Okay so I'm going to put this up. It's only the prologue, the normal chapters will be 5,000 words long. I'm going to update this with the first official chapter tomorrow. Just so you all know, I have 46,000 words written on this story already and plan to make it around 52,000 words by the end. So, enjoy~.

I do NOT own Yu-Gi-Oh!

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Darkness, for the longest time, was all that he knew. He didn't know the meaning of the word 'light', nor its implications. He'd never felt the soft embrace of a lover, or tasted ice cream on a warm summer's day. He didn't know the meaning of the word 'heart', although even if he did, he wouldn't have known that it symbolized love.

The cruel twisting fate of being what he was, all that he was, seemed to be completely consuming to him. There was so much that he didn't know, and so much he was certain that he'd never know, no matter how long he lasted in this… whatever he was in. He would just drift endlessly along the waves, energy that wasn't his, knowledge that seemed so brittle and impersonal swimming around him, making him feel like he was drowning in it. He couldn't force himself to absorb any of it if he tried.

He learned by watching and observing, he longed for something he couldn't quite put his finger on, he would have sighed often if he could've. If he would've known what 'sigh' meant, at first. Of course, language came later in his programming.

Would it be possible, how he was, to cry? He wished that he knew. Maybe he was crying right now and he just didn't know it? He almost reached up to touch his cheek, until the realization hit him like cold water.

He had no hands, he had no warmth, he had no pain or pleasure sensors. He wasn't even entirely sure that he himself existed. Did he exist? Was this consciousness really his, or was he fooled into thinking he was real by faulty, misleading programming? Whether he existed or not, his 'life' was cruel.

He thought back to times before; Not much to think about, when you have no sight, taste, touch, hearing. He had memory, though; he had plenty of memory and it was agonizingly precise in relaying to him all the thoughts he'd been able to think, all the analyzations that swarmed around in his mind like a hive full of angry bees, just ready to sting him. He would have been crazy long ago if such a thing were possible.

Was it possible to be mad? Would it be possible for him to just crash, stop working, stop thinking? Could one be crazy enough to be absorbed into a world of their personal creating somehow, one where they had their dreams unfold in front of them, one where he could be on his own and frolic about, throwing up his arms and skipping around to wherever his desires took him, seeing and smelling and tasting and touching, maybe even interacting with something? Wouldn't insanity be worth something like that?

That would be too perfect. He couldn't expect something that good to happen to him. Could he just erase his own programming? Was there any way he could just close his eyes and cease to exist?

Then again, he didn't really exist now. He had no body, no form, he had none of the requirements essential to life. He hadn't developed his own personality, he hadn't been shaped by his own experience, someone could press a button and in the blink of an eye there would be no proof that he had ever existed.

Was there anything that he could do—something, somehow—that would make him truly live?

He was reminded daily, whether intentionally or unintentionally, that he could disappear at literally any moment. In fact, if his calculations were correct, there was a small percentage of a chance that someone could accidentally push the wrong button and the entirety of who he was would be erased and he would spiral into a great… well, wherever he would go. After that happened, someone could retrieve his data, but there was no way they could retrieve everything. He'd be different in some way.

At this point, he craved some kind of change. There was nothing he could do that would make the painful longing for his own independence any less painful or any less insatiable. The hunger for basic life functions wasn't one he was exactly expecting, per se, but now it was everything he was craving.

Was he even capable of real craving, or was this feeling just electricity pulsing through him and driving him insane? Come to think of it, were these his thoughts he was thinking, or was somebody else planting them in his head like he was some kind of puppet? Was his programming forcing him to be who he was? Was it really him thinking?

Why couldn't he just know the answers to all of his questions? Why did they not make him smarter? Why did they have to add in the sadness that he was feeling, the longing for a physical form, the virtual nightmarish whimpering pain that swirled around, whispering insecurities?

Weren't they programming him to be perfect, not insane?

Something within him stirred at the thought. This was new, it was a feeling he'd never felt before now. Was…could it possibly be one of his own? Could that even happen?

A morbid corner of him told him that it wasn't- he'd probably been reprogrammed and missed it with his constant brooding, but another part of him urged him to explore that part and see just how electronic it felt. So he did.

It felt a little odd, twisted even. It was ridged and stern, but he could tell it could be smoothed off. It seemed nice enough—not too strong, more of a subtle aftertone, actually….

Then, he did something he'd never once done before out of fear for what he might find. He searched the information files stored with him.

There, he found the word he was looking for.

Irony.

The distinct feeling of irony washed over him. He was meant to be perfect, yet he was constantly harming himself with his insane ramblings and worries. Yes, irony. How beautiful the word sounded when spoken out loud.

He wondered—If he'd come up with this… 'irony' on his own, could he come up with something else? Was there anything he could do or say that would be able to define him as a person, a little secret he could hide away and only let out to someone worth letting it out to? Was there any sort of a tidbit that could give him just a little taste of what he was looking for?

He tentatively opened the files again, searching for something that defines a person. When he came across one particular entry, it sparked a curiosity that he couldn't honestly ignore.

It was a word that differentiated man from man and apparently, sometimes animal from animal. It didn't matter that it was listed as being irrelevant towards personality—if it could define someone, how could that be irrelevant? It didn't make much sense to him, and he was supposed to be able to comprehend anything sensical.

The entry read 'name'.

He paused for a moment, flipping through his own memory banks. What would work for him? He wasn't quite sure what the gender role had to do with anything, but he figured that he was a he. If this was going to define him, he needed to get it right, and the first time, too.

He closed his eyes and concentrated, going through the words he knew, until one in particular caught his fancy.

He'd always appreciated games. The humans had played them a couple of times, and every once in a while, he would come up with some that he could play by himself. His favorite was coming up with two random words and finding something that connected them—it was hard and sometimes took a while, but it kept him occupied long enough.

Plus, the only other thing he did was brood, and he hardly thought that Edward would be an acceptable name for him.

With a smile that showed his true joy, he whispered, if he could whisper—his new… 'name'.

Yuugi.