Bakura nodded, shifting position again before focusing on the punching bag.

Only to stand there, hesitating.

Why wasn't he getting angry...? Thinking of the Ring, of the things the Ring had done...

only to have those memories supplanted by stranger half remembered ones. The Voice with paint in his hair, grumbling. The sullen slouch in a coffee shop. Awkward conversation at the restaurant.

Bakura's shoulders slowly went slack before he reached up to rub at his forehead. More memories from the City...? But...