A/N: Something I forgot to mention in the last chapter: "Et tu, Brute?" was what Caesar said when his best friend, Brutus, stabbed him on the back. Also, thank you for all the reviews on the first chapter! There were so many! Go right ahead, read, and if you feel like it, review. I encourage critique so don't be afraid to tell me if there's something wrong or if something could be improved.

(Edit: Some rewording. Shortening of a/n. Some unnecessary words removed.)

Shattered Crescent

Part Two

Malik woke up in his hotel room, sweating and breathing heavily after another nightmare. It was dark out but the lights of Domino illuminated the room. Cars drove past the hotel in an endless flow and the occasional truck made the windows shake. Malik had lived most of his life in the countryside but had moved to the city with his family. He had yet to get used to the busy city life.

What was left of his family could no longer live in the middle of nowhere and had no reason to avoid the city, his sister's job forcing them to move. There were more people his age around him now but Malik had found himself unhappy with his current life. He had to do something and coming here had seemed like a good idea. It still did as his goal appeared reachable.

He got up, not wishing to sleep anymore, and walked to the window, a grim look on his face as he gazed at the tall, lit buildings, the huge KC sign shinning in the distance. Today at 5.30 p.m. the second to the last tour around KaibaCorp would start and he would have to be on it. Before that he would have plenty of time to look around the city.

Malik felt his nightshirt clued on his back and decided to take a shower and change. The clock showed three in the morning when he passed it on his way to the bathroom. Maybe he could go out for a bit; it wasn't like he couldn't take care of himself. There were still people out and about even though it was Wednesday. He wouldn't look suspicious.

He got dressed more warmly than the locals deemed necessary at this time of the year and headed out, making sure that he had the keycard for the room with him before locking up.

The place was filled to the brim with people Bakura didn't care to know but who he socialized with. His wine tasted funny so someone must have spiked it. See if he ever asked these people to get him anything again. Some poor guy must have fallen victim to alcohol as he was reciting a bad poem, his voice slurring so Bakura couldn't tell what it was about. As if he could hear anything over the loud, ill-mannered mob. Something about flowers.

Bakura decided to pour his drink down some random person's shirt and go mock the drunken poet. The man with wine down his shirt turned and there was a metallic flash. Bakura was faster, pressing his switchblade on the guy's crotch with just enough force to break the fabric.

"Drop that knife or never have children," Bakura told, grinning as the other's expression went from anger to fear, licking his canine. The knife hit the floor with a clank and he kicked it away, removing his weapon and starting to walk towards the exit, not feeling like staying anymore. He needed some fresh air, and maybe he could get some painting done tonight.

Bakura walked down the empty street that would take him home. Tonight there would be no escapades as Friday was nearing and he had a lot to do. He had to get most of his works down to the gallery. It had been put off until the last minute but "last minute" was on him and today had gone to waste.

He looked up to see the sky lit up by the city lights. No starts in sight. The starless sky distracted him enough to make him bump into someone. 'Someone' jumped back and they both put a hand in their pocket, Bakura fiddling with his blade. He eyed the other, measuring him up and the stranger seemed to mimic his actions. There could have been a flash of something unnaturally cold and murderous behind those eyes but Bakura decided that it was just the light playing tricks on him. Unnerving, the light.

The man wasn't from around there, skin tone too dark for Japanese. Then there were strange colored eyes and hair that didn't match the skin tone. The foreigner looked at him with a wary eye, wearing way too much clothing for such a warm night.

Bakura smirked and pulled his hand out of his pocket, his shoulders relaxing. "I don't want to start anything, just watch where you're going next time." He wondered of this guy understood Japanese and was about to try something else when the other answered.

"You bumped into me. You watch." The accent was weird but the words were understandable.

"Whatever. It's not wise to walk around here alone. You should be at home, kid." They were about the same age but that didn't stop him.

"Humph, same goes for you, old man. I'm old enough to decide what I do and when on my own." The foreigner smirked, removing his hand from his pocket. He let his shoulders fall but remained tense. The slight arrogant air coming from him made Bakura's eye switch.

Bakura shrugged the annoyance off. "Perhaps. I was heading home anyway so if you excuse Me…" He walked past the other, keeping an eye on him as he did so. Continuing his journey home, Bakura didn't care what the stranger was doing in the middle of the night. As long as it didn't concern him, it none of his business.

As soon as he got home, he toed off his shoes and went to the main room, the only room besides the kitchen, and dug out his brushes and paint. The white canvas glared at him and mocked his lack of inspiration. The spout of inspiration had passed and left emptiness on its wake. Nothing came to him, not even when he dug out an unfinished piece.

Bakura slumped on his two person couch, rubbing his temples. He needed a source of inspiration! Turning on the TV, he hoped to see something of interest but gave up. The TV only served to give him a headache. Maybe he wasn't miserable or hopelessly in love enough to produce art. Bakura laughed at the thought but it triggered something inside his brain. He got up to take on the white canvas.

Ryou waved at his friends and colleagues after entering a small diner where they had agreed to have lunch together. Honda was already sitting down so Ryou guessed he was running late.

"Hi guys, sorry I took so long." Ryou took a seat at the big round table, looking for a free menu.

"What kept you?" Honda asked from his right, handing him a list no one was using.

Ryou shrugged. "Stuff, I lost track of time." The world got blocked out a lot with him. Deep thought only bothered him when it made him late or caused him to space out in a middle of a conversation.

"You're turning into a workaholic." Honda shook his head, smiling. "I heard getting a life helps for that."

"For your information," Ryou huffed, not angry but having heard the "get a life" comment plenty of times. He had a life; it just included work, books and quiet weekends in his apartment. "I have plans for this weekend that don't involve work."

Honda looked skeptical. "Like what?"

"I'm going to go see art by some Mikazuki Bakura," he informed, sparking a conversation.

"Hey, my wife's going there, too," a man spoke from the other side of the table.

"So is my girlfriend," told the guy sitting on Ryou's left.

"See, you're going somewhere only women are going," Honda pointed out. "You should come have some beer with me instead."

"Honda you know I don't drink. I don't even like beer," Ryou told while someone else piped up.

"I heard the women aren't really going there for the art if you know what I mean."

"…I think I'm going with my wife after all…" muttered the man sitting on the opposite side. He was ignored.

Ryou turned curiously towards the speaker. "Why are they going then?" Wasn't the point of going to an art exhibition to see, and appreciate, the art?

"Oh they're going for the artist, Mikazuki or what you said his name was." He took a sip of his water. "He's a looker, though some say he's sort of weird."

"I see…" Ryou wondered if the artist really was weird or was that comment only there to protect the men's egos.

The conversation went on from that, topics varying, as they got their food. Someone showed them a picture of his new born son. Ryou watched silently and ate, learning to know the ones he hadn't before. Everyone has hopes and dreams, goals and values that eventually come up in an open conversation. Ryou was more inclined towards listening than talking but he too commented occasionally, opting for smiling and nodding most of the time. Someone had once told him that he smiled too much. Maybe he did but why frown when he could smile?

The lunch hour ended and they separated. They weren't friends outside of work but it was nice to spend time together. Ryou felt lonely sometimes even though he had Honda and his workmates. He didn't have anyone special yet because it was difficult for him to meet anyone since he didn't go out much. He had dated before but not much since university. It didn't seem all that important to him as he was so busy with work. There was the social pressure, though, since some people his age were already married with children. In his case, he and his partner would be physically unable to produce children.

Ryou shook his thoughts away for the time being when he reached the police station. No use mulling over things like that, he had work to do.

Seto put his cell phone away after his brief talk with one of his guards. Someone had disappeared from a tour and the security had thought it could be a potential risk. People got lost all the time and he was always informed about it as if everyone was an assassin. Assassins didn't go on tours, according to former experience. The missing would be found and returned to their right location though, and none of them had been after his life. He had told his security to tighten it up during the tours but this wasn't what he had meant.

He was sure he had people after his life so maybe the guards weren't being entirely unreasonable. So far no one had even come close to being a threat with all the top notch security systems in the KC building and in the mansion. The only person who had ever broken into his home happened to be that no good bastard of a friend, Mikazuki, and that had been for "fun". The benefit of having Mikazuki as a friend was that at least he wouldn't have anyone skilled after his life.

Seto snorted and decided to stop thinking about anything but the things that needed to be done. His office doors were at the end of the hallway he was walking down and he couldn't wait to get there, lock the door and pull an all-nighter. Sleeping was for lazy people.

"If you drop that, you'll die."

No one dropped any paintings after Bakura arrived to observe the scene. He wanted to make sure that everything would be ready for Friday night and that none of his precious paintings were harmed. As he looked around, he didn't spot anything wrong until he turned and saw a person hang his work on the wall.

It was the wrong way around.

Bakura strode across the room and tapped the misfortunate guy on the shoulder, making the young man turn around.

"Hello, I couldn't help noticing how you hung My baby upside down. Would you like to hang upside down?"

The other gulped and rubbed the back of his head, letting out an awkward laugh. "Sorry, I thought it looked better this way."

"Did you now?" A fake pleasant smile twisted Bakura's face, looking horribly off on his features. He brought his arm around the other's shoulders and pulled him close. "That's why I'm the artist and you're the unemployed construction site worker," he told, tone sugary sweet but the red tint of his brown eyes flashed, the change even more brought out by the lights of the room. The fake smile disappeared and he hissed, "Now turn it around."

"Y-yes sir, right away."

Bakura smirked. "Good boy." He pinched the boy's cheek before letting go and walking away to check up on something else that caught his eye. He lifted a painting up from the floor and hung it up, leaving it crooked without even realizing it.

The white walls were a disgrace but Bakura hadn't been able to persuade the owners of the place to let him do anything about it. He had wanted to paint them with some other color as all the white made his eyes bleed, figuratively speaking of course.

Done with mentally complaining about the walls once again, Bakura's eyes widened when he saw a worker picking his nose. "Get that finger out of your nose before I shove it up your ass! Don't you dare touch My paintings with that hand!" Bakura growled and the poor soul paled and quickly removed his finger from the general facility of his nose.

"Mr. Mikazuki," a suit clad woman spoke, walking across the room, heals clicking against the floor. She was the one Kaiba hired, Bakura guessed, not sure why was she here. As if he wasn't capable of organizing this on his own. "I understand that you're passionate about your work but please refrain from threatening the hired hands."

Bakura raised an eyebrow at her after sending one last glare towards the nose picker. "Even if those 'hired hands' had half of their hand up something that's supposed to be used for breathing?"

She smiled calmly. "It was only a finger, Mr. Mikazuki."

Bakura ignored her and went on his merry way, off to turn another painting right side up. Damn incompetence, made him want to- Actually, the nose picker seemed strong enough to put up a nice fight… Hello new inspiration!

Ryou leaned over a desk he had spread all the photographs of the latest crime scene on. He had just gotten them after everyone else on the team had looked them through and it was getting late. It was nothing new to him, staying in late, and it didn't bother him. Some days, he could stay at home and work but he preferred not to. It was lonely at home. Ryou had thought about getting a pet but it didn't seem like such a great idea because he was always working.

Back to the case at hand, he had been told that there were a lot of signs of a fight this time. Broken furniture, even broken bones, and then there was that punch mark on the victim's left cheek. There was nothing weird about a bruise gotten in a fight but near the middle of the mark there was a shape pressed on the cheek.

No one was sure where it had come from but they suspected that the attacker had been wearing a ring. The way the victim was killed was the same but no missing limbs this time. There was always the possibility that it wasn't the same person since murderers with a trademark way of killing tended to gain impersonators, but the mark was still the best clue they had so far.

Ryou tore his eyes away from the photos. The victim had been younger than the rest, a young man who had just reached adulthood. He had had his whole life ahead of him but now there was only the hysteric, grieving girlfriend with an engagement ring.

He gathered up the pictures, piling them up neatly and placing the pile in the middle of the otherwise empty desk. He couldn't let this get to him. "Get a grip, Ryou."

Ryou sat down and leaned his head on his hand, staring at the picture pile. The victims were ambushed and killed without a fuss so why had there been a fight this time? Did the murderer screw up? Ryou leaned back and shook his head. This one made no mistakes; he must have had a reason for wanting to fight.

Ryou frowned. "The thrill of the kill, having your victim struggle but eventually…" he muttered. No missing limbs or body parts, no gain besides the amusement factor… Ryou sat up. The killer must have known that this one could put up a fight somehow.

"You still here?"

Ryou jumped in his seat and snapped his head around to see Honda. He relaxed visibly and smiled, all traces of his thoughtful frown gone. "Don't scare me like that. I'm leaving in a few minutes," but only for the sake of not making Honda worry; he could always work more at home. There were things he needed to write down so he wouldn't forget and-

"Bakura, I started calling for you since I entered the room, I didn't exactly sneak up on you, and you don't look like you're going anywhere."

Ryou got up, pushing his thoughts aside for a second, and packed his things without a word, walking out once done, deep in thought again. He didn't see Honda shake his head before following but the gesture was there and behind the amusement, there was deep worry.

A sharp edge of the knife was pressed against the young man's throat and he finally stopped struggling. Mad grin lit the attacker's face, a trace of blood forming under the knife as the skin broke.

"Please… don't."

The other man laughed at the choked out plea, twisting the arm in his grip in a more painful angle. A strangled cry was let out, sparking a new sadistic chuckle.

"No use pleading. Hm, nice engagement ring you have there." The comment seemed random and out of context but that didn't matter to either of them.

"We're getting married next month… please…"

The grin that had never faded became more twisted, displaying the insane glee of the one who wore it. "Aw, too bad."

The other looked like he was going to yell but the sound never left his mouth as blood spit out, the knife having slit through the tender flesh. The attacker let go and the lifeless body hit the floor of the small student apartment.

Bakura hummed as he let the final drops of blood drip from the sliced open arm before stuffing the arm into a meat grinder.

The local stray dogs were always hungry.

He threw the packed blood in to the freezer, checking that he still had plenty to spare. There wasn't much but it would do for now; he needed to sleep.

Light of dawn shone through the window when he walked into the main room. A grim look passed his face before he pulled the black curtains, leaving the apartment in darkness again. It was better that way.

Bakura tossed a pile of clothes off the mattress located in the corner of the living space. He wondered if they were dirty or clean before kneeling and letting himself fall on the mattress, narrowly missing the wall. His head had hit the wall a couple of times. Perhaps he had gotten brain damage; that would sure explain a lot.

Sleep didn't come right away and he tossed and turned, trying to find a comfortable position and to shut off his mind. The things he did for the sake of his art hardly gave him nightmares or caused him to lose sleep. They weren't nightmare material; people died all the time anyway. He hoped they gave nightmares to someone else, grinning at the thought.

The grin was wiped away when he heard the couple living down stairs fight over something again. Bakura could hear them almost every day and thought that with all the things they broke while fighting, they didn't have any objects left smaller than the couch. No wonder he wasn't in a relationship; it sounded painful. He didn't fear pain but it wasn't like there was anyone even half interesting out there who could grab his attention and hold it longer than one night. Needless to say, his weren't the most meaningful of relationships.