Disclaimer: I don't own Yu-Gi-Oh! or Vampire Hunter D.

It's been a while, but against the odds of irl nonsense, the story keeps trucking along! Thank you to those still reading.

And of course, as always...

Enjoy!

Chapter Seventy-Three: Shuffle

Metallic horse hooves clopped against new concrete; their silvery sheen marred by powdery dust from racing along the unfinished dirt path. Guns faced the rider of the mechanical beast, the human guard that handled the weapons stood tense in practiced stances, scowling at the breathless figure. Their squints, made a colorless set of lines due to the tinted visors they wore, were a mixture of half-thinking, half-minds made up already. Sweat dripped from the rider's brow, stinging their covered eye for the trouble once slipping past the leather mask. The heat of the day, even as it faded for the evening, made for an uncomfortable seat upon the animatronic creature in more ways than one.

Bakura felt he had the makings of a passable plan thought up on the fly from the back of his steel steed: trick the guards into letting him in by manipulating the tale of Bertalan's demise, release those that may be held prisoner by gaining clearance for it in some way—probably via the interrogation route, and then cause irreparable havoc unseen so that he may fib his way into indefinite disappearance. Then he would find his group (or maybe the rest of it, if any of his people were already here) and they all would find the fastest means out of the area before any unfavorable repercussions cropped up.

A "passable" plan…but only if these particularly ornery bunch would just buy into it already. Whatever had plagued the electronics of the previous fort seemed to have dug its claws into this one here as well, even for having been miles away. Helpful when it came to finding a means of breaking the prisoners out, if his screaming intuition was anything to go by, but an absolute beast of a hurdle when faced with trying to drum up some credibility or good will with this harried and aggressive detail.

"Really, all of this could be cleared up if you would just let me in to contact Lord Greylancer. Even if you have a two-way, that would be fine! But I am here to warn you, and I must let him know that—"

"Like I said before, we can't just let you in! There's protocol, and on top of that, you don't even have a clearance badge!"

"Is this really the time for—," he paused, realizing that yes, this was indeed the best time to follow protocol for unknowns, and chose to rephrase his next line, "trusting in something that could have been stolen?"

"Like the horse?"

"We were to use it for transport. He gave me leave to use it for other means once we found out that the other fort that I was at had been attacked. I would have contacted him already, but the enemy destroyed my device!"

"And left you alive," the guard snorted incredulously. "How merciful."

"No! I was knocked out!" He pressed his thumb and middle finger into his temples. A headache was forming; perhaps not one created by being struck in the head, but the motion certainly could lend credence to his tale. "There was this great creature, and then everything went dark. Maybe they mistook me for dead."

"And just left your horses?"

"One! And it was stuck in some bushes! I don't know why they left it like that, if they even meant to! All I know is that I'm not lying!"

"Again, we need some kind of proof—"

"They killed Bertalan! Just check for his name in your rosters, you'll see he at least should be in the system!"

"We can't check the system because it isn't able to be booted up!"

"Then we are just wasting time until someone possibly does come and cause destruction!?" Really, what good could a barcode or magnetic strip do now if that were the case? Bakura had never thought that bureaucracy would be the thing that kept him from gaining entrance at a time like this. For a moment, he could almost buy his own cover as reality. If he really wanted to warn anyone, he would have been given the same response. It was maddening!

One of the other guards sighed. "Listen, if you are really with us—" Bakura nodded vigorously at the phrase "—dismount and stand right there."

He did as he was bid, albeit with a touch of doubt regarding his safety. The two other compatriots remained pointing their weapons at him, while the one who had begun the deviation of repetitive conversation lowered theirs. With as much aggravated motion as Bakura felt, they removed the protective mask contraption from the lower half of their headgear so that he could see their face better. A start, when it came to trust, he supposed with a touch of pity.

"As of right now, we don't have permission to let in outsiders," the guard began, much to the disgruntled chagrin of the volatile pair. "Currently, we are doing everything we can to resolve the issue that has been explained to you before our superiors have to become involved in this mess."

"I understand that, but how can I do my job for Lord Greylancer and the Great One if this is how I'm treated? Like an outsider?"

"Oh, you're so full of it!" the first guard fumed. They lowered their weapon only to tromp forward and give Bakura a hefty shove. He stumbled back, nearly tripping on a crack between uneven concrete. "I'd have believed Greylancer, but Him?! Go back to wherever you came from, you loopy asshat."

"I'm telling the—" Bakura began, but then found himself losing his footing once more when the ground beneath him lurched.

All present in this denial of entry turned to see a massive smoking pillar that eked from the northernmost part of the base. Dumbfounded, they remained glued to their positions until a flash and explosion in the same area they observed rocked the ground right from under them. Everyone within view tumbled to the asphalt with a lack of grace. The smell of something acrid filled the air.

Someone else was attacking? Now? Bakura could not believe it. How macabre in its fortuitousness.

"Can I alert them, now?" he asked calmly, picking himself up from the heap. The two more obstinate guards stared in disbelief and dismay at this turn of events, while the other—although also just as much alarmed and flabbergasted—grabbed his arm and ushered him past the gate.

Pandemonium greeted the pair, and Bakura sidestepped a hurrying soldier more than once while following his guide deeper into the fortress. They entered a smaller building that faced the spacious quad. He could not help but note through the window blinds the rigid lines of soldiers that began forming after an array of shouting that bellowed from a bullhorn. It was a wonder to watch a regiment meant to be so clearly practiced flounder before regaining their footing. It gave him hope; both in that his own team could be a force of their own even for all of their past mistakes—if ever given the chance to reconnect—and that he could find that window of opportunity to implement his own brand of sabotage that he so coveted in this messy showing.

"You've got to be kidding me!" He heard the guard that had led him there cry out. It appeared the first device that they had tried to use was about as helpful as an oversized paperweight due to the sudden power failure. "Where's that damned battery powered radio?!"

"Do you need me to do anything?" he offered innocently.

"No, you wouldn't know where to look…hell," the guard paused, shaking their head. Their gloved hands were held empty before them. "I don't even know where to look. It was supposed to be right under—"

"What are you doing?!" came a shout from outside. Another sentry barged into the small room, what skin that could be seen on the neck red with rage. "Get to your position!"

"I have to contact—" Bakura's temporary ally began.

"We don't have time. We need to get to—who is this?!" The shrill shriek paired with the wild gesture forced Bakura to bite at his lip to stop a giggle from surfacing.

"Someone who was trying to warn us an attack was coming! He has more information for our leaders as well. We need to get into contact with Lord Greylancer, immediately! But I can't find—"

The other cursed, kicking a chair across the room, and leaving the current audience stunned by the display. "You won't. That was being used on a patrol since last night because their back up had broken. A lot of good that's going to do them now! Come with me. You!" They pointed to Bakura, who sat as mild and inoffensive as the battered stapler resting on the nearby desk. "Stay put. Right there!"

"No, have him be the runner. We need all of the hands we can get," his human-passageway in said. "He can let the others below know the situation."

"He doesn't know where to go!" The sentry paused, shaded eyes clearly tracking Bakura's form. "Where's his ID anyway?!"

"We don't have time for this! Just give him the map of the place!" The one that led him there quickly leaned down to give him further instructions. "Only take the stairs. Looks like the generator for this sector isn't working as it should so don't use the elevator. Take my key card so people will leave you alone." They undid their card from their belt and wrote something on the back with a marker, passing it to him once they were done. Then with a harsh whisper in his ear, they added, "Don't make me regret trusting you."

"I won't," Bakura lied, and accepted the laminated page and key card he was offered.

"Let the others on duty in Basement Level 3 know that it's time to notify the Lady," the one who had barreled into the room said, in what looked like a rare moment of calm for them, "they'll know what it means."

"Understood," he replied with a curt nod.

"Great. Now go."

As Bakura hurried down the stairs, trying to make sense of the internal structure of the place based off the confusing map of overlapping squares, he heard one of the soldiers running into position ask their partner, "What about the prisoners? Shouldn't some of us go down there since the power's out?"

Their partner began to say, "With the sound proofing I doubt they'd hear what's going on and it's doubtful they'd try the doors when—" But silenced themselves the moment they fell into line. That was all Bakura heard on the subject before the door that led to the stairway closed on the sounds of instructions from an officer with a bullhorn, leaving him in near total darkness. He sighed in frustration, looking at what was the map in his hands, useless in this lighting.

A flashlight would have been nice.

He considered turning back around and asking for one, but even with the heavy steel door closed before him, he could hear muffled orders being called. These people were already on edge and hesitant to help an unfamiliar face. Better that he did not add any more scrutiny to his precarious position. In the ensuing pandemonium, they had failed to remove his weapons, and there was a chance they would take them for themselves if he made himself too noticeable. At any rate, he had fumbled around in the dark before, how different could this be? Also, there had to be something to light the way eventually. A box that held flares, or something to that effect. This was a type of fortress, and there were workers down here after all.

Bakura paused at this thought in the midst of shuffling his feet around steps to feel his way down, one hand gripped firmly on the railing. There was a chance these workers he was to find would be vampires. A momentary flicker of fear held him. If they did have any of his allies, if his friends had given anything away…He shook his head free of these unrelated anxieties and listened for sounds below. No matter who those he had to notify were, they might enjoy a light source for ambiance's sake at the very least.

"Hello?" he called down the stairwell, the sounds of his boots hitting the concrete steps in stilted time, each footfall producing a heavy thunk. Oftentimes he missed wearing sneakers, but he could just imagine how useless those would have been slogging through the wilderness as he had these past years. It was a wonder that they all had not succumbed to any disease transmitted via tick or otherwise. He supposed, in this reflective moment amidst a hallway as friendly as a claustrophobic tomb, that there were still small favors paid to even the luckless. His hand reached the end of the first rail, and blindly he felt for a door handle, or entrance to another hallway. A concrete wall greeted him. His fingers traced its generally smooth, cool surface with hopes to catch the edge of a doorway, or chill metal of a handle. No luck; only the passionless display of poured and hardened substance. In his mind, what was likely gray wall seemed to grin at him and his lack of sight. 'Poor boy,' he could hear it call, 'you're back in the embrace of your captors, and you'll never be free again.'

He snorted derisively at the thought. Now was not the time to lose focus, and there were worse experiences that he had faced by their hands than being lost in the dark. Carefully shuffling his way to the other side, Bakura tapped against this wall and still found nothing that would open for his efforts. That feeling of the walls shrinking in on him began anew, but he shook his head once more to banish the idea. It was just a halfway point, a juncture before reaching the next level. Still, his brain tried to belt that the air was becoming humid, stifling, devoid of oxygen. With great effort, he reached for where he thought the railing would continue, found it, and moved on. He would not be bested by his own fear.

The first door that Bakura did come across was locked. He knocked on it and heard no response. Called to those who might have been inside and heard no reply. He knocked again. And again. And again.

Nothing.

Were they asleep? Was this branch of workers already topside? He did not know, but he did not think so. His hand banged against the door once more in frustration, wondering if they would have kept prisoners this high up. It would explain the absence of a reply for all his demanding one. Yet, if so, why did he not hear their cries? Even at his lowest, if he thought there was a brief window for freedom, he would have shouted to garner his possible savior's attention until his throat went raw. He had in fact, done so many times, much to his tormentors' amusement. Was there soundproofing even in this section of the fortress?

Was this just a supply closet?

This line of questioning would get him nowhere…especially without any response. He knelt, closing his eyes against the darkness to see the inner darkness within. So far, his plan was working, even if it was just pure improvisation. He was in. He was trusted, nominally. Logically, he could just search for the prisoners and ignore what he was instructed to do. He mustered everything that he could recall from his experiences with Marta, with Ewan, with—

Stop, he mentally chastised in that empty silence, stop it. As suddenly as he silenced his thoughts, though, another true sound perked his ears. A weird thump and crash below him. His eyes widened at the expanse of nothing before him, and he once more found his metal guide along the wall and hurried down the stairs.

"Damn it!" He heard someone cry. He held his breath as he began shifting down the stairs, two or three steps at a time. Who was it that he heard?

"Be careful!" Someone snapped. Well, whoever they were, they certainly were not hiding.

"Sorry! It's difficult to see when there are no lights around!"

"All the more reason you need to open that box and get the damned flashlight out. Imagine if she were to wake up and realize that the power was out!"

"I told Leonard to check the wiring…"

"Yes, well, apparently he didn't and now we need to get to—"

"Hello?" Bakura ventured, cutting off the vexed urging of one of the invisible pair.

"Who is that?!" the first shouted in alarm.

"Show yourself!" the other cried, and he could hear them fumbling with something at waist level.

Bakura quirked an unseen eyebrow. "In the dark?"

The second individual cursed and either stopped grabbing for what weapon they had, or had somehow removed it, the man did not know. What he did know was that the toying with the item he so desperately needed had also ceased. "Fair point," the secondary being noted and continued on with some authority. "Still, who are you? By what rights do you have coming down here?"

"I am known as Dream Eater and have been tasked with bringing a message to those at the Basement 3 Level: It is time to notify the Lady."

A stunned silence followed, as the severity of the situation seemed to sink in for the pair somewhere before him. He thought there were maybe a few more steps until he properly came face to face with either, but figured the distance created a safer vantage point…if he ever got to see them. It sounded like their luck was much like his, currently.

"Without a flashlight?" The second said once the surprise wore off.

"Apparently so. It's pretty hectic up there; I didn't get a chance to ask for one."

"What is happening out there?" the first voice said with some hesitation.

"I was surprised you couldn't hear it down here, but not so much now," he reflected, cocking his ear to the general direction of the ceiling. "We're being attacked by those not of our cause."

"Damn it," the second voice groused. "Damn it all. First the systems, then the power, now this!"

And as if remembering, the voice shouted at the other to continue trying to produce a form of light for them all. Bakura listened with half-interest to the one who barked orders about how he had yet to reach Basement 3, but he could take the second flashlight that apparently was in the case the first person was blindly fussing with. There was something about how they had to warn their coworkers on this current level, how they were surprised so-and-so let him in, but nothing really stuck. His mind kept wandering—wandering to the concrete he quietly tapped his heel upon as he waited. A vile memory of unwanted caresses slithered into his mind, but paired with its unpleasantness was the recollection of what opportunity had produced itself as he had stared silently and aimlessly while restrained to a bed.

If the rest of the building were built in a similar fashion…

"Here," the first voice said, and Bakura broke from his musing. Suddenly, a piercing light hit all of their eyes as the click of a button brought forth a cold beam of light. Bakura saw that the hallway was indeed smoothed concrete, although there were painted lines along the wall, some pausing on this level to indicate they were at the entrance of Basement 1. A box where emergency supplies had been opened, the key still inserted with its unassuming lanyard hanging over the edge. Blinking away some of the dots that this newfound light had produced, he saw in the dimmer area below the line of light, this first person was handing him a flashlight of his own. He glanced up, and saw a bizarrely familiar, friendly smile greet him. His heart fluttered in response, much to his surprise. This person was a veritable unknown, after all.

Certainly, it was a pretty grin that encouraged him to take the desired item—but behind it, even without seeing the eyes of who it belonged to, he could feel its earnestness. The humanity that was there. Half of him felt sour, and despaired at a vision of what he knew would have once come so easy to him. His own smiles had felt so cheap, or vindictive, as of late. The other half felt so drawn to it, starved for a purely positive connection from a stranger on the other side of things, that it seemed to pull his emotions with as much relish as a simple piece of bread would offer to one who was starving.

As if he deserved it.

He took what was offered, knowing how much malice rested in his heart when it came to these people. Felt the cool and textured metal as he ran his thumb over the center gripping point and hated that his heart felt two ways about doing what was right. Why had it been so easy up until now? Was this just another wave of guilt about Bertalan?

He did not think so.

"Thank you," he mustered, his breath hitting his mask uncomfortably.

"You're welcome," came the reply. The smile widened further. "You look pretty formidable there, Dream Eater. I guess the name fits."

"Sounds more like a code name," the second almost spit. Their arms were crossed, but at least no weapon was pointed at him. "On top of that, you're a stranger to us—so are you a new recruit?"

"Working under Lord Greylancer," he said. "It's a…recently acquired assignment." With that jolt to his memory, he flashed the light he had upon the guard-marked keycard he procured to verify his reason for being there.

"Impressive," the first he had heard breathed with a note of awe, once realizing he was speaking "the truth". "You must have really caught his attention—but ugh. Where are our manners. I'm Emil, and my compatriot here is Konstantina."

Less inclined to common courtesy, Konstantina simply snorted. "Such a big shot and they've got you running messages?"

"I help where I can," he said with a shrug.

"Well, thank you for that help," Emil said, nodding their head toward the other employee with what might have been a withering stare if their eyes were not covered by the glare of the light on their goggles. It appeared they finally noticed that fact due to the lack of a return gesture, and promptly removed the issue. In the light, their brown eyes looked just as well-meaning as their smile, and again, Bakura was left to wonder why he was finding himself so drawn to this person. "Because I don't want to be the one to have to tell anyone down there that they have to wake her up."

"Want to say that any louder?" Konstantina snapped. "And what makes you think you can be so friendly with this guy? He's high up and you think he's going to sympathize or something?"

"Is…what Emil said a bad thing?" Bakura asked, scratching his head.

That earned him another flash of a smile. "Sort of; but you seem to be much more of une personne pragmatique. No shouting or demanding we bow or anything—I figured you might appreciate a little honesty."

"Just because he isn't barking orders—"

"You're doing that well enough here."

A snicker escaped from Bakura, startling himself and the pair who silenced their bickering at what fell just short of a snort. He cleared his throat and nodded his flashlight toward the downward spiral of stairs. "Sorry. You made me think of someone. Anyway, I should probably get going, and you two should get back to your duties…but…"

He could hear the creak of gear tightening against Konstantina's guard suit as she somehow crossed her arms even tighter. Ah. There was the interaction he was getting used to. "…perhaps maybe one of you could lead me down there, so I don't end up getting stuck behind a locked door. Be my physical—rather than just visual—key card, so to speak?"

The pair looked at one another and appeared to do some strange hand gesture game in rapid succession. Emil hissed, having lost whatever silent battle it was, but nodded genially to Bakura as Konstantina shrugged and took the other flashlight on her way back through the door they had come from. Before she left their line of sight, she grumbled,

"Once you've gotten this guy in, make sure you come back. I'm not wasting my time with Leonard. You can thank him for his lack of a great job and let him know he's lucky that this might be chalked up to what's going on up there. That is, if this guy keeps up this 'one of us peons' act and keeps his mouth shut."

Alarmed that her phrasing hit a little too close to reality, he quickly recovered with a nod in her direction. He could not tell if she rolled her eyes or not, but within the next moment she was gone, and he was left alone with the one called Emil.

Emil proved to be even chattier than when paired with Konstantina. In that short span of time, Bakura learned about a lot of the woes of working on one of the basement levels: the stressors, the rules, the management, the dim ("Not darkness like this," he had been told, "but enough to be depressing."). He also could not help but constantly be harangued by a sense of déjà vu. Just before they reached yet another landing that had taken them deeper into the earth than Bakura would have expected for a "Basement Level 3", he slowed his pace and touched the shoulder of his temporary ally.

"Can I ask you an unrelated question?" Bakura asked as that nagging sense ate away at him. "Before we reach our destination?"

"Sure?"

"Do you…I mean…I guess…" he frowned, trying to think of how to phrase this in a way that would make him less obvious about his true allegiance. In the end, he gave up and simply inquired, "Why did you join with these people?"

"Why?" Emil hummed and rubbed at their chin. "Because, if you want me to be honest, I guess…I had to."

"You had to?"

"It was either that, or my family died."

"What?!"

"That's the case for a lot of people here," Emil said, raising hands as if to stop a tidal wave of anger. "Some of us weren't so lucky to find protection wherever the rest of us humans ran to—so when given the option to die by radiation poisoning, or the elements, or starvation…to have your family die by those very things…you sort of suck it up if your new vampiric leader isn't trying to kill you."

"So, you value what the Lady can offer, but not her as an individual?"

"I…" Emil shrugged. "Greylancer has some great propaganda going for him, so it is my hope you have only experienced what I've heard. It would also make you a really impressive person—that you were chosen by him for a task. He sounds amazing, even-keeled, and a solid leader. The Lady, in comparison, is a harsh mistress, but she doesn't…comment dit-on…she leaves much to be desired in the way of patience, but she doesn't hate us? To her, we have our uses."

"You aren't from here?" Bakura ventured, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. He wanted to ask questions along the same vein that he had asked Bertalan, to either mete justice or further prove to himself just how far he had fallen for ever thinking such a thing, but his mind kept demanding these asides.

"Lived here a good chunk of my adulthood, but no, I wasn't born here," Emil said, visibly relaxing at the change of direction in their discussion. "My family is a little all over the place, but my branch was from France."

"Never been, but my father had. He said it was interesting."

"Hopefully that was a good interesting, and not a bad one. Where do you come from originally? You also seem to stick out more than most."

"He made it seem positive! As for me…aside from now, I spent a good many years in the U.S." He focused his eyes on the steps, hoping that more prying questions would not arise.

"Oh! My father had a lot of family that lived over there. Never really kept in touch, not that I could now anyway, right?" Emil laughed, and Bakura nodded and gave a perfunctory snicker at the statement. "But I wrote a couple of times to my cousins out there. Felt like I was one of the lucky ones in the family who had a pretty relaxing life. So much drama! And for what? Do you have any siblings?"

"Had." Shit! He bit his lip. That was not a part of his story!

"Ah…my condolences. I suppose 'had' is in a lot of our situations now a days."

"Mhm." He could have strangled himself for that mistake.

"When I think about it, it's depressing, but in a way, sort of funny. One of those cousins I mentioned?" Emil went on, oblivious to his internal flagellation. "He was supposed to become a priest one day. Isn't that like a riot? Imagine him facing down with a vampire. He'd be our only hope!—That is if we hated where we were, of course!"

It seemed that Bakura was not the only one slipping. He quirked an eyebrow, homed in to the sentiment like a bloodhound on a trail. "Not a huge fan of your current rulers, are you?"

"I never said that!" Emil squeaked, all nerves. "I said that Greylancer was…I mean my Lady is…The ones in charge are…!"

Bakura held his arm out before his guide, who slowed to a fretful stop. "Tell me," he demanded coolly, "about the prisoners here. How do you feel about what they do to them?"

"I…" His companion's voice hitched, and suddenly Emil was on the ground, arms above in a defensive position. "Please, I didn't mean it, don't tell the Lady I said that! It was a slip! A joke! I swear, a joke! She'd murder me, drain me of all I am, and then set upon my family for good measure! Please!"

Bypassing the raised arms and carefully releasing their only means of light to the ground, Bakura placed his hands upon each shaking shoulder and hushed the quivering, attempted servile being before him with soothing murmurs. When he offered an embrace, Emil first froze in disbelief, before clinging to him as one would a life jacket in a rocking sea. They both remained huddled in the darkness there, the light of the flashlight turned to the open maw of the descending steps. A solid minute passed before either spoke.

"You are safe with me," Bakura promised. "Right here, right now."

"You'll say nothing?"

"Not a word."

"…Why?"

The question was choked with the beginnings of tears, and he could not explain why his own eyes stung so terribly, and yet nothing fell. "Because you seem like a good person in a bad situation. Because it sounds like you want to do the right thing, but don't have anyone to back you. That's why you haven't tried to run, right?"

"Oh…" came a moan of agony. "If I only could. You don't understand…"

"I understand the risks."

"But not the why…If I only had help!" Those pleading, wet eyes implored him. No, this was not like the Bertalan situation. It was just one more reminder that this budding structure was rotten. Rotten and killing all good that surrounded it.

"All I could offer you would be a means to escape. I could offer you no protection afterwards, nor for your family. Those in charge don't take well to desertion, and I won't be here much longer."

"Because of your duties? …Or maybe, the prisoners?"

Hope rang in that hushed question. In that darkness he could swear he could hear Emil's heartbeat, thumping rapidly against his own chest. Hope—but why?

"It is isn't it?" Emil continued. "Why else would you be so nice? That means—you could help? Get them out. We could use the attack as cover! We could run!"

"But to where?"

Emil sunk against Bakura at the question and began to cry yet again. Pent up despair flowed from the one in his arms in the same way he had wished to sob for his most recent deeds, but now there he stood, a pillar for someone else to spread their woes at his feet. He could not think of a single place nearby, not even the town that they had held their first reprieve after their arrival on this continent, that would be safe from those that ruled. For had they not dug in just enough of a foothold that humanity had less and less of a chance to wrest it back in their favor each day?—and when he thought of humanity, he did not just think of humans, but also of the decent otherworldly beings that they had come across. His mind flit to D, and another pang of guilt threatened to eat away at him.

He could not offer to take them in—that would be exacerbating the problem rather than solving it. AWOL or aiding and abetting the enemy? It would be safest with just the former. Honestly, there was only one place that he would even count as possibly "vampire free" for now, and that was a couple thousand miles away. Just about a month of travelling on foot, if there were no stops or detours (which there would no doubt be), and then the joys of crossing the sea. Then came the issue of whether they would be accepted or not. Surely, those they left behind would…

"How far are you willing to go to be free of the rule of these Nobility?"

With a flashlight, the trek downward until they reached a lit hallway became a smoother affair. With Emil vouching for him, his entrance to the Basement 3 level was not once called into question. With his presentation of the borrowed key card came a final soothing of any remnants of concern and allowed him to produce his warning. A warning that Emil had helped to concoct.

"It is necessary for me to check on the activities of the prisoners below," he stated, his head tilted upward with a more familiar stance of authority and air of snobbery that Emil ensured the others would be receptive to—and in fact, expect. The sort down in this basement had been handpicked by the Lady herself, and while they normally would have been considered tough customers, his ally had assured him that displaying the correct type of entitlement paired with his already impressive credentials (presented by someone who already held credibility in the area) would denote that "Dream Eater" was one of the "chosen"—and the "chosen" was what these soldiers longed for the most. They wanted into the Nobility; any example of a successful transition from their lowly position to one step just below being bitten would endear him to them, if not also make them a little jealous. For while they had been handpicked, he had been chosen—given leave to act on his lord's behalf using his own judgement, far from his original post.

He was beginning to understand Bertalan's former behavior a little better with that knowledge.

His one visible eye gazed down at this angle with a squint of contempt that he mimicked from one of Kaiba's many displays of such arrogance. "Take me there," he demanded.

"Of course!" came the response. "But, if I may ask, what is the reasoning behind this inspection? Have we not been providing enough data on our most recent findings?"

"You dare to question the orders of who sent me here?!" he snapped with a growl. He made a show of composing himself before he added, "Still, it is only fair that you understand the importance. It is on good authority that if one of the prisoners responds in any way other than my Lord's expectation to the information I carry, that there has been a breach and we must wake the Lady, immediately."

As Emil predicted, the faces of those currently barring entry paled at the thought. Even these who adored her did not wish to wake her early. He could not help but wonder as to what havoc she could wreak if she actually did stir from her slumber before they managed to escape. However, he had little time to speculate, and so directed his mind back to those that hung upon his words. It was imperative that he maintained the façade. Lives, even if they were not his friends, depended on him.

They led him even further down into the complex until they stopped beside a great door, more vault-like than any he had seen before and went through a process so intricate it took a near minute to open the thing.

"I'm sure you are aware that our system is not fully functioning," one of the ones opening the door explained, "but is not a reason to wake the Lady yet, certainly! We will have it up and running in no time!"

"We can only hope," Emil said, glancing at Bakura.

"It would certainly show we humans are incapable to trust with even a minor complication. We will need to prove our worth in this moment, or rather," he sneered, "you will."

This got them working double time and earned him a worried side-eye from his companion. With the others so engrossed in their task, Bakura softened his gaze at his ally, hoping that the act was recognized as what it was—just an act.

Soon enough, the entrance lay unbolted before him. Many sealed doors peppered this hallway, and any room adjoining them could contain one of his friends. Any one of them could hold a horror story and curse him just for the knowing. 'Pandora's Box,' he thought, 'but just for me.'

Bakura glanced back at the workers with a feigned disdain. At least, that was what he hoped his anxiety presented itself as. In reality, he felt like throwing up.

"Attend to the system disruption," he barked. "I will take it from here."

There was a hesitant pause. Then one finally attempted to match his haughtiness. "We should be going with you. This is a high security area, that we already barely have rights to—"

"It could be any one of them!" he growled. "Shall we waste precious time with unnecessary fanfare, or will you stop your obnoxious interruptions to get your own work done and let me do my job?!"

His pointed one-eyed glare must have been reminiscent of the being that once possessed him, as all backed away with a swiftness that he was unaccustomed to. Once more he wondered just how much he had changed as a person to inspire such a reaction.

"Have this one guide me," he said, pointing to Emil, "and be the one to watch my moves, if you feel so uncomfortable."

They acquiesced, one hurrying to give Emil the necessary keys with an unconcealed glare. Instructions were given as to how to contact the outside, since they would have to be sealed in during the questioning with those being held, as per orders from the top. Slight disbelief arose to their story then, the ones in charge seeing their intrusion as somehow blaming them for the possible leak of valuable information. A few snippy remarks about Greylancer and his expectations were enough to quell them. Then the Basement 3 workers left—the hallway becoming even less welcoming as they did so.

"God," Emil let out a shaky sigh, watching the large hatch seal them within, "that was harrowing. But we got in, didn't we? And one step closer to our goal. Qui ne risque rien n'a rien, right?"

'No idea what you said,' Bakura thought to himself, but deemed that the other had been through enough and would appreciate a little affirmation. "Right," he said. "Now let's see who is in here, and what we can do to help them."

The first two cells held strangers who were understandably hostile to them up until an extensive explanation soothed their worries. These were told to wait where they were found in their stunned but grateful disbelief, the doors left open as proof they were being freed. Emil's face wore a twisted form of anxiety when the next door was opened, leaving Bakura's brow to furrow in confusion. So far, things were going smoothly. The only issue he was facing was that he recognized no one present thus far.

His question was answered soon enough.

This cell held multiple people, all bound and in separate clear enclosed cubicles, as if to taunt them with the fact that there were others near who their soundproofed cries would never reach. Friends? Relatives? He was not sure; but the glares that came his way were enough to root him in his spot with the fear of letting out those tortured souls, lest they overtake the pair that was releasing them in their righteous fury.

"Did you know about this?" he asked Emil, who only looked down in shame. A different fear ruled the one who assisted him, one that practically screamed "what choice did I have?"

These must have been relatively new detainees as their expressions held little of the exhaustion and semi-resignation that the other pair had. That was good for the prisoners—they would have a better chance of escape if they were not bogged down with insecurities and ennui—but not so wonderful for those releasing them. Specifically, since understanding came as a struggle for both sides of the interaction. While it took some time (too much time for Bakura's liking but not that he would blame those before him), there was an eventual understanding that they were being released. There was not a word of thanks, but their patience was enough.

And it went on like that for a good chunk of time. Open cell. Find prisoners. Soothe prisoners. Open cell. Find prisoner. Soothe prisoner. Repeat with varying amount of hostility and understanding.

By the end of clearing one side, they had at least twenty waiting for the next step. That was more than he had planned for, but also none liberated so far had been the ones he had been searching for. That was until they switched over to the next side.

Bakura found Yugi's mother sitting cross-legged upon the standardized cot that each captive had furnishing their area, and she rested propped up against the wall. Her eyes were closed, dark circles curving under them, accentuating the weight she had lost from her time being confined. He stepped into the room, clearing his throat as he did so. She did not move.

He did not know what to say next to rouse her. After that attempted slight alert, he found it hard to make another sound, all muscles tight with the fear he had held in thus far. Was he too late?

"Some might have escaped," he willed his mouth to state. While it was inconclusive, it would have been what he would have wanted to hear if their situation had been switched. That was if she had even known. What had they told her, to sway her, to make her release precious secrets? Had she provided any?

At any rate, his words sparked a reaction. Ligaments in her neck tensed, and the lethargic head finally swiveled his way. She blinked. Her expression slackened at the visual before her, and she repeated the move three times, as if within the moment he would disappear like vapor.

"Might have escaped?" she asked, her lips twitching in hope. "They…?"

"I can't be fully certain," Bakura clarified, "but there was another fort like this where a good number of prisoners were released. What I could glean was that one of the ones responsible fit a familiar description, and they had had a 'lead'."

"What does that mean?"

"It means that there's a chance that some who they may have told you they had captive—"

"Are free?" She perked up even more. "Thank goodness."

He nodded, and then moved over to hug her. She accepted it with the same vigor he had seen her use upon her son. "Are you okay?" he asked. "I mean, clearly…"

She chuckled into his shoulder. "Better than others, I think. I was deemed too old for something, but they didn't elaborate."

"Probably for the best," Bakura ruminated, giving her another tight squeeze before releasing her.

He only had a few more cells left to check. After opening two to view empty rooms, he was beginning to think that he had found his only familiar face in the bunch, when the final room cracked open. The door seal unlatched with a soft hiss beneath his hands, and the familiar medical scent bombarded him with horrible memories he had to beat down in frantic silence. A gasp escaped from between his lips, and he reflexively touched both the side of his mask, and the collar of his shirt where his worrying pin rested.

Others may have been locked away in their cells or chained to their beds, yet none had been shackled so tightly against the wall as this prisoner. A firm lip curled in disgust while eyes remained tightly sealed against the vision before them. Bakura took a tentative step toward the captive, toward a face he knew, no matter how hollow it had become, or how far his brown hair had grown beyond its usual severe cut. Beside his bound form were machines that beeped and stuttered with vitals readings, others that dripped IV cocktails into unsunned flesh, the effects leaving the two puckered puncture wounds in his neck clear for any to see. Was it a lust for torture that left his friend and occasional adversary in such a state, or the sick curiosity that had placed Bakura in such a situation not so long ago?

"Kaiba-kun?" his lips quivered as he built up the courage to disturb the man with his presence. It felt as if his own blood had turned to acid, burning with the heat of indignation, the chill of fear, the eroding consumption of hopelessness; that he was too late.

Kaiba hung from his position there silently, his feet just barely reaching the ground, enough to demand the use of muscles, but not enough to give proper support. No, the bindings that held him there did so, pinching at the skin—just loose enough for regular blood flow. The pain he must have been in, the agony of each moment. Had this been every day for him?

Bakura ignored the retching that came from behind as Emil's conscience made its return after seeing this display. He had more important things to consider; his own guilt for all his subterfuge and murder ebbed into the background as a call for vengeance, one so loud that railed at the injustice before him, overtook him. 'Point me,' Bakura thought as he moved to place shaking fingertips upon the bare skin of the man's gaunt cheek. 'Point me to the one who did this to you, and I will end them without question.'

The contact of skin sent a jolt through his system, one of magic calling out to its brethren. He saw those dark-circled eyes open, those striking blue eyes search blindly for who had dared to touch something so intimate within a soul until they focused on his face. Bakura yanked off his mask to ensure that his friend would recognize the one before him was familiar and was greeted with a grimace. One mixed with shame, and pain, and grief.

He dared to wipe away a tear that threatened to fall from the captive.

"Stop," Kaiba implored, his voice haggard and weak.

"Kaiba-kun…" Bakura murmured, snatching his hand back to honor his request. "What happened? Why didn't you—?"

"Stop," he repeated. Taking in a deep breath, he seemed to muster a smattering of the authority he once had possessed. "Get out of here, you can't let them—"

"I'm not leaving you here."

"Don't you understand," he hissed, but his expression had fallen to just shy of begging, "that if you're caught, all of this will be for nothing? They have Mokuba—"

"And we will get him back," Bakura promised. He was unsure how he would uphold such a vow, but he knew in his heart he would make every effort. Seeing the shift of Kaiba's expression showed he believed it as well, somewhere deep down. "Just like I'm getting you out right now."

"You can't…I…" he breathed deep once to steady himself, shifted against his restraints, and continued, "If they find out, they'll kill him."

Seeing Kaiba in this state reminded him of their earliest meeting upon Bakura's return to Domino. Oh, how he had longed to see that pompous bastard brought low from that pedestal he had placed himself upon. Now, he was only nauseated by its materialization.

"You don't know that," Bakura said. He began looking around for something to unbind the man. A brief investigation of what held him showed metal surrounded by something silicone-esque that plugged into the wall, with varying slot sizes as if it collapsed upon itself once released. His eyes travelled to one of the nearby computers. Since there was still power this far below, he assumed there had to be some kind of switch or code to release him. There was also a chance that it could set off an alarm. He nodded to himself; it was a risk he had to take. "You also don't know if he's still alive. Don't trust a word these people would say about your brother."

"I have to," he argued, the spark of his attitude lighting in his eyes. "You didn't see the state he was in. And haven't you shown trust in—"

Bakura held up a hand. "I said these people. There are plenty out there, human and vampire and in-between that I would put my trust in, but the same goes for the reverse. Kaiba-kun, you may have been overpowered, or desperate, or whatever—I'm not going to judge you. Even if you betrayed who I was—"

"I didn't!" he wheezed. "I just let them try to figure out what was going on with me."

His hand, which had turned to reach for an unmarked button beside the computer, froze in mid-air. "What?"

"This magic thing. They said they could help Mokuba, they could save him, if I promised to let them test on me to see what this power was."

Bakura closed his eyes. Breathed in through his nose. "I could slap you," he uttered, biting his lips inward until only a bare line showed at his mouth.

A weak laugh sputtered from the man. "There wasn't a chance that they could get what they wanted from me—I can barely make sense of it and you've all been hounding me with it for ages—but they didn't know that. I figured that so long as I played along, I could make sure that Mokuba was fine."

"And when they found out that they couldn't properly analyze what our powers were? What then?" There were no ifs. Bakura knew too well that if that man was at the forefront of this investigation that no stone would be left unturned. They would find out eventually if they had not already.

"By then, I assumed he'd be strong enough to run. And…I'd probably be dead."

Breathing out a groan, Bakura rubbed his forehead with purpose before considering the man again. He looked as if he was five steps from a leaf bowling him over, but there was no way he was going to leave him there to suffer. However, there was the issue of juggling the current situation as it stood. Emil was still hunched over just beyond the door, and the prisoners were anxiously whispering to one another from across the hall. While there was no question about his end goal, getting there was going to be harder than he had envisioned. Not that he had imagined any of this in the first place.

"The fact is that you don't know that they couldn't find any information about the topic," Bakura resumed, thinking back on the book he had in his unaccounted-for bag before analyzing the technological obstacle in front of him, "Nor can you be certain that Mokuba-kun would remain safe even with it. To be fair, I don't know, either. They could uphold the end of their bargain due to some unforeseen rule they imposed upon themselves. I don't know. If we are talking about impossibilities, however, what's your level of fortitude at?"

Kaiba would have swiveled his head based on the jerking motion Bakura caught in his peripheral vision, if it had not been for his restraints. "What is that supposed to mean?"

A short guffaw left the rescuer's mouth. "We both know you won't be able to run. We also know I'm not strong enough to carry you very far without some special help. I'm asking you if you're ready to fight for your soul…with it?"