, the rumbles still carrying off for some distance. You passed the time by examining the shape your body was in. Your bad shoulder was bandaged so tightly it was going numb, already scarlet with blood(My blood...), as was your leg. But what intrigued you most, were the rest of the marrs on your body. Large yellow-green bruises dappled your legs; you could have posed as a leopard with the numerous spots. Countless old, graying cut scars criss-crossed your upper arms as if they were a playing board. There were so many other cuts....

(What happened to me?! That blonde one didn't--!)

But, no, all of these were much too old to have been inflicted anytime recently. Had you been here longer than you were told? Even if he had been the one to make you like this, why? Hadn't it been made clear that you were meant to heal? If he didn't, then who did? Had those people who chased you done this to you? If they did, what else did they do? Had you done this to yourself?

Overwhelmed, you stumbled out of bed, hitting your bad leg on the corner in the process, and ran to the door. It was locked. That was it. You began pounding your fists on the rotted door, and screaming in a hoarse voice, "Let me OUT! Let me out of here!! Let me go!!" Your stomach gave a painful heave and you brought your hand to your mouth, temporarily pausing your screams as harsh, cutting coughs ripped through your throat. The room was beginning to swim. Something wet and warm touched your hand, and you brought it away, vision clearing just enough to see a trickle of blood falling from your mouth and splattering on the floor. Something else flickered in that pool of crimson, a reflection that was not your own, only for a moment. Fleetingly stopping your coughing, you brought your head closer to the ground and were able to see, for a second, a flash of a now familiar face. The Nightmare You. The dead you. The dead eyes stared up at you, shrunken head tilted slightly, mouth wide open and writhing with maggots...

Revolted and horrified you roughly shoved yourself away, landing painfully on your bad leg again. The thought of that mouth flashing through your mind, you turned your head and vomited.

----

A few minutes later, when the stern faced woman entered your room, drawn by your wretched screams, you had long since crawled up into a corner, your eyes wide and blank. She re-bandaged you, (What was that look for? You thought to yourself as she gave a strange look of astonishment after catching sight of your wounds), and then once her long stream of foreign curses and a good slap across the face snapped you out of it, you were left alone to scrub up your mess. You were trembly and weak, having had no food for who knew how long and losing whatever you had. Your hands were a pale blotchey hue, and when you caught sight of yourself in an old cracked mirror beside your bed, you couldn't help but wrinkle your nose. You of course, had no memory of ever seeing your reflection (my real not-dead reflection), but surely you looked better than this!

Your hair was frayed and ratted, far paler and unhealthy than even you knew it should have been. Your cheekbones were sunken and your skin ashey and sallow, your eyes deep in your skull, wide and pale as mouse's. Did you always look this horrid, or was it just the stress you had suffered in the past 48 hours?

(The blonde one saw me like this?)

You mentally cursed as you doused your wet rag in the soapy bucket beside you, now looking away from the mirror and glowering at the floor. (Can we say, "mood swings"?) Frowning, you slowly set the rag down, and simply sat there. This was already going well. Your eyes slowly closed, your shoulders slumping with exhaustion. All of a sudden you heard voices...(Voices?! No! Not again!!)

But it wasn't the terrible voices from your nightmare. It was the voice of the stern-faced woman and someone you didn't recognize, outside your door. Your frustration evaporating like steam, you inched to the door and put your ear to it.

"It's so strange, Rishid-sama. Though the girl is more trouble than she's worth, she's healing amazingly. Just a few hours ago her wounds were still wide open and bleeding. When I bandaged her last, they were healed so much it was as though they had been haling for weeks."

(Rishid?) You pressed your ear closer to the wood and strained your hearing, as the next voice was low and soft.

"I see. So she might be actually be..." His voice trailed off for a moment, but then picked up again. "Very well. Get her cleaned up and then notify me so I may speak to her."

"Hai."

There were echoing footsteps as the one called Rishid walked away, and as you saw the doorknob to your room turning you quickly scooted away and tried to pretend that you were still scrubbing. He woman looked down at you. "That's enough, girl, I'll take care of the rest later. Right now you have to get cleaned up to meet Rishid-sama, and you are absolutely wretched-looking."

She instructed you to sit back on the bed, and as she began roughly brushing your hair out with a wet, wooden comb, your thoughts were elsewhere. So, it had already begun.

Me: I'm now getting very scared as Malik stands up and advances on me, his glare losing none of its potency O.O Uh-oh... Human Shield! I quickly snag Shayba, one of my reviewers, and hold her up in front of me

Shayba: looking quite ticked off Put me down, weirdo!

Me: Noooo! You must protect me from him! O.O

Bakura: I doubt he'll have any trouble just getting rid of one of your reviewers and then moving on to you... .

Me: O.O;;

Shayba: O.O;;