Disclaimer: I don't own YuGiOh, CLAMP, or SephirothsGoddess's original characters.

Author's Note: As many people have been fond of pointing out to me, I have been a very poor updater for the past few months. And, though a lot of that is the result of personal stuff and school, it has also had to do with this fic, which I was writing for my friend and "onee-san," Trish. (Known to some of you, perhaps, as SephirothsGoddess.) Originally it was only going to be an Xmas present for her, but I like it so much, I thought I'd share it with all of you. XD I hope you enjoy—please remember to R&R!

Full Summary: Persocoms. Humanoids with the power of all the internet at their disposal; androids with highly developed bodies and superior minds; obedient robot companions of every child, teen, and adult. They're brilliant— beautiful— and, some argue, perfect. But what constitutes perfection in a computer? Its ability to function, its skills? Its advanced equipment? Is there such a thing as too perfect?

After finding a lone persocom in the trash, college students Bakura and Malik are shocked to find that their new 'com may, in fact, be just that. This TR;ISH model. . . what secrets does she hold? What is her purpose? Who made her? And how is she connected to the string of persocom 'murders' that the city of Domino has been experiencing?

A line is about to be crossed— a line between man and machine.

Humanity will never be the same again.

Warning: This fic contains bad language, questionable romantic situations (humanxmachine, incest, yaoi), original characters (from my own personal stories and SephirothsGoddess's fic "I'll Always Come Back to You." And yes, I realize—as I generally dislike OCs—that I AM being a hypocrite. But I'm okay with that. :) ), OOCness, and controversial opinions on technology. PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

(ALSO, PLEASE NOTE: Though this fic was inspired by and may resemble CLAMP's manga and anime CHOBITS, it quickly takes a different tone. I fully admit and give credit to CLAMP for the idea of persocoms and all that said idea entails.

Additionally, though you in no need MUST go read it in order to understand this fic, as it is an AU through and through, if you'd like to get a better feel for the OCs mentioned, please go read "I'll Always Come Back to You." THANK YOU!)

Dedication: For my "big sister" who's always there for me—whether she has time or not. Love you!




"All feelings are excess! So much excess! It's so much superfluous nonsense, and I want nothing to do with it if I can help it! Clear the room of all ancestral furniture and rebuild it the way I want to. Flush the toilet, boys! It stinks in here! Get it? My mind stinks! Cluttered up with all its damaged files and corrupt machinery! Programmed and programmed and programmed and programmed! It's too much!"









The scientist smiled, leaning lazily back in a swivel chair. This was it. . . the world was mere seconds away from 'beholding' a new brand of perfection. Or, rather, a new model of it.

Chuckling, the figure allowed their intense eyes to drink in the scene; savoring the moment. So much work. . . so much time. . . so close to fruition. The shadow's fingers clenched excitedly, gaze locking on—


"!" The young designer bolted upright in half an instant, utterly taken aback. "What! What the fuck—?"

"MAIN FRAME ERROR. SYSTEM DOWN. ABORT. ABORT. AB— A— a—krrrrrcxrrrrrrsh. . ."

"Dammit!" Horrified fingers zipped frantically over the keyboards, curses echoing off of the blinking walls. "Dammit all to hell!" The dim red lights of the laboratory began to flash, shrill sirens whirling to life. "Shit!"

"Ab—shxxxxxx-abor—xkrrrrrrrBeeeeep Beeeeep Beeeeep"


But no matter how much they swore or pleaded, technology—even stuff this advanced— could not bend to one's will. The scientist knew that better than anyone. After all, they designed the original program.

The original program which. . . rgh. . .

'She warned me.'

". . ." A growling sigh pushing though cold lips, the figure yanked its hair; watching helplessly as months of work broke down. There was nothing that could be done to reverse it, now. . . one could only start over. But how long would it take to repair the labs? Days? Years? Decades?

Unfortunately, that wasn't out of the realm of reason. . .

Sparks began flying from the countless wires that blanketed the small laboratory.

Slamming a frustrated fist against the desk, the figure cast the beloved creation a saddened look. '. . . CPUs fried, I bet. Memory files damaged, voice chip most likely destroyed. . . And with how long repairing the lab equipment's probably gonna take, it would be easier to redesign her later; make her even more advanced. More capable.'

. . . More advanced? Capable?

A snort fell from the scientist's mouth. "Yeah, right. . ." The designer doubted that anyone would ever be able to do that—this machine was well over 50 years ahead of its time! But. . . it was the only shred of comfort to be had.

'As Edison said, I didn't fail 2,000 times—I just found 2,000 ways that didn't work.'

With that bitter-sweet (and slightly ironic) thought, the shadow slowly trudged towards its "baby," ready to do the inevitable. 'Sorry, love. . . this hurts me, too.'