Yu-Gi-Oh! and all related characters belong to Kazuki Takahashi

Edit 6/17/2014: For the sake of accuracy, I went and changed the area to where Marik receives the sedative shots from his arm to his hip.


"Some people are afraid of what they might find if they try to analyze themselves too much, but you have to crawl into your wounds to discover where your fears are. Once the bleeding starts, the cleansing can begin."

-Tori Amos

Prologue

He had not known awareness in what felt like days; so when his mind finally began to travel back to reality it was a muddled mess. First there came the realization that his throat felt very dry, almost burning. Next, was the sense he was laying on something; a bed? He groaned and finally managed to crack open his eyes, only to close them again as the fluorescents pierced his unprepared pupils. Covering his face with one arm, he laid there trying to remember.

"Rishid…Ishizu…"

Ishizu…she'd handed him a tray with tea. He's taken it with him to his daily lesson with father as he always did…

"Father…"

Had he fallen asleep again and Father simply brought him back to his room? Marik opened his eyes again…and discovered he was not where he'd thought. The boy of twelve sat up with a start, wishing he hadn't as soon as the motion was made. The remnants of induced sleep caused his head to spin, and he wretched. He coughed and wiped a sting of bile from his parched lips. Hands shaking, he gripped the edge of the bed to steady himself. When he touched the cold steel, he frowned. This wasn't his bed frame, his was made of wood. He looked down at the blanket and the sheets; they were white, not black. And the room itself was so much smaller; bland and sterile. No shelves, no toys. Save for the bed, it was devoid of any personal effects. As an unsettling lump began forming in his throat, Marik looked across the room and felt it drop down into his stomach.

There was a reinforced metal door; a small, glass window containing reinforcing wire was the only view outwards; below it, a small rectangular hatch. Disbelief crept though him as he managed the strength to stand and walk towards it. Marik reached a tentative hand out towards the glass, as if expecting an illusion. The boy was rewarded with a solid tap. Something inside him snapped, and he began pounding as hard as his small fists would allow.

"Let me out! Let me out…letmeoutletmeout!"

Marik stopped when he noticed something catching the light on his wrist. A hospital bracelet listing his medical information and the name of the institution he found himself in: Kane Hill Correctional Hospital, Juvenile, Ward C. The boy's eyes widened in horror and he continued to slam his hands down on the door; at times throwing his whole body into it. Still the door held, and eventually the skin of his knuckles began to bleed. Even as the pain intensified, he slapped at the door with earnest; blood from his raw skin smearing across the surface. Marik, his energy spent, finally slid down to the floor, chest heaving with sobs. Sobs became screams; and after some time, his screams drew the attention of his keepers.

A burly looking man in a guardsman's uniform stepped into the room. Marik scrambled backwards towards his bed, screaming at the guard to stay away from him, but the man persisted. He closed the distance between them, pinning Marik's arms behind him. He called towards the door and a nurse walked in; syringe in hand. The Egyptian boy screamed louder when he saw the needle out of the corner of his eye, and he fought harder. The nurse walked over and exposed part of his left hip. There was a dull pain as the needle entered his skin, and he screamed again, his mind fading back into the darkness several moments later.


What sounded like crying roused him sometime later. Marik groaned, opening his heavy eyelids. He looked towards the sound and saw another boy hunched by the door. He frowned and sat up slowly, "Hello?"

The other boy made no indication he'd heard Marik, so he stood up from the bed and slowly walked over to him. Even as Marik's feet made soft padding noises on the floor, the other boy still didn't turn to look at him. He reached a tentative hand out to touch his shoulder, "Are you alright?"

The other boy stopped, quieted instantly, and turned his head to look at him over his shoulder. Marik gasped and skittered backwards, tripping over his hospital gown. His room's other occupant stood and turned to face him, blood dripping from his hands. There was a crazed glint in his eyes as his mouth split into a wide grin, and he threw his head back and laughed. And Marik covered his mouth in horror as torrents of blood gushed forth from his mouth and eyes. The red waterfalls dripped onto the floor, a large puddle forming that quickly spread towards where Marik sat on the floor.

He scrambled further backwards until he hit the bed frame. The blood pooled about his feet, soaking into his gown. Marik began to gag as the thick, sticky substance coated his skin. His hands covered his mouth tighter in an attempt to stop his heaving, but what he saw when he looked into the pool stopped it for him. The face of the other boy, that same smile nearly splitting his face in half, grinned back at him. And Marik felt his mind whirl at the realization that he was looking at a reflection…


Marik lurched awake, his body bouncing back against something. His eyes widened as he looked down: heavy leather straps were holding him firmly to the bed. The boy stared, dumbfounded a long moment, before he began screaming again, throwing his weight against the straps. But the more he struggled, the more wore out he became, until finally he sank back into the sheets. He sobbed, screaming the names of his family until his voice was hoarse. The Egyptian youth laid there in silence, trying to tell himself this wasn't happening, that he was still dreaming. But the longer time passed, the greater the realization became. His mind, unable to make sense of it all, began to drift until his ears perked at the sound of a key scraping in the lock to the room. He turned his head to look as the door swung open, and in stepped a man.

From the looks of his attire, Marik assumed he was a doctor: white, pressed lab coat, blue button down polo shirt, khaki pants, and the like. His hair was as white as his coat, pulled back into a thick pony tail. Marik met his gaze and he smiled back at the boy. He flicked through a stack of papers in his arm, "Hello…ah, Marik. Glad to see you're finally awake."

Marik simply stared back, his eyes wide with confusion. The doctor frowned and removed his glasses, folded them, and placed them in his breast pocket, "Forgive me my manners, I'm Doctor Hassan Bakura; one of the staff in charge of the Juvenile Ward here at Kane Hill Correctional."

That's right, the bracelet…

Marik tried to lift up his wrist, forgetting he was strapped down. He grunted and pounded his fists against the sheets in frustration. The doctor walked closer to his bed as he did so, "I'm sorry about the restraints. We didn't want you injuring yourself further after your episode earlier," Bakura sighed, gesturing to Marik's bandaged knuckles as he sat on the edge of the bed.

"W-why am I in the hospital? I don't have a fever. I don't feel sick. What's going on?!"

Bakura's frown deepened and he scribbled something down in the file, "Your birthdate is the twenty-third of December, correct?"

Marik nodded and the doctor pulled two small figures out of his pocket, "Now then, Marik, I want you to look at these figurines for me. Can you tell me what they are?"

"I…" Marik looked down at the two small toys in the doctor's hand. One was a carved wooden sea turtle. It's shell a much darker shade than that of its head and fins. The other was a little plastic shark. The kind one might get from one of those prize bubble machines they had at grocery stores and game shops. Marik didn't seem to understand the need for the question in relation to his own, but answered out of principle regardless.

Hassan nodded once more, "Now then, tell me which one you like better."

"What? What does this have to do with anything? Where are my brother and sister? Where's my father?" he questioned, voice sounding more harsh due to the rasp he had self-inflicted.

"Marik, answer the question."

"Not until you answer mine!"

Hassan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "They aren't here right now, Marik. I need you to answer a few more questions, and then we'll talk about your family. Alright?"

The child glared, not seeming too satisfied with the doctor's answer, but he nodded in response. Hassan nodded back and asked again, "Now then, tell me which of these two animals you like better?"

Violet irises shifted back to the toys and Marik frowned in thought. He'd read a lot about both of those animals, and he found them to be both equally appealing. Turtles were calm, friendly, and shy. Sharks were seen as the opposite of that: threatening, aggressive, and dangerous. But not all sharks were dangerous or aggressive. A few more minutes passed before Marik finally answered, "I can't decide. I like them both equally."

"Alright…" Hassan scribbled something in his notes once more, this time it was much longer before he looked up from the clipboard to ask another question, "Marik, can you tell me the last thing you remember before you woke up here?"

"I, uhm…I was bringing afternoon tea to father, for my daily lesson. We always have tea before I study my history," the boy thought aloud, "You said my Father wasn't here. Where is he? Is he worried about me?"

Hassan continued on as if he hadn't heard the child's question, "I see. Now Marik can you tell me-"

"Stop asking me stupid questions and tell me where my family is!" He screeched at the doctor, throwing his body against the restraints again for good measure.

The doctor frowned and sat down on the corner of the bed. He was silent for a moment, seemingly lost in thought. Marik glared at him silently until the man looked in his direction, "Marik you…you don't remember at all?"

"Why else would I ask you where they are?" the boy growled back, "Now let me go so I can see them!"

He sighed again, "I can't do that, Marik."

The Egyptian boy's eyes went wide, "Why…why not?!"

"Marik, something has happened. Something bad."

"What do you mean bad? Ishizu? Rishid?"

"Your brother and sister are alright."

"And…what about father?"

There was a long pause before Hassan replied, "Marik, your father is dead," he stopped, hesitating when he saw the shock spreading on Marik's face, but continued, "Your father is dead because you killed him, Marik."

"Wait…no. No, he can't be. I just saw him…NO!"

"Marik, calm down-"

"Father! Father!" Marik struggled and kicked against the straps, "Father, help me!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, voice cracking again from his already sore throat. Vaguely, in between his cries of distress, he heard the doctor shouting for a nurse. It wasn't long before he felt the pressure of the needle in his hip once more, and darkness overcame his senses.


A side note, Hassan Bakura is essentially Yami Bakura.