Bakura walked through the doors, stuck his hand in his pockets and let the doors close behind him. It was an old American theatre (not like the cinema's these days so the lobby and ticket booth were outside.) Only now was Bakura paying the slightest form of attention. He was interested. He walked down the dimly-lit arch, down to the forth row from the entrance. There was another 12 to the front stage.

Hell of a throw.. The voice said, almost to itself.
Bakura was in the second seat from where he was standing now. Ryou was right next to him, then and now… Then he was there physically. Now, he's only there emotionally. And only now Bakura cared.

I'm not the only dark thing, am I? I'm not so alone, everyone can be like me… But you, 'kura. You are me.
Bakura was blank, a shell. He did nothing, just stood there.
Best start looking, he thought.

He didn't know where to begin. He was no forensic master, he knows the people but.. He was running out of time. Was Ryou really at the graveyard? He needed proof.
He walked into the row and stepped in a puddle.
His whole body was on pulse, entirely in his mind.

The voice said this puddle was a pool of my own blood. All the light is on the front-stage and dimly on the walkway. I can only just make out the shadows and lumps that wwere seats in the row. 2 walkways, left and right of the seats, 20 seats in a row going; 5 seats, left walkway, 10 seats, right walkway, 5 seats, brick wall. Very standard. I can't see the colour or even the puddle under my seat, just the shadow of light rippling.

He unseathed Yuna and stuck it through his chair. He filled the seath with the liquid and pulled out a jungle bottle top. This was attatched to the strap..
I never thought I'd actually use this, he humoured himself.
He closed the seath shut with the cork. His brain received a shock, almost as if an outside voice was inside him.
Good work! You know who to see.
He saw a vision of a face. A face pf a girl he can't help despise.

What are you doing? The voice enquired.
"I'm finding evidence. I need to find out what this is." Bakura replied.
I already told you what it is! It's nothing more than a pool of your own blood! The voice began to cackle but Bakura replied with a retort.
"Is it? How long was I gone? Where was I?... Where was I taken to? Where, and why, was Ryou taken from me?"
Oh, that's easy. Yes it is, about 12 weeks, in your brain, brink of insanity, graveyard and because you pissed off Seto Kiba by killing his little brother.
Bakura just stared angrily as if he could see the voice in front of him.
"Shut up."
But then Bakura began to think.. Yes, Ryou is at the graveyard.
Wait… Why are we here?
There was silence. Bakura had walked onto the stage, as if being puppeted along, in the centre with the cost of the sun staring at him from a bulb.

WHY ARE WE HERE?! The voice began to scream in his head. Bakura no longer felt the pain.
Because…
You're afraid aren't you? More silence followed.
Of yourself.

The theatre was almost introduced by Bakura doing the simple action of, the light admitting his darkness, Bakura hanging his head in shame. But there is nothing. He is utterly fucking alone.
Constantly tormented by this little fucking thought in his head, whispering nothing more than 'fuck you'.
Bakura began to shake.
That time of the month, eh boy? The voice began to cackle, laugh and scream with enjoyment. Bakura felt the pain in his heart and mind, no wound, just bleeding. He began to scream, to destroy the sound of screaming laughter and in a desperate attempt to free him of this pain. The failure he is, how destructive and how uncaring that he is.. How lost without Ryou, he is.
But there is still nothing but his pain.
He can't seem to help himself, all he could think was;
Enough.
He took out his sword, turned it on himself and inserted it through his chest.
The laughter began to fade, the pain swam away and he found himself in peace. For all eternity.