A cruel cackle echoed through a filthy alleyway. Three men paused as they watched the red-eyed teen laughing before them.

He hadn't had a good fight in days, and he was ready to smash some heads together.

The two smaller opponents were already backing away- one of them had a rather spectacular black eye; the other couldn't move his left arm. Neither of them seemed to want anymore to do with the white-haired devil.

The largest thug, however, was still sparring with the psychotic street brawler. He rushed the smaller fighter, but found himself slammed into the wall by a powerful kick.

The pale-skinned teen's mouth stretched into a triumphant smile. "You lose, sh*tface."

The pinned musclehead smirked. "Sh*tface, huh? That gives me an idea."

"First time for everything, I suppose."

But the giant just gave a twisted grin and pulled something out of his pocket. Bakura Touzokou could only see that it was something small- at first he thought it was a pack of cigarettes. But then he heard a strange *snap!*, like plastic breaking.

"Catch!" The ugly grunt laughed as he threw the thing right at his opponent's face.

Whatever it was, it barely hurt- it was light and small. But at the same time, Bakura felt something wet splashing on his face.

That acrid smell- what was that? He recognized it a second later- it was lighter fluid. Bakura was still struggling to wipe it out of his eyes, when he saw a faint glow in the other man's hand.

And then, everything exploded. There was a terrifying pain, like someone was ripping the flesh off his face with knives made of molten rock. He began screaming, but the only air he pulled in was scalding and suffocating.

The burning was in his nose in his mouth in his eyes in his mind everywhere- he was begging for death to take him-

and everything went black.

Frantic voices were calling out in the nothingness.

"I need 50 cc's of Oxacillin!"

"Second and Third-degrees on half his face- good gods, how did this kid even survive?!"

"Where the hell is that morphine?!"

There was something hard and round in his mouth- a breathing tube.

The white-haired teenager felt himself panicking as the tube was forced further down his throat. The pain was returning with a vengeance, and he writhed as he tried to scream.

"He's conscious!"

Bakura could see the faces looking at him- serious faces with white masks and bright lights shining from their foreheads. He blinked and re-doubled his efforts to break away from the heavy cords and cold steel keeping him stable.

Three sets of strong arms pushed him back down and held him steady. He heard more frantic voices yelling, some of them at him. His head was reeling and he could only make out certain words.

"-serious risk of infection-"

"-can't stretch-"

"-immediately sedated!"

He felt a painful twinge as something pierced his left arm. His mind barely registered that it had been an injection before he drifted back into that unnatural darkness.

When Bakura finally woke up, he learned that he was a patient in the Burn and Complex Wound Ward of Domino Hospital. Almost half of his face had been devoured by the flames. After several days of painful injections and 'cleanings,' he was finally lucid enough to listen to one of the physicians.

The head doctor of the burn ward, Dr. Kiyoshi, was painfully blunt in his analysis.

"Approximately 40% of your face was badly burned. You will be highly vulnerable to infections in the upcoming weeks, and you may become fatally ill if your wounds are not treated regularly. You will need to stay here, in the ward, for at least a month."

Bakura was stock-still as the doctor continued explaining the boy's condition.

"It's fortunate that your eyes were, for most part, spared; however your throat was badly burned. It's difficult to judge an internal injury, but the trauma may cause your throat to form calluses on your vocal cords. This will mean more surgery- and, depending on the severity- may possibly render you mute for the rest of your life."

The white-haired teen could hardly process all of this, but the doctor didn't pause.

"As a ward of the state, you have government-assigned insurance, and your stay will be covered. You may also be eligible for a skin transplant; however we would need to find a donor- someone medically compatible with (hopefully) the same skin tone. However, even so, a transplant still wouldn't be scheduled for several weeks or even months. Your face must be partially healed for the excision or it may reject the graft- everything must be free of infection and decay."

Dr. Kiyoshi shook his head. "This is a highly unfortunate situation, and I'm sorry that you must go through it. However, I promise we will provide you with the best care possible."

Bakura nodded dazedly. He still couldn't believe what had happened; what was happening.

"I'm the lead director of the burn ward- if you need anything just ask one of the nurses to contact me. Otherwise I'll be by to check your progress every few days."

Bakura was led back to his room by another physician, where he promptly sat down on the hard bed. He stared at the wall and gripped the starchy covers. He'd been in the room for over a week. But he'd been too hazed to even notice before. Now reality was finally overtaking the initial shock. The injured skin twitched painfully, and he slowly raised a hand to his brow.

His face, which he had always been rather proud of, was horribly marred. Half the skin was burned away or falling off. It itched unbearably -but he didn't dare touch the bandages. He all but refused to take them off. The nurses nearly had to sedate him the first time they needed to clean the wound.

Bakura hadn't cried in years- sure, he'd dropped a tear or two when he was punched hard enough, but not real tears. He could feel himself starting to shake, and he knew he was breaking down. But despite how wretched he felt, full of pain inside and out; he still couldn't sob. He was suffering and yet he couldn't even cry or scream. His voice was gone.

The flames had taken that away from him as well.

Already bitter with the world, the suffering teen became extremely hostile- his only friends were the other punks he sometimes hung out with, and he knew they would never visit. Not so long as there was a chance that they could be accused of being somehow involved in the incident.

As for his family... his father had abandoned his mother years ago. And although his mother tried her best, she was never the parenting type.

He'd ended up being shunted from foster homes to orphanages to institutions- no matter what he did, he was always sent away. Over the years, he decided to just do whatever he wanted- might as well, right? At least this way he had something to explain why he was being shoved off- he had beaten a kid up, he was failing school, he was damaging property- yadda yadda. The excuses lessened the pain of being unwanted.

Thirteen days into his stay, the young patient was lying quietly, staring at the ceiling and wondering why his life sucked so damn much.

There was a soft knock on the door. Bakura groaned as he prepared to take more of those f****** pills. He hated having to swallow those giant capsules. They didn't seem to be doing much for his recovery, either, but the bloody-minded nurses insisted. He felt like they resented him, somehow. And admittedly, he was probably right. The nurses weren't exactly amused by the belligerent patient who took up an hour of their time just to take a single antibiotic tablet. So when the door opened, Bakura prepared to rebuff the annoying caregivers.

He was surprised, then, when a boy around his age poked his head around the door.

"Hello? My name is Ryou Bakura- I was told that you signed up for the 'Bedside Buddies' program?"

Bakura was startled at the stranger's appearance- how was it that this random kid could look so much like him?! That pale skin, white hair, and even his name! What was going on here?

The boy noticed Bakura right afterwards, and he gasped in shock. Bakura grimaced- he knew he looked horrific. Even with the bandages covering him there was still some exposed flesh, and vile fluids occasionally seeped through and stained the light-colored wrappings.

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare-" Bakura wanted to growl; he hated that forced pity, the excuses from the newer nurses who had jumped at his injuries- "-but I've never seen someone else with white hair before!"

Eh?

The patient nearly sweatdropped. Was this kid serious? The first thing he noticed was his hair? Not the hideous, obvious trauma covering his face?!

"Yours seems to have a slightly darker sheen than mine, though- it's rather exotic! Did anyone else in your family have pale hair? We have no idea where mine came from; everyone else has very normal hair-"

Bakura's left eye twitched as the kid prattled on and on. What the hell was this runt's deal?

"Oops, my apologies; I didn't realize I was talking so much." The boy rubbed the back of his neck, abashed. He suddenly stopped. "Oh! And I didn't even get your name! They only told me the room number- can I ask who you are and why you signed up for the program?"

Bakura glared. This brat was really starting to get on his nerves. His 'happy-happy-joy-joy' attitude and his non-stop prattling was pissing him off.

"Um, I'm sorry, but I really don't know your name- the computer downstairs is down so they only had your room number..." The other white-haired teen trailed off, sounding a little more nervous.

Bakura pointed to his throat and then to the door.

"Huh? Oh!" The highly pale cheeks flushed with pink. "Oh, I'm so sorry; that was rude of me to assume that you could start talking. I've never actually done this program before."

Bakura pointed again to the door. What did it take for this moron to get a bloody clue?!

"The door?"

Bakura nodded. 'Finally! This runt of a clone is a real pain in the- wait, why wasn't he leaving?'

"Bakura- Touzokou."

The little blighter was only reading his name plate! Motherf-

"Wow, we even share part of our names!"

Oh no, another thing for the brat to talk about. Great.

How the hell was he going to get rid of this damned pest?

Bakura was starting to consider pressing the panic button, but hesitated when the boy stepped further into the room.

"So... how long have you had heart problems? A year? More?"

The fu- heart problems?! Was this little idiot so damned stupid that he couldn't see his face?!

That did it, and he pressed the panic button. Although it gave off a low, steady 'beep' noise, the twerp didn't seem to think anything of it.

The boy was still waiting for an answer (although how he expected one, Bakura couldn't fathom) when one of the younger nurses came in.

"Can I help you?"

Ryou tilted his head forward in a short bow. "Hello, my name is Ryou- I'm here for the 'Bedside Buddies' program?"

The dark-haired nurse looked confused. "May I see your information sheet?"

Ryou pulled out a typed permission form with guidelines attached.

The nurse gave a light laugh and smiled. "I'm afraid you're supposed to be in 214, not 314. Mr. Touzokou has never signed up for the 'Bedside Buddies' program."

"Oh!" The younger man blushed slightly as he realized the mix-up. "Oh dear, I seem to have the wrong room." Ryou stood up and bowed again to Bakura. "I'm sorry to have bothered you- pardon me!" The boy smiled and stepped back into the hallway. "Please take care!"

His footsteps faded down the hall.

Bakura snorted. 'What kind of idiot can't even figure out what floor he's on?'

That 'Ryou' kid was a naive pest.

Of course, that had been the most exciting thing to happen all week.

...Damn, he needed to get out of here.