Chapter 4: The homeless king

Bakura was hurrying across unknown streets, his bare feet splashing through puddles of cold rainwater. Both his hands were gripping at the towel he had wrapped around his bony hips, trying to keep it in place.

His host - well, former host - had thankfully dropped this towel at some point during their encounter, so Bakura had managed to cover himself up a bit. Still, it was less than enough. The fabric was soaked and heavy because of it, and he had to hold it in place lest it slipped. It did nothing to protect him from the cold but, at least, it concealed his private parts.

Not that he attracted any less attention this way. He noticed all sorts of weird glances directed to his person, even though he tried to remain in the shadows, away from crowded streets.

He cursed through chattering teeth, his breath forming an angry stream of fog. This was all his idiot yadonushi's fault. Instead of acting like a proper host, he had left him out in the rain to freeze. On top of that, when Bakura had kept on ringing Ryou's doorbell and shouting to let him in, he had called the cops on him.

Idiot yadonushi. How was Bakura supposed to know what had happened? How was he supposed to know why he was back? All he knew was that he should be in the afterlife, not in the freezing streets of Domino - and eleven years later, no less.

Eleven years. It was hard to wrap his head around that one. Sure, it was nothing compared to the three thousand years he had spent in the Millennium Ring, but this time he did not have the Ring. And, this time, he did not have a host. He had a body of his own.

That was not how this thing was supposed to work.

"Idiot yadonushi," he grumbled under his breath, readjusting the towel around his hips. He would have gladly gone back and attempted to enter his apartment by force but, apparently, his ex-landlord had grown some balls in those last eleven years. Bakura was not fit enough for another confrontation - and he wanted to avoid the cops by all means - so he would have to find some other place to spend the night. And some other way to obtain some clothes.

He groaned in frustration and leaned against a wall. He was trembling all over and he could barely feel his feet. He was in dire need of something to cover himself with. Anything would do, as long as it wasn't that pathetic towel. And then, once he would be less likely to attract unwanted attention, he could go and find a place to stay.

He rubbed his eyes and tried to gather his thoughts.

Okay. First things first. Clothes.

He could try and rob a shop, but he did not feel that this was an ideal solution. He had no weapons, no tools, and he had no idea how much security systems had advanced. He was ready to bet that alarms would be even more annoying now; he would definitely have to do some research before attempting burglary in this age.

Next option: the clueless passer-by. Always a trusty route to take. Of course, without the Ring or even a knife, a mugging would be more challenging, but he would have to make do.

He withdrew in a shadowy corner, scanning the street for a victim. Ideally a woman, with her wallet conveniently stored in a purse. Bonus points if she wore high heels, or was old, or looked in any way unlikely to chase him down the street. He needed an easy victim since he was not up for much; he still had trouble coordinating his limbs and the cold and hunger did not help the situation.

His gaze fell on a man that walked down the road towards him, alone. Bakura squinted to take a better look at him. He was a middle-aged man, leisurely strolling despite the downpour, hidden under the safety of his umbrella. It was not the kind of victim Bakura had in mind, but the man was laden with shopping bags, most of which bore the logos of well-known clothing brands.

Bakura let a triumphant grin tug at his mouth. That was as good a prey as any; and at the moment, it was even more efficient than stealing a wallet.

He drew back in the shadows, fixing his eyes on the approaching man. He felt mildly embarrassed at the thought that he, the King of Thieves, was about to steal a couple of shopping bags, but no matter. This was just a minor setback, thanks to that idiot yadonushi of his. Once he had that man's clothes - and perhaps his wallet - he could go and find a warm place to spend the night. He had not idea what he was supposed to do next, but he would figure it out... eventually.

He tied the towel as best as he could, counting the man's steps and calculating the ideal moment to reveal himself. He would have to act fast, he knew that. Threats and fighting would not cut it; he'd have to grab the bags, grab the wallet if possible, and run.

The man walked past Bakura without noticing him, with his face hidden under his umbrella. The thief gave himself enough time to draw in a deep, readying breath, and slithered out of his hiding spot.

The sound of his bare feet was covered by that of rain and traffic from the nearby street. He ran towards his oblivious victim, blood flooding his cold muscles and pumping them back to life. He sped up, ignoring the protests of the tender flesh of his feet as it scraped against the gravel.

The rush of stealing overtook him, plunging him for a while into another time and another era. Elation and excitement widened his grin. When his fingers closed around the handles of the bags, he felt like the Thief King of old, despite his petty loot. He grasped them and made to run without lingering to spot a wallet - he was satisfied enough with what he had managed to grab - feeling life truly surging through him for the first time since he had opened his eyes. For a couple of seconds, he felt lighter than the feather of Ma'at, holding his loot in one hand and feeling the wind under his feet.

Then his elation and triumph popped like a short-lived bubble. A violent tug threw him out of balance and he saw the world spin and tilt before his back hit the hard ground. The impact knocked the breath out of his lungs and the light out of his vision. He found himself unable to do anything besides groan among the puddles of water; unable to react or even perceive what had happened.

Then he heard a concerned voice somewhere close to him.

"Hey man... Are you okay?"

Bakura blinked and managed to spot the man he had tried to mug standing three feet away from him. He looked calm enough, with his shopping bags and his umbrella still in his hands, his feet poised in what Bakura vaguely recognized as a fighting stance.

Adrenaline and cold panic shot through Bakura, muffling the pain and the cold and the disorientation and highlighting one single thought: he had messed up. He had to get out of there before the man called the cops.

He tried to scramble to his feet, eyes looking for the fastest possible route of escape, when his would-be victim's voice made him freeze.

"Hey... Do you need help?"

Bakura slowly turned towards the man, taken aback enough to stop mid-crouch and try to figure out whether he had heard correctly. The man looked genuinely concerned, all furrowed brows and crinkled forehead.

"You don't look good, man. Do you need help?" he asked again, taking one cautious step towards Bakura very much the same way one would approach a wild animal.

The thief tensed but he did not move. Embarrassment had immobilized him. Not only his victim did not look frightened in the least, but he was offering to help him when he had just tried to mug him. Was he really so pathetic that he could induce nothing but pity?

Well, he was pitiful. He was wearing nothing but a towel and had just tried to steal shopping bags.

He felt an urge to run away that had nothing to do with the fear of approaching cops.

"Hey, if you need some money, I can-"

The man was about to take out his wallet, but Bakura did not stay to hear the rest of it. He sprang to his feet and ran away as fast as he could, ignoring the man that shouted at him to wait.

Sure, he needed some help and he sure as hell needed the money, but he was the fucking Thief King. He might have just tried to steal two shopping bags, but he had not stooped so low as to accept charity.

He ran, making turns to deserted alleys, wanting to avoid other people more than anything. When he deemed he was far enough, he stopped and instantly doubled over, panting hard. His newborn lungs were burning again and a sharp pain in his feet told him that his skin had been scraped off but, at the moment, he did not care. At the moment, all he felt was shame and a great deal of exasperation.

He wanted to scream his frustration to the sky, let out the pressure that was building up in his chest, but that would only attract more attention. He let his fingers slip into his wet hair and pulled at their roots until the pain made stars pop in his vision.

All of this was wrong. All of it; not just the cold and the rain and the towel and the fact that he had been incapable to steal a bag. He should not be there in the first place. He had not asked for it. Not this time. He had made that mistake once, prompted by Zorc and an unquenchable thirst for revenge, but that was over. Zorc was gone - he did not have to probe deep into his soul to realize that. He remembered that the Pharaoh had defeated him. He remembered the darkness being ripped from his body.

It was over - it was supposed to be over. He was tired. Three thousand years were too much and had left him so, so fucking tired.

This was wrong. He had reached the afterlife and, even though he could not remember details, he could recall a feeling of serenity he had not experienced ever since he had been a child. Before, he had almost forgotten what peace was supposed to feel like. Now that he knew, it was snatched from between his fingers.

Nothing about this mess was fair. He shouldn't be standing under the rain in a street in Domino. He wasn't supposed to, and he didn't want to.

He drove his fist into one of the walls that lined the narrow alley, wanting to vent his anger on something. Thankfully, the plaster was old and crumbled under his fist. Pain surged through him even so, but he was beyond caring. He did not want this body; he wanted nothing to do with it or this life or this god-damned city.

He let his head fall forward until his forehead hit the disintegrating wall. Slowly, he sank to his knees and remained there, with his forehead against the wall and breathing in the smell of rain, old garbage and cat piss being washed away by the downpour.

He was exhausted.

Raindrops were hitting his skin sharply. His body was shaking, trying to work up some warmth. He would definitely take sick after this - perhaps even earn an infection from walking bare-footed on these alleys. That is, if he decided to... stay. At that moment, the only thing he wanted was to go back to the afterlife, to grasp again that fleeting feeling of serenity.

He could do that. He could end this. But who could guarantee that he would manage to reach the afterlife? He had been reborn - for lack of a better term. He might be denied the afterlife again. He did not know how or why he was there, and whatever had caused this might keep bringing him back. It could be worth a shot, but he did not want to end up going through the agony of being reborn again and again.

No. He had to be smart about this. First he had to work out some answers. Once he made sure that this mess would not be repeated, he could go on and rest undisturbed.

That meant he was back to point zero. He needed clothes, shelter and food. And money, if he aspired to remain in this world long enough to make some sense out of this situation.

He stood up, having earned a bit of his determination back. He looked around. He was alone in a narrow, deserted alley; no stores or doors or people could be seen.

He would not attempt to steal again that night. He did not have the energy to. He started walking, quite aimlessly, looking for anything that could be considered an adequate shelter. He ended up following the little streams of rain that rolled down the streets, carrying away garbage and flooding over overflowing gutters.

It took him a while to realize that the course of the water was leading him to the harbor. When the dark sea came into view, Bakura frowned. The cold would be even sharper there; he'd better head back downtown. He was just about to do that when a voice made him jump.

"Psst! Hey, pal!"

He turned around and saw a small group of people huddled at the mouth of a nearby alley. Homeless, by the looks of it; wrapped in ill-fitting, dirty clothes and numerous scarves, trying to warm themselves with a small fire that burned in a tin barrel. At least, the spot where they were standing looked fairly protected by the rain.

"Are you lost?" one of them shouted at him.

Bakura hesitated. The orange glow of the fire was too tempting.

His undying Thief King pride pinched at him, reminding him that he needed no one's help nor charity of any kind. Then the desperate tremor of his muscles brought him back to his senses.

"Oh, what the hell," he murmured to himself, silencing the whining of his pride, and crossed the road to approach the group.


Morning came, brisk and humid after the night's downpour. The air above the city was clear and the last clouds were dispersing rapidly, revealing patches of blue sky. It was a beautiful morning in the eyes of those who could appreciate such a thing, but Bakura was not one of them.

He woke up curled against the wall of a deserted shop, shivering despite the blanket he had wrapped himself with. Next to him, the three men he had encountered the previous night were still fast asleep on their makeshift beds of cartons and old blankets.

Bakura climbed to a sitting position and propped his aching back against the wall. He tried to stretch a bit, to alleviate the pain of his stiff muscles, but cold crept into his limbs and he curled in on himself again. Thankfully, he was wearing clothes. The men he had met might be homeless, but between the three of them they managed to gather a few spare garments. So, at the moment, Bakura was wearing the oversized and positively stinking clothes they had given him and had wrapped himself in an equally stinking blanket. At least, they were much better than a towel.

He closed his eyes and tried to take a deep breath, but his nose was clogged. All in all, he felt like shit. He supposed he had taken sick, after all, and it felt weird. He wasn't used to it. He couldn't remember ever being sick back in Egypt. As for the time when he had been possessing Ryou's body... Well, he couldn't really feel anything back then. He had felt no pain or hunger whenever he'd taken control of his host's body - something that had proved infinitely convenient.

He was famished now. They might have given him clothes, but they had had no food to share. The feeling in his stomach was painful. Plus, it was not like he had an abundance of body fat to rely on; he was literally just skin and bones. He had come to the conclusion that, somehow, he had been reborn in a replica of Ryou's current body. He could not be sure of the way his host's body looked right now, but what he saw on him was not much different from what he remembered from eleven years earlier. He was still lanky and too thin to be considered healthy. Moreover - and this had been his best clue so far - he had a round, silvery scar in the center of his left palm, a jagged one on his bicep and several small, bumpy ones on his abdomen. So yeah, he was ninety-nine per cent sure that this was Ryou's body.

Not that this made him any happier. He had the body of a weakling. It made him miss his solid, muscular figure, with the tanned skin and the scars he bore like a prize. His old body had been one worthy of a Thief King; it had been proof of his power, his determination and his fierceness. This one was... just pathetic. And, if he was to bear scars, he would much prefer to have righteously earned them.

However, in a way he was responsible for these scars, too. He was the one who had inflicted them.

He shrugged off the thought; it was not important at the moment. He had other things to think about: how to find food, money and shelter. He did not want to spend another night in the street. And he really wanted to find proper clothes. He was grateful for the ones he was wearing, but he could smell their stench even through his clogged nose.

One of the other men stirred and sat up.

"Well, good morning. Did you sleep well?" he asked Bakura with a humorless grin.

"Can't say that I did," the thief grumbled in response.

"I'd like to say that you'll get used to it... But you won't really," the man said as he rubbed his eyes.

"I'm planning for it to be a one-time thing."

"That's what we all hoped at first."

Bakura simply let out a non-committal grunt. When these guys had started asking questions the night before, he had told them that his landlord had thrown him out. It wasn't a lie, even though he didn't mean it exactly the way they thought he did.

"So... What do you plan to do?"

Bakura shifted on the cardboard he had been sitting on. The first thing to do would be, of course, to obtain some money. He could try stealing again, but it had occurred to him that something more stable would not be that bad an idea.

"Do you know where a man like me can earn some money?" he asked.

"What, you mean like a job?"

"If that's what you want to call it."

"We'd all love a proper job and stuff-"

"No," Bakura interrupted, his impatience growing. "I don't mean a proper job. I mean lots of money - and fast."

He could have worked it out himself if he had the time and the confidence to get reacquainted with the city, but he had neither. All he wanted was to get off the street. He might have thought twice before asking for help if his pride was not already at an all-time low.

"Oh. I see," the man said, sobering up and straightening his back. "That depends. How much are you willing to do?"

"Enough to be useful to the right person."

The other man shook his head. "I can't work with that, pal."

"I can steal. I can fight," or I'll be able to, once I train this weak thing of a body, he thought. Then he narrowed his eyes and added, "I can kill."

"I see," the man nodded slowly. "Then perhaps you could go and have a talk with Mr Ishido."

"Who is he?"

"You'll find out once you meet him. If you're really sure about this."

'Where do I find him?" Bakura asked, throwing the blanket off him and standing up, eager to get going as soon as possible.


Three quarters of an hour later, he found himself standing in front of a building in a very questionable neighborhood. He had to cross a maze of alleys to get there; alleys which was apparent the police had never set foot on. The law had probably given up on that part of the city a long time ago.

Bakura squinted at the building in front of him, ignoring the groaning of a junkie that had collapsed a few feet further. He was certain this was the right place, but he could not help but hesitate in front of the door. Despite the fact that it was morning, above the door flashed neon pink letters that read The Golden Egg in hideous cursive. He could hear a few very suggestive moans coming from the open windows above.

Still, he did not hesitate for long. After all, it was either this or the street. It would do no harm to take a look. If he didn't like this Ishido guy and what he offered, he could always leave. And, if it came to the worst... Well, he would get to see whether he would indeed return to the afterlife or not.

He took a step forward and rang the doorbell.

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This chapter came out of nowhere. I was about to write the meeting at Yuugi's place - I really was! - when I thought about Bakura. I couldn't help but wonder, "where is he?", "what is he doing?", "is he wreaking havoc, just the way Atem expects him to?" I just had to answer these questions.

I know it wasn't a particularly upbeat chapter, but Bakura is at a pretty low point. And expect to see more (and worse) criminal behavior from Bakura in the future. I realize this might not make him super-likeable, but I'll make up for it... eventually.

I don't know if any of the stuff I've included in the chapter above calls for a warning tag - tell me if you think so and I'll add some.

So! Now that I'm done with Bakura, I can move on and write about the gang and the meeting.

Until then... How about a review, for some extra motivation? :D