Full Summary: In a world where the new and highly addictive drug Bliss has become commonplace, and the old government overthrown by a new and militaristic regime, Ishtar Malik has always been content with his status as the brother of a Marquis. Content, that is, until a certain white-haired thief and addict show him the truth and corruption of their world. Thiefshipping, BakuraxMalik

I do not own Yugioh.

0 3 . d e c e m b e r . 2 0 1 2 – 12 : 4 3 PM

"Welcome, ladies, gentlemen, partners of the National Association and Academy of Sciences." The man greeted formally, from the front of the hall. His voice rolled and boomed through the speaker system.

"I have a special treat for you today, one that may even, if given the chance, change our world forever."

His eyes flashed as he grinned. The world round him shuddered to a halt as Ishtar Mariku took a deep breath and pulled, from the folds of his suit, a syringe filled with a clear liquid. The audience murmured as one.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He repeated, "Welcome to Bliss."

1 8 . j u l y . 2 0 2 4 – 8 : 34 AM

Ishtar Malik pushed himself up from the table with a sigh. Across the mahogany surface, his older brother Mariku, elder by 12 years, eyed him over a cup of coffee.

"You're going into the city?" He rumbled, disapproval eminent on his face.

"Yes." Malik replied absentmindedly. "Is there a problem with that?" His eyes challenged the elder. "It's not forbidden."

Mariku raised his eyebrow. "You're the brother of a Marquis, Malik." He shook his head. "A dump filled with those pieces of garbage is no place for one of such high rank."

"Those pieces of garbage are your paying customers." Malik reminded him. "Besides, I'm just going to get a few things from one of their markets. It's your face they know, not mine."

"Fine." Mariku growled. "Be back within two hours, and don't speak to any of them."

"Yeah, I know." He waved dismissively before exiting the room.

1 8 . j u l y . 2 0 2 4 – 1 0 : 17 AM

"Overprotective ass." Malik muttered, making his way through the familiar side streets with ease. "Honestly."

"Talking to yourself is the first sign of madness."

Malik spun around instantly, apprehensive. He looked for the speaker with suspicion.

A tall man with bone white skin stood behind him, smirking. Malik tensed, his hand instantly moving to the pocket where he kept his knife.

The man stepped closer, and Malik's blood ran cold when he saw the eyes – both iris and surrounding white had colored a dark red, an instant giveaway to a life of addiction to Bliss.

Malik shot him a look of scorn. "And you would know, I suppose?" He scoffed, scanning for an escape route if necessary. The man smiled, and all of his teeth showed.

"Perhaps." He laughed harshly. "And what about you, hm? What would a pretty little Highlander like you be doing out among us low-life addicts?"

Malik swore inwardly. The man was sharp; uncommon, for a Blissed. They were usually complacent, stumbling around with stupid smiles on their faces.

"I can go where I please." Malik informed him with contempt. "What's it to you?"

The man laughed, the red on red eyes raking over Malik.

"Ah, but I have taken an interest in you," He paused, "Ishtar Malik."

Malik froze, the situation suddenly all the more real. Radical groups, independents, he could name hundreds of people with reason to hate the ruling class and all associated with it, including his family. Malik cursed himself - he should have suspected when the man had referred to him as a Highlander, some of the most bitter of the poor class's name for the wealthier, more influential families that lived north of the Industrial Areas, as Malik did. He began slowly edging closer to his planned escape route – a low fence – trying to distract the man.

"How do you know my name?" He asked, his heart pounding, struggling to remain calm. Just a few more steps… "I haven't made my public debut yet."

"I have my sources." The man stepped closer, too close. "You see, it goes hand in hand with my work."

"You-Your work?" Malik asked frantically, struggling to keep his voice light, unconcerned. Only a few more seconds.

"Yes, my work." The white haired man leered, grinning uncannily. "Special interests field."

"What kind of special interest?" Malik swallowed, bracing himself. The hellish eyes gleamed.

"Assassination."

With a yell, Malik lashed out, his fist connecting with the man's jaw. Without pausing to see the damage, he swung himself over the fence. As soon as his feet hit the pavement, he ran.

"Fuck! Filthy brat!" The man swore, and a moment later Malik heard the rattle of the fence and the sound of the man landing on Malik's side, swinging over as Malik had.

The main street is just up ahead, Malik thought desperately, the blood pounding in his ears. If I can just make it-

A few feet from the opening, the breath was knocked out of him as he was slammed into the wall and dragged back into the alley.

"Help!" Malik screamed in desperation, even knowing the only people around were Blissed – not exactly known for being the quickest to react. "Hel-"

The man's cold hand clamped tightly around his jaw. He was thrown facedown to the ground roughly, and the man followed him, never letting go of Malik's face. Malik scrabbled desperately for the knife in his back pocket, adrenaline soaring, elation when his fingers clumsily gripped the handle-

"Oh, no you don't." The man snarled, his other hand catching Malik's wrist at an odd angle. The teenager heard himself cry out, muffled against the man's hand, as the bones shifted, straining against the unnatural position; the man slammed his hand into the rough ground once, twice, again, until the pain was too great, and Malik released the knife. The man grabbed it and tossed it to the side.

Malik's mind reeled. No, I can't die, I can't!He twisted frantically under the assassin pinning him. Malik didn't understand; Blissed were always so relaxed, slow. It was part of the drug. This man was deadly, all sharp edges and speed. It made no sense, though he supposed there was no good thinking about it if he were about to die.

"Oh, I know who you are, all right, Ishtar Malik." The man spat the royal name, made a mockery of it. He felt hot breath heat the back of his neck. "I know your brother well. You look like him, you know that?"

Malik felt something cold press into the skin of his back, and he thrashed even harder, fearing the unknown object - a blade? A needle?

"Stay still!" the man roared, and Malik made an effort to stay calm, shaking violently. The cold pressure returned, sliding down the back of his shirt. It brushed against an ugly, raised ridge of scar, eliciting a shiver and a wave of nausea from Malik. He choked into the man's hand.

"Yes," the man muttered. "You're Ishtar's brother, all right. Smaller, prettier, stupider...but you're his brother."

Malik tried to control his breathing, realizing there was no way out of this. The man had surprising strength in his wiry limbs (again, too much for a Blissed-!)

"Speak of this to your brother, and you will both die." The man hissed against his neck. Malik arched his back at a sudden stab of cold pain, a feeling of lockingalong his spine.

Suddenly, the pressure was gone, and astonishment jolted through Malik as the restricting weight lifted from his body. He scrambled to his knees, lunging for the discarded knife and twisting to prepare for an attack. His eyes widened. There was no one there.

He caught only the flash of a black cloak disappearing around the corner of the alley's entrance.

The man was gone, as quickly as he had arrived. When Malik thought about it, he realized with a jolt that he was still alive - and that the whole ordeal had lasted only minutes.

1 8 . j u l y . 2 0 2 4 – 11 : 4 4 AM

The silent, darkened room lit as the door swung open with a bang and a curse. It slammed shut, a silhouette appearing.

"I've located the boy." Bakura growled, leaning against the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

"And you placed the tracking device under the skin?"

Bakura nodded, addict eyes scraping across the dark room irritably. "It slid in with minimal effort and locked onto the spinal column, as you predicted."

The man turned to face him with a nod of acknowledgement. "Begin the second phase of the plan."

"Is that an order, Yami?" Bakura mocked, receiving an exasperated glance.

"Why do I put up with you?" Yami murmured half-heartedly.

Bakura sobered.

"Because we are both fighting for the same reason."

Starting, Yami nodded solemnly. He placed a hand on Bakura's shoulder before exiting.

Left alone, Bakura glanced up at the screen, where a large picture of a smiling Malik Ishtar was displayed, accompanied by a blinking location on a map.

I'll find you again, Ishtar Malik. he thought, fists clenching. His nails dug into his skin. And when I do, you - and your tyrant of a brother - shall die.

Plot to pick up soon - Reviews are appreciated.