Ningyo

Summary: While exploring a newly inherited house, Mokuba stumbles across a life sized robotic doll in the attic. The odd, yet beautiful creation arouses Seto’s interest, and the tragic love story behind the house’s origin begins to unfold. [Mild YAOI]

Rated: T

Genre: Mystery

Author’s Note: (gasp) This is the last chapter you guys… Aw. The sequel should be up next month…sooner if my Malik high reaches epic proportions (then again, when doesn’t it?) …because (un)fortunately, there’s a lot of questions that won’t be answered in this entry. So it kind of ends, but not really…what?

Thanks to everyone who reviewed, you guys are amazing~

I’M SORRY I WAS LATE!

Disclaimer: Not mine, but I’m getting close.

-

6 – Truth

“Sensei…?”

Bakura looked up from his novel, seeing the last of his six dolls standing hesitantly in the doorway. As much as it resembled Malik, its disposition was nowhere near as headstrong and impulsive as the deceased blonde’s. He greatly regretted having to tune down what he perceived as ‘perfect programming,’ however it seems that Malik’s unaltered personality had proven to be destructive in large doses. Despite its imperfections, its deviations from the original, the sixth doll was undoubtedly cute in its own flawed way.

“Did you need something?”

“Um, n-no,” it replied in a painfully shy tone. “But…I was thinking about this afternoon…while you were playing that song.”

The former doctor leaned forward slightly, trying to stifle his excitement. Of all the replicas he had made, only the one with green eyes was capable of singing the way Malik had when he was alive. However, because of its overpowering jealousy and malevolent streak, it was the first to be shut down.

“What about it?”

“It’s just…I…” A defeated sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“Huh?” Bakura replied, dumbfounded. The real Malik would have never apologized for nothing, and in such a pathetic manner too. “Sorry for what?”

“When you were playing the piano earlier, you kept looking to me throughout the piece, like you were waiting for me to do something.”

“Oh…” Was he that obvious? He had only been with this particular model for three days, but what it lacked in confidence, it made up for in perceptiveness. “I just wanted to see if you were enjoying it is all.”

“I was, but…” It looked distressed. “But I had the feeling that…because I didn’t know what to do, you were disappointed…”

‘I was,’ the human mentally admitted.

The doll looked up, glassy lilac eyes devoid of tears. “It’s just…I want to make you happy…”

Bakura flinched, mind racing back to the argument he had with the first doll not one week ago, the night before absolute chaos broke out within the mansion.

…

“The only purpose you have is to please me,” Bakura snarled, rounding on the artificial being. “Just make me happy! I don’t give a damn about what you want!”

“And I couldn’t care less about you!” It screamed back, earning surprised gasps from the other four. “You think that just because you made me you can force me to do whatever you want? If that’s what you were expecting, then you shouldn’t have bothered to make me into Malik!”

“The real Malik was–!”

“The real Malik didn’t give a flying fuck about you my dear sensei,” the green-eyed doll cooed sweetly. “You don’t know what I know; you have no idea of the memories I have in my database. You blindly programmed us to be just like Malik. Well guess what?” A cruel smirk. “You didn’t know the REAL Malik.”

“He loved me.” Bakura stated firmly, jaw clenched. “That’s all I have to know.”

“Did he ever say that? Did he use the word love?” It scoffed. “I love you sensei…but only because you programmed me to love you. If I were real…if I were the real Malik…” A dark chuckle. “Well, I guess you’ll never know, will you?”

…

“That’s what you want me to do, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not…” Bakura mumbled more to himself than the timid doll.

“Sensei?”

“That’s not your purpose,” he said a little more forcefully than intended. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“But…but I want to.”

‘No you don’t,’ the doctor thought bitterly. ‘You only want to because I wanted you to want to…ugh, that just made my head hurt.’

“Just, don’t think about it, okay?” He responded in the most pleasant tone he could muster. “What’s done is done, there’s no point in stressing over it.”

“S-Sorry,” it sighed, bowing clumsily. A mannerism inherited directly from Malik himself.

“Don’t apologize,” Bakura growled, irritation evident in his voice. “I told you, I’m not mad.”

“Well you’re mad now…” the doll said quietly.

“I’m just frustrated that you’re so hung up about this.”

“But I don’t want you to be frustrated!”

“Well then I’ll feel whatever you want me to, just stop being so gloomy!”

“I already told you that I wanted you to be happy…”

“And I already told you that that shouldn’t be your main concern.”

“But I can’t stop making it my concern,” the doll argued. “Why are you so afraid that what I feel for you might actually be genuine?”

“Because it’s not!” Bakura snapped, rising from the couch. “You can’t feel anything genuine because you’re just a doll! Everything you ‘feel’ is just something I programmed into a chip!”

“If you really believed that, then why did you bother making me?”

“Because...I…” He was lost for words. Why did he bother activating the last model? He knew that by altering its personality, he’d never find how Malik truly felt about him. Resentment or empathy? Bitterness or forgiveness? Hate or love? He’d never know, and still, he felt the need to turn on the last doll.

Why?

“My emotions may just be a fabrication…but to me they’re real. And if you can’t accept that,” lilac eyes blazed in agony, “then please, just shut me down!”

“What did you say?” Bakura gaped, mouth dry.

“Shut me down,” it repeated, tone dead serious. “I don’t want to be a burden to you…your happiness is all that I care about sensei. I know you don’t believe me…maybe I shouldn’t believe me either, but…” A soft smile. “If it’ll make us both feel better, then why not?”

“It’d make you feel better?”

“Um…well…I guess if I’m turned off I won’t be able to feel anything,” the blonde said thoughtfully. “But it’d make you feel better, so then…if I were active, then it’d make me feel better...so it all works out.”

Dark eyes gazed into tinted glass for a long time. No matter how hard he searched, those lilac orbs would never hold the same haunted light that Malik’s had held. Whatever had given the headstrong blonde such pained eyes remained a mystery, another question left unanswered upon his untimely death. That innocent, yet tainted demeanor that caused Ryou to fear for his twin’s safety…

He had never known the real Malik. And he was wasting his energy trying to pry it from the blank eyes of his last replica. That much was true. The former doctor got to his feet and walked to his creation, a look of apprehension on his face. The doll smiled again, repeating Malik’s distinctive bow.

“It’s okay, I’m not sad. No regrets, right?”

‘No regrets,’ Bakura mentally repeated, the painful memory of he and Malik’s very first meeting resurfacing. Slowly, he pressed a small button on the doll’s ear, fingers trembling as they reached for the main wire.

The robot closed its eyes, enjoying the touch of its creator’s hand on its shoulder. It felt so nice...better than the sunlight he had bathed in earlier that day. For a brief moment, it wondered if getting deactivated was the same as a human dying. The thought was chased away almost immediately, as it realized that people could not be ‘turned back on’ so to speak.

A sigh. This was taking longer than the doll had anticipated. Maybe Bakura had already pulled the cord and it just took a little longer for the thought process to shut down completely. Suddenly, a soft pressure was placed on the doll’s face. Unfamiliar with the new sensation, the doll opened its glass eyes hesitantly, genuinely surprised that they still worked.

It was pressed gently against the creator’s chest, metal ear closed shut. Bakura’s pale arms were wrapped around the doll’s shoulders, pulling it tighter and tighter with every breath, as if he were afraid to let go. An odd noise came from the human’s lips, but the doll didn’t bother trying to understand what they meant, instantly realizing that it had, somehow, made its beloved sensei happy again. Satisfied with this accomplishment, the svelte robot relaxed into the man’s embrace, eyes closing in contentment.

It wasn’t until October 4 of the next year that the doll realized how much that night had meant.

-

Jounouchi smashed his boot against the brick wall he was leaning on, dislodging a few good pints of dirt.

“Well that expedition was a nice way to waste a morning,” he said irritably, placing his foot back. “No one knew anything!”

The group of four stood tiredly (or confusedly in Malik’s case) by Seto’s now battered car, waiting for the brunette to locate the keys in one of his many pockets. They had woken up at six, figuring seniors liked to go about their business before anyone from the younger generations appeared to make them uncomfortable. As Malik was wearing nothing more than a fashioned rag at that point, they had sent Jounouchi home to scrounge up some clothes, and he returned with a light jacket from his own wardrobe as well as a pair of jeans from his younger sister. Since the doll had no ‘bulge’ to speak of (“I told you it wasn’t meant for sex,” Touzoku smirked), the pants slipped on without much of a hassle. The only problem they had was disguising Malik’s ears without making it too obvious. A remedy was found in the form of a tastefully placed winter hat and a careful arrangement of the doll’s long hair.

Looking strangely flushed, Touzoku lent Malik a wool scarf, claiming it would help him look better dressed for autumn. He had also advised the blonde not to speak unless necessary; though the doll’s voice wasn’t obviously robotic, it still sounded slightly artificial.

They had spent three hours going to known senior hangouts, questioning them about memorable events that occurred around the time of Bakura’s disappearance, having claimed to need the information for a class project. There wasn’t anyone that had anything particularly useful to say, much to the frustration of Jounouchi, who had to sit through long stories about the time someone had eaten their first hot dog.

“Well at least we tried,” Mokuba frowned, hopping into the passenger seat as soon as his brother unlocked the car doors.

“It seems almost everyone in town was born somewhere else,” Touzoku sighed, allowing the doll to enter before he stepped in. “Apparently you and I are a dying breed Jounouchi.”

“Guess so,” the taller blonde agreed, sitting on Malik’s opposite side. “So, next stop is your house, right?”

“I know for a fact my grandpa lived here around that time, whether or not he remembers any of it is a totally different story.”

“Do you plan to just yell directions at me or will you switch places with Mokuba?” Seto said dully, looking over his shoulder.

“Yelling is fine,” Touzoku answered coolly.

“You can’t miss it anyway,” Jounouchi smirked. “It’s a really old, really ugly house with a band of stray cats on the front step.”

“Those are my mother’s!”

“I know you have a few…”

“Cats are those little furry things with pointed ears that scratch you, right?” Malik asked suddenly.

“You don’t know what a cat is?” Mokuba said, face deadpan.

“Well I’ve never been outside…” the doll mumbled.

“Cats are horrible smelly pieces of crap that multiply like mad and claw up everything you own,” Jounouchi growled.

“Bad experience?” Seto asked, amused.

“My sister loves them.” The tall blonde responded.

“Turn left,” Touzoku commanded, causing the brunette to make an unnecessarily sharp turn. “Go straight down the road until you see an old shrine and then go up the hill; my house is the fourth on the right,” he continued as Jounouchi heaved the stunned doll off his lap.

“Mokuba, I want you to take note of this experience. Some people in this world just aren’t as hard working or educated as your big brother, and they end up as shut-ins, living in second-rate houses in neighborhoods inhabited by crusty old men. This is why I want you to stay in school.”

“Got it,” the younger Kaiba nodded.

“Talking like we’re not even in the car,” Touzoku sighed.

“Bet he was beat up a lot in primary school,” Jounouchi muttered.

“The trees get really red in autumn, huh?” Malik said in amazement, watching every maple that passed the windows.

“They’re the only reason I can find to go outside,” Touzoku admitted sheepishly. “They’re only like this for a few weeks, but it’s always a great show.”

“I’ve only seen the maple trees planted outside the house,” the doll replied, still looking out, “and they never get as red as these do. They’re more…pinkish?”

“There’s an old tree like that near town,” the tanned human remembered. “It’s really weird because it’s the only one that isn’t completely red.” A thoughtful look. “Maybe Bakura planted it there.”

“More like he stole the seeds off it,” Jounouchi interrupted. “That tree is old. Like ancient old. The trees around the house aren’t as tall.”

“Well that’s true…”

“Are we there yet? Touzoku’s unsubtle flirting is making my head itch!” Mokuba complained.

“That’s probably from huge spider that laid eggs in your hair after you left the attic,” Malik said innocently.

The rest of the ride was riddled with frantic screams of terror and uncontrolled laughter.

-

“There you are!” Mana growled in exasperation, pulling her son into the house. “Do you have any idea how worried I was last night? If your father were still here he would’ve beat you over your head with a club! I called every single internet café and night club within a five mile radius–”

“Mooooooooom…” Touzoku whined, noticing the odd looks from Malik and Seto.

“–and you weren’t in any of them! How was I supposed to know you hadn’t been kidnapped by that crazy man down the street who likes to collect oranges?”

“Well as you didn’t bother to physically leave the house and look for me, I suppose you must have found some way to fall asleep last night,” the other sneered. “Where’s Grandpa?”

“You mean you’re not going to introduce me to your new friends?” the short woman chided. “It’s so nice to see him bring home living things; I’d gotten so used to bags of wires and plastic! I’m Mana by the way, Touzoku’s mommy!”

“His mommy?” Mokuba snickered, earning a deadly glare.

“That little annoying one is Mokuba, the giant moody guy is his brother Seto, and the one with the scarf is…Namu,” Touzoku said quickly, pointing each one out. “And you know Jounouchi already.”

“Hey,” he waved.

“Isn’t that your scarf Namu’s wearing?” Mana whispered, a knowing glint in her pale blue eyes. “Nice catch Touzoku!”

“MOM.”

“Sorry to barge in like this so unexpectedly,” Seto cut in, tired of the exchange. “I’m a journalist visiting from Domino City, and I was wondering if it was possible to interview your father Missus Ibara.”

“Regarding?”

“A special report covering the history of the town just down the hill,” the brunette continued to lie, obviously trying to charm his way to a ‘yes’. “We met your son yesterday while exploring, he offered his services and has been showing us around since yesterday afternoon.”

“Well that was awfully nice of him,” she smiled. “Do you always bring such a large entourage with you?”

“My brother isn’t one to stay and home, and Namu is one of my students,” Seto motioned towards Malik, who was startled out of boredom. “Not one for conversation, but very good company on my business trips.”

“Not one for conversation? No wonder my son took a liking to him,” Mana chuckled, ignoring Touzoku’s protests. “I’m going to fetch my dad from out back, in the meanwhile, why don’t you all help yourself to some tea and snacks in the kitchen? I’ll be right back.”

“Don’t say anything,” Touzoku commanded as soon as he heard the back door slam shut.

“You’re lucky his mom’s so trusting. Anyone else would’ve realized journalists don’t lug their ‘students’ and younger siblings around everywhere.” Jounouchi scoffed.

“Hold your tongue,” Seto growled.

“Did you want your scarf back?” Malik asked innocently.

“N-No, it’s,” Touzoku blushed. “Keep it alright? Oh…just a little warning before you all actually meet him; Grandpa’s kind of an asshole.”

“Well that was blunt,” Seto blinked.

“He threw me out of the house one time for breathing too loud,” Jounouchi recalled, a frown upon his face. “Then again for blinking too much…”

“Maybe he just doesn’t like you,” Mokuba offered.

“That might be it,” the blonde pouted.

“You’re going to have to come up with a more convincing story, because flying all the way here from Domino City just for an editorial piece on the town is stupid.” Touzoku snorted.

“So I suppose I should just come out and say a robotic doll wanted us to find out what happened to the con-artist who built it sixty years ago,” Seto drawled.

“Couldn’t hurt.”

A few minutes of rude remarks and childish bickering passed before Mana returned to the house with her father trailing behind. She looked slightly annoyed, but managed to keep an optimistic smile on her face, energetically kicking away piles of clothes and old newspaper so the old man wouldn’t have to step over them.

Her father, though aged, still had a regal air to him; though he used a cane, he walked with confidence and pride, similar to the jade-eyed doll. Once dark hair was now a grayish silver, wrinkles were carved deeply onto dark skin. His dark blue eyes seemed very alert, and almost immediately upon entering the room, they focused on the disguised doll.

“Sorry I took so long,” she panted, straightening her skirt, “took me a while to find him!”

“Thank you,” Seto nodded.

“Would you like to stay for dinner? I was just about to step out to buy some ingredients for a stew!”

“Uh…” the brunette hesitated.

“Mom, he’s busy,” Touzoku said quickly, saving the other from having to come up with yet another lie.

“Oh, well that’s too bad.” She said disappointedly, throwing on a red scarf. “I’ll see you soon then.”

Mana waved goodbye before exiting the house. Seto instinctively walked towards her father, pale hand extended in a warm gesture.

“Thank you for joining us today, my name is Seto Kaiba.”

Mokuba grimaced. He wasn’t used to his brother being so nice. It was mildly disturbing.

“Mana said something about an interview?” the elderly man muttered, long hair hanging limply in a thin ponytail. He ignored the hand rather callously, causing Touzoku to whisper hasty apologies in embarrassment.

“Uh…yes, we were wondering if it was possible to ask you a few questions Mister…?”

“My name is Mahaado,” he said dismissively, lowering himself into a rocking chair. “Mahaado Inanna.”

“Mister Inanna,” Seto began, taking a seat on the sinking couch, “I was wondering if you remembered anything that happened in town on October 4, 2032. The Domino Tribune is doing a special on–”

“Obscure dates from decades years ago?” A dry chuckle. “What’s so special about that day? There are more important dates to remember; the bombing of 2041, the total capture of western Kyoto in 2050…this town was peaceful before the wars began…and that’s the time period you’re interested in?”

“I–”

“You said your name was Kaiba? Isn’t that the same as the weapon manufacturer from back then?” A curious stare.

“I…was adopted,” Seto said slowly, blue eyes narrowing. Jounouchi winced; obviously a touchy subject to bring up. “But this isn’t about me Mister Inanna. If you could please answer the question…?”

“October 4, 2032…” the man repeated, licking dry lips. “Hm. Well I know I was a lot younger then.”

“Obviously,” Touzoku sighed.

“My wife and I had only lived in this area for a few weeks, but it was a pleasant place. Everyone was so friendly and hospitable despite our odd appearance. You’d almost think they’d seen a couple like us before…”

Jounouchi briefly glanced at the doll, which remained still.

“Now let’s see…October is when the maples start changing color, so my wife and I had probably gone on a walk that day to look at them. Hmm…what else…?” Dark blue eyes widened slightly. “Oh, that’s right…”

“Yes?” Seto asked impatiently.

“Someone was killed that day.”

Malik opened his mouth to speak, but was quickly interrupted by Touzoku.

“You say that so calmly!”

“Well it was a long time ago,’ Mahaado shrugged. “And from what I heard, the victim was a wanted criminal, so it couldn’t have been all bad…”

“Do you remember his name?” the brunette pressed.

“Bakura Kagami,” the old man recited, with a tinge of bitterness. “He was shot just outside of town, next to the old maple tree…”

…

“When I die,” Malik announced, pressing a finger on Bakura’s nose. “I want to be buried underneath this tree.”

The doctor looked at the creaking maple, a frown forming on his face. “But it‘s…it’s not even completely red!”

“Yeah, but at least you’ll know where it is,” the blonde said simply. “So then you can bring me flowers every day. Purple ones of course, maybe yellow…”

“You seem so sure that you’ll be the first to go.”

“Well, if you die first, then I’ll be sure to die wherever you want to end up.”

“Huh?”

“So we’ll be together again,” Malik smiled. “But don’t worry; that won’t happen for a long time.”

“Then why are you bringing it up now…?” Bakura asked quietly.

The blonde thought for a minute, twirling one of the fallen leaves between his fingers.

“…I’m not sure.”

…

“Did…you know anything about Bakura Kagami?” Seto asked.

“Not enough to write a paper about,” Mahaado said suspiciously.

“Touzoku tells us Kagami was the maiden name of his grandmother. Your wife?”

The old man’s frown deepened. “There are several people with the family name Kagami.”

“How many of them had twin brothers by the name of Bakura and Ryou?” The brunette questioned, not missing a beat. “You knew Bakura Kagami prior to this incident, didn’t you? Unless you married your wife without bothering to meet her family…”

“Who are you people? What do you want from me? And why is…” Dark eyes stared deeply into lilac. “Why does he…?”

“Mister Inanna, you’re being very jumpy about this, the average person might think you had something to hide.” A cruel smile. “Please tell us all you can about the life and death of Bakura Kagami.”

“No,” Mahaado stated firmly, eyes still trained on the timid doll. “Not until you tell me what this is all about!”

“An article,” Seto spat, “just tell us!”

“I don’t believe you! The personal life on an old man isn’t worth anything; I haven’t done anything important enough to write about! Why do you want to know about my relation to Bakura Kagami? He’s a forgotten criminal and he deserved everything he got!”

“Grandpa, finding out that I’m the descendant (and apparently a dead ringer) of an American con-artist through some guy I met yesterday was hard enough to swallow,” Touzoku snapped. “Stop being a drama queen and tell us about him!”

“But–”

“Grandpa…” he pleaded.

Mahaado breathed in deeply, exhaling through his nose. Remembering this event was obviously very difficult, both mentally and emotionally. He was old, his memory was worn, but his heart was still gripped with whatever had happened to make him loathe the name Bakura Kagami. He shot another suspicious glance toward Malik before clasping his hands and closing his eyes, deep in thought.

“…Over sixty years ago, my younger brother was killed after doing business with a local gang. I advised against it, but he wasn’t the kind of man who listened to reason. Within a few months, it became more and more difficult for him to deliver on his end of the bargain. He was dealt with in a rather cruel manner, as is the norm when dealing with criminal organizations. For weeks, I wracked my brain over why he would risk his life for money that we didn’t need. We lived in a middle class area, our lifestyle wasn’t extravagant, but we most certainly weren’t poor by any standard. And then,” his dark blue eyes met the doll’s lilac once again, a sad smile on his lips, “and then Malik Ishtar paid me a visit.”

…

“Mahaado, I…!”

“Malik!” he gasped, catching the distressed blonde, as he was about to collapse from exhaustion. He could feel the svelte frame shaking uncontrollably. “What are you…the funeral isn’t until–”

“I…I know who did it,” Malik sobbed, burying his head into man’s chest. “I know…I know who killed him…”

“What do you…?”

And that’s when he noticed the dried blood clinging to the boy’s bangs.

…

“You knew the…” Jounouchi began, only to be cut off by Seto.

“What does this have to do with Bakura Kagami?” The brunette asked coldly.

“Why don’t you tell me?” the old man responded, gaze still fixed on the artificial human. “Tell me why ‘Namu’ looks exactly like the young man my brother lost his life for?”

“You’re senile,” Seto lied smoothly, blocking Malik from view. “If they were the same person, he’d be as shriveled and useless as you are.”

“Why are you so determined to find out about that doctor?” Mahaado pressed, directing the question to everyone. “Bakura Kagami was a criminal who deserved what he got, if not by law enforcement, then by someone who was deeply affected by his selfish actions.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know the name of this ‘someone,’ would you Grandpa?” Touzoku asked accusingly.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“That’s not an answer!” The grandson snapped. “You’ve been keeping this a secret from everybody in the family! If grandma had known you knew the name of her brother’s murderer–! ”

“What makes you so sure grandma didn’t know as well? Do you honestly think that it was pure chance that we chose to move here?”

Touzoku froze, trying to unweave the tangled riddle the old man spoke.

“So you both knew,” Seto said slowly.

“Your grandma couldn’t escape the shame Bakura had brought upon her family,” Mahaado continued bitterly. “White hair and dark eyes aren’t exactly easy to hide, and any family that wasn’t out for blood was after money; shortly after Bakura had run away, his twin brother gave away everything they had out of guilt.” He closed his eyes. “But it still wasn’t enough. If I hadn’t come in to save them, then…” A throaty cough. “All the lives Bakura destroyed…countless patients, their families, my brother, his own blood… Believe me, his death isn’t a loss to anyone.”

Seto tightened his grip on the doll’s shoulder. “Justified or not, murder is murder.”

“And…?”

“And being so close to the grave yourself, don’t you think it would be appropriate for you to atone for your sins?”

A dry smile. “You think I killed Bakura Kagami?”

“You haven’t given me a reason to believe otherwise,” the brunette said coldly.

“If it comforts you to believe that, go ahead,” Mahaado sighed, leaning back into his rocking chair. “…Do you know what they found next to Bakura’s body by any chance?”

“Uh…blood?” Mokuba guessed, looking as confused as everyone else in the room. There was a stunned silence that following the question, with Touzoku exchanging clueless glances with Jounouchi and Seto just looking pissed off altogether.

“Hardware,” Malik answered quietly, eyes downcast. All attention was suddenly drawn to the doll. “They found hardware…didn’t they?”

“Ma…Namu, what are you…?” Jounouchi mumbled urgently.

“So it is true,” the old man muttered. “All those rumors about Bakura being unable to let go of that poor boy…” He lowered his glasses. “You’re one of his dolls, aren’t you?”

“You know about them?” Seto gasped, eyes wide.

“It was reported that Bakura had screamed something about leaving his dolls alone just before he passed away. Everyone had always assumed he had gone mad all those years in the wilderness, and was referring to an old China Doll collection. However, Amane remembered that her brother often created small robotic toys for her to play with as a child. Until this day. I had no idea what that man had created…and now I see it sitting right in front of me. It’s fascinating…what a little insanity and a lot of time can produce.”

“It’s name is Malik,” Touzoku said.

“Yes,” Mahaado nodded. “I thought so. It seems Bakura never figured it out then.”

“Figured what out?” the doll asked. “Was there something wrong with Malik Ishtar?”

“There was nothing wrong with him, but Bakura seemed to take a lot of liberty while programming you. The reason you came to this place wasn’t for a newspaper, but simply to find out what had happened to your lost creator, correct?”

“Y-Yes.”

“And when you found out that my grandson was somehow related to Bakura, you wanted to know more.”

“Yes.”

“And why did you go to such lengths to do this?” the old man whispered. “Why do you care about your creator?”

“Because I–”

“Love him?”

Malik trembled at the sound of the words he had wanted to say for so long. Touzoku rested a strong hand on his shoulder, giving him a brief, but reassuring smile. His eyes…they were so similar to Bakura’s…

“…Yes.” The doll said finally, closing his own. “That’s why. That’s what I was programmed to feel and I have no reason to resist.”

“Yes, but you see,” Mahaado said somewhat sadly, “that’s where you and the real Malik are different.”

-

To Be Continued In Ningen…

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