Updated 17 October 2009, 11:33 pm. How long ago did I write this? I sounded like a two year old. Also, making the tone a bit more serious. The humor isn't going away completely; I'm just leveling up the quality of the work. I started this a long time ago, so some of it is too juvenile for my present tastes.

Just a note: this is AU. We see some of Yugi-tachi in their original roles, but mostly we see familiar characters in brand new roles, playing different characters. Don't get confused.

This story is 98 percent in Malik's POV, but for fun I occasionally switch perspectives. Enjoy. Updates are few and far in-between.

Chapter One: Do yourself a favor.

Hi.

My, my. So few of you. What’s the matter? Doesn’t anyone like a dark horror nowadays? Ah well.

My name is Malik Ishtal. Gender—Male. A few of my old friends would have said “both,” but, you know, screw them.

They’re long dead anyway.

Descent—Egyptian, of course. ‘Ishtal’ should have clued you in. Age—I dunno. Lost track. I was seventeen, until. . . .

But I mustn’t get ahead of myself. I’m here to tell you a story. Not that I like story-telling, or anything, but I feel I have some knowledge to pass on to my fellow man.

If it’s October 31st, and you go into a tavern and meet a Gothic-looking young adult who wants to talk with you; do yourself a favor:

Leave.

“Oh. . .excuse me.” I had just run into somebody.

“Who are you?” The voice is cold, and sends shivers up my spine.

"Um, Malik. My name is Malik Ishtal," I state, offering my hand. The white-haired boy I had bumped into looks at it wearily, and then proceeds to ignore it. I lower my arm uncomfortably. Okay, I guess I wouldn't shake his hand. Jerk.

His gaze bores directly into my face. "Bakura," he grunts, and I wait for more. Yet none comes.

"...That's it?"

"Bakura," he repeats, nodding his head sharply. I shrug my shoulders. He seems anti-social and unwilling to be cooperative in the conversation, though he was the one who asked for an introduction in the first place. It's odd, but just as well ... I'm in a hurry, and I can't quite see his face in the light of the club (or lack thereof) so I want to get out of there while I still have all my limbs. Not that I over-exaggerate, mind you. I'm just kinda spooked.

"Well, sorry I ran into you and all that. Have a nice night," I say, smiling at him merrily despite how rude I think he is, and then excuse myself from his presence.

I don't make it very far before he grabs my arm. "Huh?"

He pulls me back, barking out a "Wait."

I really don't like taking orders ... but I won't say anything this time around. It's his first offense after all, so I decide to be lenient.

"Yes? Can I help you out or something?" My voice has somehow become much icier, despite the fact that I'm still trying to be polite. He doesn't seem to notice.

"Come have a drink with me. You're the first person I've talked to all night," he says, and drags me over to a nearby table. I don't get the chance to protest or resist him before he pushes me down into a booth against the farthest wall of the club, furthest from the door and in the darkest corner. He sits opposite of me.

I admit that I am in a bit of a daze ... this is all so sudden and my brain is having a difficult time keeping up with the pace of events. The lamp that hangs over our table has a faulty wire, causing the yellow bulb to flicker on and off, like a small child having fun with a light switch or something. I suppose I should be grateful for the illumination; without which I couldn't have noticed the fact that my favorite drink is already in front of me ...

I am also able to fully see my new "friend." He is obviously attracted to the 'Gothic' look, what with his pitch-black tank top and form-fitting trousers, fishnet gloves and large black combat boots. His face is sallow and pale, and his sunken eyes, outlined heavily in black eyeliner, still watch me intensely. A single paganistic earring hangs from his left ear, and many silver rings glint from around his bony fingers.

I shudder. I can feel his piercing gaze on me even when I'm not looking at him directly.

"Umm ... well, what exactly did you want to talk about, Bakura was it?" I take a long swig from the German vodka my 'host' had kindly provided, hoping it would calm my nerves. There's also a little nagging feeling in the back of my head, telling me that I'll need every single drop.

The boy looks down for a moment, stirring idly at his glass of red ... stuff. Probably wine, or something girly and fruity, I muse.

"I wanted to know more about you," he says at last, looking at me again. I notice that his eyes are a keen burgundy, almost the exact shade of whatever he's drinking. I look at him oddly, in part because of this strange iris color and in part of his previous statement. Wanted to know more about me? Okay, that is not something to go around admitting to strangers, especially if it's only the second complete sentence you've said to them in your lifetime.

“What? Why?”

Bakura shrugs. “You intrigue me,” he states. He takes a sip of his drink; I look at him like he's crazy.

I intrigue him? I'm starting to lose patience with his blunt answers. Now I can see through him; through this whole act—he wants nothing more than to get me in-between his sheets.

The thought is maddening, and also a little bitter. Why, you wonder? I will tell you truthfully that I know this because it's all happened before, back when I was young and easily-fooled by such acting. That time ... I paid the price for my naivety. He was a smooth-talker, and apparently a fast-dresser, too.

I shake my head back into reality, and stare at the white-haired boy for a long while. He wants to know more about me, huh? I decide that it's a relatively harmless subject if I approach it cautiously, so I start to tell him about my life.

"Okay then. My name is Malik, as you already know ... I'm going to be turning eighteen in December, a day before Christmas—but it doesn't matter, since my family doesn't celebrate Christmas. We're not Muslim though or anything ... we're not really anything I guess. My ancestors were pagans, but that's a little too ancient for my tastes," I start, sipping vodka in-between sentences. "I have a sister named Isis, by the way, and a step-brother Rishid ... We're all from Cairo originally but we moved to Japan 'cause my sister is running the Ancient Egyptian exhibit in the museum in Domino."

Hmm, maybe I'm being too specific ... what if this guy's a stalker? 'I'm so careless! I should throw him off,' I think, '... by being a bit more ... pointless.'

"I have a motorcycle, but I don't have a license or anything ... I absolutely love rabbits, but I've never had the opportunity to own one. I'm a vegetarian but I hold my alcohol well—wait, wrong conjunction. I'm a vegetarian and I hold my alcohol well ... and that's it I guess."

At the end of my speech, the white-haired boy's mouth is slightly open, and he's staring at me with a slightly-disbelieving look in his eye. Inwardly, I snicker. Distraction successful! Perhaps now I can make my escape.

Unfortunately, before I can excuse myself, he breaks out into a grin. "You're very amusing. It's a change from all the usual worthless slugs that run around here. It's a quirk I can appreciate," he says. Now it's my turn to stare at him with my mouth open. This isn't the reaction I was going for at all!

Suddenly he leans over the table, closer to me. "Humor aside now, I want to know ... more important things about you. Where are your parents? Do you live on your own, or with your family? Do you have very many close friends? Where do you go in your spare time? Are you happy with your present life? Can you paint, or dance? Are those contacts, or are your eyes really that color? Can you—"

I am overwhelmed, both with his numerous questions, and their stalker-like nature. "Whoa whoa whoa! Slow down, Bakura. I can barely understand you! If you want a question answered, give me time to do so before asking another! Right then. No mother or father; they both died when I was younger. Where I live and where I go is none of your business; yes I have friends; yes I am content with life. I can't draw worth crap, but I guess I can dance okay. And yes, my eyes are truly lavender. I was born with them," I answer.

Bakura is like a sponge, absorbing all my answers. It's another of his attributes that thoroughly creeps me out.

“Favorite color?”

“Gold.”

“Favorite flower?”

“Lotus blossom, from my home country.”

“Favorite genre of music?”

I have to think about that one. “I like Electronica, I suppose, but nothing can beat the soothing sounds of the lute and drum from Egypt,” I answer, sighing as an imaginary lute starts strumming a tune in my head. The bliss, however, is interrupted by more interrogation.

“Favorite food?”

“I’m a vegetarian. What the hell do you think, Einstein?”

Bakura is confused. On his wraith-like face, the expression is slightly terrifying. “Einstein? What is that? Is that some sort of insult?”

I raise my hands in the universal sign of surrender. "No, no—never mind. It's not important, man."

Bakura eyes me suspiciously, but continues regardless. “Favorite animal?”

“Oh, rabbits definitely!”

Bakura’s eyebrows raise at my enthusiasm. I shrug.

“I’ve always wanted a rabbit,” I say. Bakura rolls his eyes.

“Buy one.”

“Don’t have the money.”

“Then steal one.”

“What? Don’t you have any morals?”

“No, not really.”

I can definitely believe that.

“I’d steal one for you, if you wanted,” he says simply, but I freeze.

What did he just say? He’d steal something for me?

God. I'm sitting with a criminal, aren't I? And I'm still here ...? Am I insane?

“N-no, that’s okay. I’m just as happy rabbit-free. Besides, I think my sister is allergic, anyway,” I mutter. He tosses his head nonchalantly.

“I’d do it for you,” he says again, and I suddenly decide I’ve had enough of him and his creepiness. I take another swig of Vodka, and get up.

I don't fail to notice Bakura seizing up in his seat with my sudden movement. He hadn't planned on spending the whole night with me, had he? No way in hell that was going to happen.

“Bakura, I’m going to take off now. Isis will be up waiting for me. Thanks for the chat—err, I mean the interrogation—and the Vodka,” I say cheerily, but there is no smile on his face now. He's just watching me. He's been doing that all night, however, so it has less of an effect now. I'm able to ignore it. “Have a good All-Hallows Eve, Baku-chan,” I say, and then turn away. I just barely hear him take in a sharp breath.

“What ... did you just call me?"

I do hear that. Turning back around quickly, I try to placate him. “Baku-chan. Yeah, like a nickname, you know? I do it for everyone, so sorry if it offended you, okay? I'll see you around.”

I head for the door, smiling when I realize I am finally going home. That vodka is really starting to make me feel sleepy so I can't wait to get to bed.

He doesn't let me get far. When a pale hand shoots out and takes hold of me once again, my stomach sinks dangerously low in my body, and the notion that I might not make it home tonight crosses my mind.

I hear him get up, and soon his body is right up against mine. He takes hold of me from the other side, and I notice that his hands are really cold. He blows into my ear, the released airstream tickling the lobe and making my spine tingle with fear; a fear that is increased tenfold when he whispers these words:

“You aren’t going anywhere anymore, Ishtal ...”

I try to dominate my fears, wanting to stand up for myself. The time for being polite has passed. "Excuse me? You can't tell me where I am or am not going! Now take your hands off me at once," I snarl, and try to wrench myself out of his grip. I swallow upon finding this task impossible.

He takes both of my arms in one hand, pinning them behind me. His other arm wraps around my waist, pulling me backwards with it. "No. I want to ... talk some more," he says, voice suddenly very sultry and very dangerous. I'm led back to the booth, stumbling awkwardly until the back of my knees hit the cushioned seat and I fall into a sitting position.

I don't like the fact that he's sitting next to me now.

"What more could you possibly have to ask me?" I snap, this time successfully tearing my arms away from him. He smirks, and I think for the second time that maybe I wouldn't make it home after all.

"Hm ... let's see now ... oh yes, I know just the question! What is your sexual preference?" He asks darkly, with a steadily-widening grin that really makes me fear for my safety.

"Women! Women!" I gasp, making sure there's no possible way he wouldn't hear me.

My outburst doesn't seem to faze him, nor make his smile fade. "Well, you know, in the Christian Bible it said that women were created from the rib bone of a man. Really then, You could argue that they were the same thing," he states, finishing up his drink. My heart misses a beat.

"I thought I told you before, I'm not Christian," I say quickly, but I really don't think it will help any.

And it doesn't. He just continues to smile, saying, "It doesn't matter to me whether you are or not. And now, another question: do you believe in the darker side of humanity? In the occult?" He lowers his chin, looking up at me through his white fringe. "...In vampires?" He whispers.

I don't know whether he's being serious or stupid; whether I should laugh or cower. I blame my sudden spike in nervousness on his dumb creepy face. "H-have you gone soft in the head? There are no such things as all that," I state.

He bares his teeth in a wicked grin. Funny how I never noticed his inch-long fangs until this moment ...

Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh hell no. This wasn't happening! This couldn't be happening! I must have fallen asleep; this must be a dream! Did Bakura slip LSD in my vodka? Had the alcohol actually gotten to me? This couldn't be reality, because last time I checked the real world didn't function like the plot-line of a manga novel, and certainly vampires weren't real and didn't go around hitting on people in obscure little bars ...!

He curls his upper lip, making sure I can see well the twin blades shining eerily in his mouth. "Have I made you a believer?"

I draw back from his serpent smile. "W-what do you w-want from me?" I ask coldly, but I think it lost it's effect with all my stuttering.

"The truth? I want you," he whispers in my ear, taking hold of me once again, this time by the waist. I gasp, and pull away sharply.

"No! You can't have me!" I cry, thinking for the third time, the most believable time, that I will never see home again. This stranger, this monster, is going to kill me!!!

His expression drops, his eyes narrow and he actually growls at me. "You don't have a choice. I'm stronger than you!!" He grabs my wrist, hard enough to bruise.

"Ouch!"

He is suddenly in front of me, grabbing my upper arm and forcing me to my feet. I let out a startled yelp; I hadn't even seen the bastard move! When he starts dragging me to the back door of the establishment, I regain my senses and start struggling ferociously, going so far as to rake my nails over his exposed pale arm in an attempt to hurt him.

I look down, astonished when I see no marks whatsoever. Shit! Loosing confidence in my ability to save myself, I turn to the other bar-goers.

"Help, somebody! Let go of me! Let go! Help!"

But no one lifts a finger to help me. They simply watch as he finally succeeds in getting me out the door. We end up in an alleyway behind the bar, between two rusty old dumpsters. He slams me up against the wall.

"Now, don't resist me," he coos, pinning my arms between the wall and my back, and I watch in panic and confusion as his other hand sweeps my hair away from my neck. "It won't hurt that much if you don't move ..."

My mind finally registers what he's planning on doing. "NO!" I scream, struggling wildly in a final attempt to get away. I can't die! I don't want to die! Hell, I'M TO PRETTY TO DIE!

Annoyed, he slams his body down upon mind, crushing me against the wall and preventing movement. "Stop struggling!" He bends down and places his mouth on my neck.

My eyes close tightly. I don't want to see it ... I wish I'd never gone out tonight. In what I think are my last moments on earth, I think about my sister and what she will do when she finds out I never come home.

His tongue flicks across my delicate throat skin, bringing me back to the terrible present. "Mmmm," he hums, and I feel his voice box tremble. "What a beautiful neck. I almost hate to spoil it ..."

My voice only comes out as a desperate whisper. "Then don't ..."

I feel him laugh against my neck. "Never."

And then he bites.

Oops. Look at the time. I’ll have to stop for now. It’s almost dawn!

It was lovely talking to you all, and hopefully more will join us next time. Hopefully I’m entertaining you, but this is torture for me! This is messed up as it is, but you just wait!

It gets worse.

Just one more thing before I go ‘out’ for dinner. Men, remember what I said about taverns, October 31st, and Gothic people ...

Do yourself a favor.