"Are those teeth?" Costigan's face scrunched up in an expression equal parts skepticism and displeasure. Whatever did that to Bakura wasn't something he particularly wanted to endure. In his day, people beat the shit out of each other with things like coat racks and plain knives, not whatever the hell those were. People used to have decency.

The undercover remained where he was through the process, watching, without comment on the process itself. He didn't offer to help, confidence Bakura would ask if he needed it and just as confident that the man wouldn't need any help at all. "And why the hell isn't it healed if you died? You should have a new body."

Clones and all.