CHAPTER 1: Violence is a criminal offence.

Yami unzipped the fly on his tight leather hipsters, wishing, not for the first time, that he had chosen more comfortable clothes to be caught and captured in. Although, they were looking a little worse for wear now; they had tears up and down his legs and thighs, and his shirt was beyond filthy. He wondered vaguely, as he huddled in the corner of his cell, how long he'd been in that god-foresaken cess-pool? Not that it mattered; any time was far too long, and he held little hope of being released in the near future.

4 months after the war began, the enemy had invaded Japan. And when they'd come to take them to a 'camp'... Well, Yami hadn't reacted too well. For a man so slight he was strong, and had taken down about six soldiers before they'd subdued him. Consequently, he had ended up here; alone in a dank cell, pissing on the wall next to his cot. He laughed bitterly. Who'd have thought it of Egypt's greatest ever Pharaoh? One who'd survived even death was now caged like an animal, helpless to protect those who needed him.

He hoped Yugi was coping. When they'd taken Yami in, Yugi had been nowhere in sight. Yami hoped he'd escaped, but he rather suspected he was in a camp. Of course, Yugi was grown up, and could undoubtedly take care of himself, Yami reminded himself. But still, it unsettled him, not knowing if his hikari was suffering. Their mind-link, which had faded slightly when Yami had been granted his own body, was far too weak to communicate through. He was sick with worry for the boy he'd sworn to protect, those many years ago.

But oddly enough, the idea Yugi was in danger, and the desire to find and save him, was all that kept Yami sane in the monotony of his prison cell. Day in, day out, the same cot, the same moss on the wall, the same rationed rice. He couldn't talk to the guards; they were foreigners, and likely to beat you if you caused a commotion, talked, or breathed too loud. As Yami had discovered the hard way - and he still had the scars to prove it.

The sound of sobbing rang through the prison, sending shivers down his spine. It was horrible, what months of imprisonment did to one. Some of the prisoners lost the will to eat, to breathe, to live. The prison guard would find them dead one day, having starved themselves to death. Another casualty in a senseless war for power. Another statistic to be analysed in a high school history lesson, years after. Another rotting corpse to feed the worms...

The sobs grew louder, eventually gaining the attention of the guard. Yami leant against the cool, steel bars, straining to see what would happen. He wished he hadn't. The guard beat the broken man with the butt of his rifle; again, and again, until he slipped against the cell wall, a heap of blubbering, bloody mass. There was a cakle of laughter. Yami glared at the guard as he strode past, swinging his gun.

Unfortunately, the warden noticed, and he doubled back past the Pharaoh's cell. He grasped a handful of tri-coloured hair, and pulled Yami hard against the bars. He snarled something at him which Yami could not understand, and spat in his face. Yami knew better than to retaliate. He really did. But the smug look on that cowards face made his blood boil...

He brought a knee up through the iron bars, catching the guard exactly where he'd wanted too. What sort of weak, cowardly human being beat an unarmed p.o.w. like that? Sick bastard. Yami would make sure that git got everything he deserved. He aimed another kick through the bars, his lean figure coming in handy for once.

But the guard was faster this time, and dodged it. His dignity was hurt, though, and it looked as though Yami was going to suffer the consequences. The warden unlocked the cell door, lifting his gun, preparing to strike. Yami backed towards the wall, then stopped. He would not show fear - he would not give the bastard the pleasure of seeing him squirm. He glared defensively into the cold, green eyes of the guard.

The first blow came hard and fast, narrowly missing his head, catching him on the shoulder. A sharp pain shot through his arm, but he wouldn't flinch. Angered, the guard struck again, and Yami fell, head throbbing. He could feel blood rushing through his temple, the impact already causing a bruise. The warden cursed him, kicking him in the stomach, and then in the chest, each blow harder and with more momentum. He wheezed, but would not cry out. He would not show weakness.

After a final kick of steel-capped boots, the guard lost interest, and, spitting on him once more, he retired to his station. Breathing heavily, Yami waited until the sound of footsteps stopped, before clambering painfully onto his cot. He curled up, nursing his bruising chest and stomach, shivering with cold and pain. One day soon, he would get out. He would find Yugi. He wouldn't sit around waiting for the goverments to declare peace, for all the "Oh, sorry for blowing the shit out of your country," crap. He would fight. And pity anyone who got in his way.

One day. The words echoed through his mind as he drifted into disturbed dreams. People were crying, crying all around. The stench of dried blood hung in the dusty air. "Yugi!" he called into the mourning silence. He was alone, alone in the misery and the cold. He had to save his hikari, but how could he save Yugi when he was the one in need? How could he save him when he was bruised and beaten, and alone... always alone...

There was a crash, and it took a moment for Yami to realise it had come from his cell door, rather than his dream. Voices were coming from just outside it, speaking in Japanese for once. Yami wiped the tears collecting in his eyelashes, and cocked an ear, pretending to be asleep.

"There are no other cells! Just shove him in with someone. Or you could shoot him..." There was a harsh burst of laughter. "Your choice."

"But the general said..."

"Screw the general! What does he care? Just gives orders from his office, drinking champagne and fucking his bitches. Doesn't have anything to do with the war. We're the ones doing his dirty work."

There was a pause, in which the other man seemed to come to a decision. "Allright. You!" he barked, obviously to another prisoner. "Get in there! And no fucking us around, or..." A rifle shot rang through the steel-grey corridor, echoing in the grave silence. The prison guards laughed mercilessly once more.

There was a thud, and the familiar clang of his cell door closing. Yami opened his eyes. There was someone there, huddled in the corner, shivering like mad. He checked for the guards, but they seemed to have left. Creeping closer, he saw it was a man, about 23 years old. He was deathly white, and his hair was tangled and covering his face. He had the look of a fit man who'd suddenly lost a lot of weight. Yami kneeled beside him, and still panting from his injuries, gingerely drew back the curtain of locks. He peered into the face of his new cell mate curiously.

A flicker of recognition passed in red ruby eyes, and he stumbled backwards, gasping. "You!"