Another chapter! Again, I don't own the characters here. I'm just…borrowing them. Yesss. I'll give them back. I promise. :shifty look: And now back to our feature presentation.

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Captain Sumeragi was staring with furrowed brow at the new stack of papers on his desk. The latest information from his team of investigators had not helped nearly as much as he had hoped it would.

How lucky could you get? A serial killer strikes, and the victim survives. Shizuka Jounouchi saw the killer face to face but had only been able to provide frustratingly superficial details about her attacker – a youngish man, light hair… Nothing groundbreaking. Unfortunately, Sumeragi had superiors breathing down his neck, and he knew they would be less than pleased to hear how little the case had progressed.

With caffeine-powered resolve, Sumeragi leaned forward in his chair to grab the first manila folder in reach. Suspect number one of, well, hundreds… That was a depressing thought. He sighed and shook his head.

Suspect one, then. Masa "Blade" Tanaka… A glance at the photo provided showed a young gangster with longishi bleach-blond hair. Three priors – one of them being a knife fight in a bar two years ago. Another brush with the law – this time armed robbery – also involving a knife. But something in his gut told Sumeragi that while this kid was a delinquent with a violent streak, he was probably not the guy they were after. There was no subtlety, no cunning to his crimes. The knife fight and the armed robbery were too obvious, too artless. Sumeragi continued to the next folder.

The information on the next suspect was vague, at best, but something in the descriptions made Sumeragi read closely and carefully.

Bakura Ryou. Arrested only once for possession of a weapon on school grounds, but released in short order; apparently the boy had been adamant that the weapon – a wicked, stainless steel blade – was not his. The boy had had to change schools anyway; evidently he had changed schools several times, in fact. The captain rubbed his chin thoughtfully. No other crimes had been connected to the boy, although the report from a school psychologist made him pause. Apparently the boy was rather introverted most of the time, but could suffer from "sudden and violent mood swings, perhaps akin to dissociative identity disorder."

Multiple personalities? Could you have an alternate, serial-killer type personality and not know about it?

Sumeragi fiddled with a pencil on his desk thoughtfully. He really didn't know too much about psychology. The only guy he had met who had a serious psychological disorder was a grade-A kleptomaniac. That had been an interesting arrest. The seemingly normal, middle-aged man was stealing items large and small by color; when they searched his house they found that each room was devoted to a different hue – a room full of only blue items, a room draped in green, a bathroom totally and utterly white. What was it they said? Obsessive-something or other. Kleptomaniac. Fuckin' nuts, is what it was.

So maybe this idea of a killer alter-ego wasn't out of the question. Maybe. He'd have to float the idea past the department's psychologist, maybe even some of the other guys on the force. It was worth a shot.

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Friday, 7:52 p.m.

Rishid returned home exhausted. He had spent three frustrating days conducting interviews, talking to what seemed like countless numbers of people, some of who were less than willing to cooperate with the police. There was also the additional warding-off to be done – people calling in with what they thought could be useful information ("My neighbor has been acting strangely…"), none of which was actually helpful.

He sighed and closed the book in front of him. Perhaps lying down on the couch to read had been a bad idea – he felt as though he was going to fall asleep any minute here in the living room.

He closed his eyes briefly. I'll just sit here and…think. Yes. I'm thinking. Not sleeping. But his thoughts on the case soon gave way to a sort of half-dream, half-memory, and the book now rested on his chest as he began to nod off.

In his dream, Rishid was, as always, at Malik's side.

"What's this one say, Rishid?"

Rishid glanced down at the hieroglyph his brother was pointing to. "It means 'to wait.'" He took the boy's pen from him and recopied the glyph, writing the Arabic beside it.

"Oh." Malik was quiet for a minute as he returned to the text he was reading. "What's this?"

Rishid looked up again to the spot his brother was indicating. "That means 'burden.'" He repeated the process with the pen: hieroglyph, Arabic.

"Thanks. I knew that. I think." Malik bent his head over the book again. After another minute had passed, he reached over to tug on Rishid's robe. "What about this one?"

Rishid sighed. "Malik-sama, if you are to learn your lesson thoroughly it would be best if you read the scripture, not me."

Malik scowled. "I do know the lesson. I'm just double-checking."

"Yes, Malik-sama."

Silence fell again, the oil lamp burning steadily in the small room. It wasn't long, though, before Malik spoke again. This time, however, his voice sounded very small. "Rishid…"

The young man glanced down at his small charge and noticed with a start that the boy looked as though he were about to cry. "Malik-sama!" He bent down, lightly touching a shoulder rigid with unshed tears. "What's wrong?"

Malik fixed his gaze on the text in front of him as he spoke. "I don't…I don't want…"

"Yes?"

Rishid started involuntarily as Malik suddenly wrapped his arms around him, clinging to him for protection. "I'm scared, Rishid…I don't want to go through the ceremony…" The boy's voice became inaudible, muffled by Rishid's tunic.

It hurt Rishid's heart to see Malik so frightened. He placed a hand on the blond head, choosing his next words carefully. "Malik-sama…the initiation ceremony is a sacred duty…" He paused. The words sounded hollow, even to him. He tried again. "It is the duty of this clan to protect the memories of the Pharaoh…"

"But I don't want—"

"Malik-sama."

Malik ignored him, choosing instead to strike his fists helplessly against Rishid's chest. Rishid withstood the blows until Malik's strength ebbed. When he spoke again, it was quietly but with conviction. "Malik-sama, I will help you to prepare in whatever way I can. I swear it."

Malik didn't respond right away. When he did, his voice was flat. "I don't want to…but…," here he took an unsteady breath, "it says: 'And to he who refuses this burden, may he be cast out. May the Gods tear his mind asunder, may the jackals rend his flesh to bits. As it is written, so may he be judged.' Rishid…people die from the blood ceremony. And if I refuse, I'm as good as dead. I…I'm going to die. Either way, I'm going to die."

Rishid looked at the open book on the table, alarmed by Malik's words. And to those who refuse this burden… "You will not die, Malik-sama." He held the boy in his arms, trying to calm him. "You will not die."

It was true. The boy would survive the initiation. He would not die, but something else would be born…

The sudden slam of the front door made Rishid jump, jerking his from the memory. Malik was home.

"Rishid?"

He sat up slightly. "In the living room."

Malik appeared in the doorway. "Hey. Is there still food?"

"In the fridge." Rishid sat up fully now, laying the book aside on a table. "We missed you at dinner," he said.

"Sorry," Malik said, looking contrite. "I stayed late at the library. Doing research," he added.

Rishid raised an eyebrow at that.

"It's true! I really was!" Malik looked at him earnestly. "Call the library! Check the security tapes!"

They have security cameras in libraries? I suppose so… He waved a hand dismissively. "No, no. I trust you. Just make sure you call next time if you're going to be—"

"—going to be home later than expected," Malik finished. "I know, I know. I forgot. Hey," he said, changing the subject, "how's the case going?"

Rishid shrugged. "It's going. I can't really give you any details, you know."

Malik nodded. "I know. You can't say anything." He sighed and started to head for the kitchen. "Rishid," he said, pausing at the doorway, "can you, like, blink anything?"

"What?"

"I'll ask you a yes or no question, and then you blink once if the answer is no, and twice if the answer is yes, OK? First question: Do you have any suspects?"

Rishid stood up wearily. "Go get something to eat, Malik."

Malik ducked out of the doorway, laughing.

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Voila! Sorry the chapter is so short – more on the way soon, I promise.

Special thanks to PharaonicWolf, UsuakariTOT, and Kotori-chan for their reviews. It's always wonderful to have people comment on the poor scribbling of this writer! Reviews keep my ego warm and fed ; ) I hope you enjoy the fic as it continues!