The rain pounded incessantly on the rooftops, the heavy glass windows stained with clear crystals of heaven's tears. Outside, droplets of rain fell from a sky blackened by ominous storm clouds, the drops gathering to form numerous streams of muddied water that came together and broke apart, forming intricate paths that flowed out from the empty, desolate yard to nowhere. Overhead, lightning flashed, thunder boomed, and the moaning gusts of wind picked up, carrying with it the sounds of the violently rustling trees and the eerie wail of lost souls without a home to go back to. The almighty forces of nature seemed determined to conquer the insignificant man-made structures and level them down to the ground. But the silent concrete buildings stood tall, undaunted by the storm. Undeterred, Nature gathered herself for another assault upon the forever voiceless walls.

However, all that belongs to the world outside. Inside, against the fearsome screams of the sky that have been reduced to a disconsolate murmur, brightly lit lights shone harshly down upon the room, throwing all of its angles and shadows into sharp relief, at odds with the malevolent weather outside, and the pitiable conditions inside. For on the few small windows the room possesses, there were bars. Bars not meant to keep something out, but rather, to keep something in. The same bars that guard the windows stood at the doors, making up for one whole side of the small, cramped room. The room itself, although brightly lit, glaringly lacked the warm, welcoming feelings present in a home. For this is not a home that its inhabitants willingly return to, or even willingly referred to as a home, not one where one is loved and loved back in return. Absent were the furniture, the everyday comforts and necessities. What is present, however, are the four teens, some trying to sleep against the glaring light, some fruitlessly trying to pass the time and ease the endless boredom. The true state of barrenness of the room could be seen as the boys lain themselves on bunk beds that were stripped of everything but a thin quilt or sat cross- legged on the cold stone floor that occasionally, would become the visiting ground for cockroaches. These supposedly violent teens, the thieves and rapists and killers, seemed somehow less sinful of the atrocities they have committed, as they were deprived of everything that made life worthwhile, their possessions, their rights, their parents and loved ones. Silent and gaunt, they slept fitfully while the cold, condescending guards patrolled outside their jail cells.

They are the inmates.

Behind Linked Fences

A Yugioh Fanfiction

By Mikage

Chapter One

Ryou Bakura signed and flipped open the file again, staring at it as if by merely glaring, the offensive file lying innocently-and, at the same time, haphazardly- upon his otherwise immaculate desk would spontaneously burst into flames and dissipate into a little pile of harmless ashes that, contrary to its predecessor, would definitely NOT be ruining his day right now.

It didn't work. The file, in fact, didn't even bat an eyelash, apparently unfazed at the murderous glare currently being heaped upon its innocuous head.

Ryou heaved another sigh-really, he has been sighing far too much lately. He probably would be growing white hairs if his hair wasn't already silver. But was it his fault nothing seems to go right since his transfer here? No, he didn't think so.

Unwillingly, his gaze shifted to the black and white print on his patient's file. By the looks of it, he's going to be in for some rough times. The kid is a potential time bomb, waiting to explode. Perhaps, he had already exploded, and he was just expected to pick up the pieces, whatever that's left, that is. Theft, a history of drug abuse, grand theft auto, he's done it all. Assault, arson, homicide... the list goes on. Oh he is going to have fun with this one, Ryou thought sarcastically, biting back the irrational urge to scream. He was not going to let some just-out-of-highschool adolescent drive him insane, at least not without meeting this absolutely charming individual first. Although, he reflected, after the meeting, he might not have a long ways to go.

He looked at the blank square in the upper-left most corner of the page. Photo Not Available. He probably threatened anyone with bodily injuries if they dared to approach him with a camera, Ryou thought sourly and uncharitably.

He had just came to this rehab center just last week, and immediately this case had been thrown to him, not just figuratively. Apparently, even though no one on the staff would admit it, they were all at a loss when it comes to how to deal with such a violent and moody delinquent, and was only giving him this case because no one else want it on their plate. And who knows, they probably figured, maybe the newbie would stumble onto some small forms of success.

The young psychiatrist grabbed the mug of long-cold coffee and, after tasting it, made a face. Well, they aren't going to get rid of me this easily, the young psychiatric counselor thought determinedly, putting down the coffee after a grimace. He may be much younger than the other counselors in age, and he may have just gotten out of college, but he is every bit as good as any of them. Obviously, the one thing he is lacking is experience, but didn't everyone when they each started working? He will gain the experience he needs, but not by shirking his duties and leaving the difficult cases to others.

And besides, he, unlike his co-workers, actually cares.

He has seen the inmates, had seen the way the brutal and callous guards treated them, had seen the fragmented remnants of their once passionate, alive spirits shining through their eyes, only they are shining no longer, defeated, repressed, broken. And he cares. He wanted to help them, wanted to guide them back towards the path, wanted to save their souls.

Ryou repressed a snort. Since when was he given to philosophical musings and idealistic preachings? All he was here for is to try and salvage what was left of a bunch of teenage delinquents, and he harbored no expectations: if he can help even one of thme, it would surpass everyone's expectations, even his own. The number of people who get out on parole and gets sent right back in merely a few months, maybe even weeks, later is staggering. The juveniles' efforts to survive, both in the state prison and out in the real world, overshadows everything else to the point of exclusion, even their hope for rehabilitation, if they had possessed any in the first place.

Ryou Bakura wanted to change that. If he could alter one person and help them, even if it was the smallest possible way, he would, no matter the cost to himself. And he has already begun to pay the price. Being the youngest, and quite possibly, the only psychiatrist who has graduated from university with a degree and a license to practice at the tender young age of 21. Perhaps he really is too young. And with that depressing and very discouraging thought, all of Ryou's past fears and doubts came crashing back to the surface.

He sighed and stood up, walking to the window and shook his hair free from the confinement of a loose ponytail. They hung down past his shoulders, messy and un-kept strands that nevertheless shone in the light, glowing a radiant silver, transforming him from an ordinary-although admittedly georgerous-man to something heavenly, something untouchable.

But only for a moment.

Ryou turned away from the view of the busy street below with a sigh, and any possible onlookers can see that he is merely a mortal, one who just passed his gate to adulthood and was already weary from his first real look at the world. Is that why so many adults seem to lose their zeal for living? Ryou wondered distractedly, mind still on his challenging case(which is now looking to be a trial in resisting migraines, it seemed). He was only 22, and already he was tired. Imagining having that to look forward to for the rest of his life. He grimaced and grinned sardonically. At least he can truthfully say he have an interesting job. Maybe too interesting is the problem...

Grabbing his jacket that is lying desolately on his couch in his apartment at the top of the eleven-story building, he left the room, pausing only to lock his door against any miscreants that may possess the intention of robbing him(not that he have anything particularly valuable to rob).

Its time to meet his patient.

End of Chapter One

Author's Notes: Hi everyone. This is my first debut into the world of fanfiction, so I hope everyone will forgive and point out any errors that I may have inadvertently made. (and I'm sure, there will be many)

Now, onto the dedication:

To Blackmoonlight(aka Rosie-chan), because her SuperGlareTM is motivation for any authoress with a healthy amount of fear for death and/or her torture methods. =3 Thank you for encouraging me to start this fic when I had the idea but wasn't certain if I should. I love you onee-chan!!!!!!!

The second order of business: I realize that this is very short for a fanfic, and I am truly sorry. The next installation will be MUCH longer, I promise.

Ok, I realize no one likes long author notes, and I'll try not to ramble on too much, but just for future reference, all disclaimers will be at the beginning of the story rather than the end. For now, the disclaimer:

Mikage(aka Miki) does not own the characters and situations of Yugioh. The author does not, or aim to, make any money off of this piece of fanfiction that is used for purely entertainment purposes. Any names, places, or situation that happens to coincide with reality is accidental and was unintentional. Any original plot, situations, and characters are copyrighted by Mikage and therefore not available for distribution. Please do not plagiarize.

Till next time,

Miki

Ps: Begging isn't my style, but constructive criticism and encouraging comments are greatly welcomed. Any flames will be disregarded, and spread among friends for entertainment.