_ Chapter 1:

The Awakening

Softly the dream left her. In a daze, she outstretched her arms skyward—her hands in fists. Before the world came into focus, she closed her eyes and opened her mouth into a wide yawn, arcing her back. As her fingers uncurled and she looked side-to-side, she began to realize something was amiss—namely everything. Bolting upright, Sheik took in the stark, blank landscape. There was nothing anywhere. There was no sky and no horizon; it was just her as far as the eyes could see. She couldnt remember how she got here, not even her dreams, but that didn't stop her from racking her brain. Rising to her feet, Sheik adopted a defensive stance and pulled up her black facemask to its resting place at the bridge of her nose. Perhaps an empty gesture if her cover had been compromised, but she knew nothing for certain. Taking a kunai in each hand, Sheik began pacing in a circle facing outwards as she tried to locate something at a distance to explain this place. As if shaking off the effects of some drug, Sheik noticed she was taking a substantial amount of time to collect herself.

How did I get here?

Where am I?

Who did this to me?

Every unanswered question was joined by still others. As her memories began to flood in, the realizations took their toll. She remembered her mission; she remembered how it had been going. She remembered going to sleep. But nothing gave even a hint of indication as to how she had gotten herself into this situation. The surrealism made her hope she was dreaming now. But somehow she knew she wouldn't be getting off that easily.

Just before waking in this limbo, Sheik had been serving as a double agent—posing as an informant for the Gerudo when really she was informing on them.

Has my cover been compromised? Sheik's blood ran cold. It almost made sense. Sheik had heard of some black magic that had the power to bind a person in darkness. The body of the 'Cursed One' would just lie there motionless though the heart kept beating. Cursed Ones had not been known to awaken for any reason. What if this is what that felt like to the person on the receiving end of the enchantment?

She wondered why she had become trapped now— of all times.

Did I slip up? Or perhaps I got too close to something important? She remembered she had felt like she was finally making progress. Sheik wondered which of the rumors she had picked up on were important. But it was impossible to know. Even if I could figure out what Gannondorf was up to, what could I do about it now?

Every detail recovered impressed upon her this unshakable idea that even with her best knowledge and reasoning, she had not a single thread to pull to unravel this mystery on her end. To make matters worse, she couldn't escape the sensation that she was being watched. Peering around the landscape, she became aware of the obvious—there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide. As her mind raced to find a solution, she kept thinking about all the people that were relying on her to lead them and protect them. If she didn't figure this out soon, it may grow apparent to the outside world that Sheik's disappearance tragically coincided with that of another member of Hyrule's Royal Court…

"Mayday! Mayday! I repeat, this is Falco, I have lost contact with the Tango and request NAV-Support. I'm running blind here…" The young pilot pulled off his useless headset and bounced it off the ground in rage. "Unbelievable!" Falco stamped his feet and clenched his jaw as he began pacing back and forth.

"Who put me on a team with this SCREWUP anyway? The academy said she was too young but Fox just had to throw his weight around… and for WHAT? So she could MUCK up the lock-on and transport me off to gods-know-where. If they ever find me I'm telling Fox once and for all it's either me or her…"

Falco thrashed back to where he had tossed his communicator only to find it was no longer there. Taken aback, he got down on one knee and turned his head side-to-side looking around for it somewhere nearby. Clearly it was nowhere to be seen, a fact blatantly evident after only a couple of seconds' effort. Falco raised his hand up to scratch his head and had to reach under the wire of his…

WHAT?! Falco pulled the same communicator back off his face and stared at it for a second in disbelief.

"Well, that was trippy…"

Falco began to question this odd space. He had, of course, taken in his surroundings in an instant: the lack of shadow, the isolation, and the absence of objects or visual boundaries. Only now it was beginning to dawn on him the gravity of his circumstance. With no indication as to where he was or how he got here and no way to communicate with his team he realized he had no obvious way to return. He had seen his share of surreal ventures, to be sure. But emotionally he now got the sense of being unwelcome or perhaps that this was no accident. Falco instinctively drew his laser pistol out of his holster and disengaged the safety. He began to run in no particular direction; the faster he ran the more panicked he felt.

When Lucario awakened to the nothingness his spirit soared. At long last… my ascension to godhood is complete. Finally have I surpassed the boundary of my pokéball. Just as I predicted, the key to escaping the dreaded confines of that hellish sphere was in passing my aura outside of space and time—as you pass thread through the eye of a needle. Through sheer force of will I have uncovered the loophole of the universe. But who would have thought that being curled up in the fetal position and humming that annoying song would have been the proper mental catalyst?

Lucario began hovering around this new plane taking stock of his situation. But what have I to rule here? I am a god of nothing… Before he could grow discouraged, Lucario got distracted by a pleasant realization. It occurred to him that he just asked the most important question in all of his existence—seeing as he was the singular entity. Lucario began to feel very self-important for the first time in his short, miserable life. In a strange state of lucid egoism, he set out to accomplish what only he could—to answer the most important question in the universe:

Why is there nothing?

When he arrived at his conclusion, he looked around with a proud grin hoping to suddenly find someone to appreciate his brilliance. Clearly the reason that there is absolute nothingness… is because I have yet to manifest anything! Thus, now I shall envision a new beginning! So, Lucario, drunk with power, began floating around the nothingness attempting to manifest material objects by experimenting with different combinations of vocal utterances with physical gestures, hoping to figure out how this whole 'being a god' thing worked…

"Are you sure it won't hurt?" the young Trainer questioned only after getting into the strange mechanical chamber.

"Would I ask you to do this if I thought it was dangerous? Come on! What kinda guy do you think I am?" Bill replied in his characteristic cock-sure manner as he slammed the door shut. Peering out the small, circular viewing window in the capsule's steel door, Trainer's heart started pounding as fast as his mind was racing.

Why did I agree to go along with this? I mean I just met this guy. Really, I don't even know for sure that he's the genius behind 'Bill's Computer' for pokémon storage… 'Bill' had become a household name overnight for his innovations as a Pokémon guru. But Trainer had never met him in person until now. He had just stumbled onto Bill's house on an errand and happened to knock on the door while Bill was in the middle of an experiment.

"Alright, hang on for just a second." Bill was racing back and forth from different contraptions. There were two man-sized capsules in the room connected by a large bundle of cables. In one capsule, Trainer was strapped in; in the other capsule was a strange pokémon Trainer hadn't seen before—Lucario. Between pulling levers and setting dials, Bill kept referring to his notes in an old, tattered journal.

"Wait… was that 22,000 volts? That sounds like a lot..." Bill muttered to himself before shrugging his shoulders and wheeling around in such a hurry he knocked his notebook off the table without realizing it. Pikachu looked at trainer through the window from atop Bill's desk with wide-eyed confusion. His head was tilted to one side as he asked:

"Piiiika?" Then the room was filled with the smell of burning paper, Trainer imagined, because Bill immediately ran back to the notebook that had fallen off the desk. Apparently the notebook landed atop a bundle of very hot and poorly insulated wires, because when Bill reached down for it his hand came back up with the reference journal smoking with cinders. Trainer's eyes bulged as he watched Bill—cursing under his breath—beating his notebook on the desk and wincing in pain from the intense heat. But as he waved the smoking pages around the increased airflow caused the journal to light up into an open flame. Bill dropped the journal on the ground and stamped out the flames while Pikachu and Trainer exchanged horrified glances.

"It's fine, it's fine…" Bill reassured himself energetically. He picked up the journal pages—or what was left of them—and fingered through the black mess until it dissolved in his hands.

"I basically remember everything I have left to do…" So he busied himself with more switch flipping, dial turning, and shrugging at error tones. Needless to say there was no hatch release from inside the capsule. Trainer started panicking (obviously) and pounded on the window—silently screaming from within the soundproof chamber. Pikachu, concerned for his master, climbed up on the outside of the chamber and started scratching at the window to try to help Trainer get out.

"Yeah! I can use Lucario's tangible aura as a reference point to pinpoint Trainer's, and that should… do it! There!" And Bill grabbed the computer mouse and clicked "Run."

Fear was grasping for Ness' heartstrings. The gifted, young schoolboy's mind undulated as the ocean's waves—to and fro. His consciousness would not linger in this vulnerable state. Drifting in and out of dreams and nightmares, only when he was awake did he fully realize the meaning of the scenarios that were being played out.

In the beginning, it was beautiful. Ness remembered that last Thanksgiving dinner he shared. Mom had invited all of his friends for this particular gathering. Was it two years ago? Ness could scarcely see over the table there was so much food! Mom clearly wanted to impress his friends so she pulled out all stops. There was apple pie, cranberry sauce, green bean casserole, fried okra, and Mom's specialty—stuffed mushrooms. This particular feast had some new, less traditional, additions as well (His friends didn't come empty-handed!). They added baked potatoes, raspberry tart, and fuzzy pickles to the annual family favorites. And for the centerpiece, of course, Mom had roasted a turkey, stuffed with a combination of lemons and oranges for a tender, citrus bite and seasoned with a garlic and rosemary dry rub.

In this memory, he had taken pause to reflect on the smiling faces of all those gathered around the table. These were the people that would see him through his darkest days. Without their prayers, he could never have vanquished that menace to mankind—Giygas. Their support empowered him to drive out that evil from the land—for now. Mom pulled the window shut and sat back down at the table. The autumn breeze was replaced by the smell of hickory wood cracking in the glowing fireplace.

As this memory was flashing before him in the dream, there seemed to be bursts of static here and there—distorting it. At first, only in sound, and subtle. But it crept into the forefront of his mind and almost became distracting from the beauty of the moment. Ness glanced side-to-side, wondering if this was how it was supposed to go, when Mom sensed his concern.

"Is something the matter, Son?" Ness felt awkward that she saw him acting in a manner inconsistent with this memory. So he made an effort to get the dream back on track; he remembered what came next.

"No, Mom. It's nothing. Can you pass me the cranberry sauce?" Turning her head to one side, Mom corrected:

"It's 'May I please have the cranberry sauce.' You know I'm capable of passing it. You mean to HISSssss if I am willing to..."

HISSSSSSSSSssss

Blinking heavily, Ness broke eye contact as he grasped at his temple. His head ached. Flashes of static broke up the memory again until he realized Mom was waiting on him—holding out the cranberry sauce in front of him and flashing a polite smile. "Why don't you pass it on down the table when you're done? See if anyone else would like some…" As Ness outstretched his hand to take it from her, everyone around the table started moving at very low speed. In fact, as though a recording on playback was malfunctioning, their playful banter transformed to a very low pitch. This led to the illusion of a cacophony of monstrous voices groaning ominously in the background but when Ness looked up he saw such voices emanating from the familiar faces of his friends making jovial, oblivious expressions.

Glancing down into the bowl of cranberry sauce, an idea began to resurface. As if some dark, repressed memory were trying to resurface, Ness zoned out for a minute. Staring blankly at the chunky, red sauce swirling in the bowl he began to pick out a pair of eyes on a disfigured, grotesque face in the shapes of the food.

HISSSSSSSss

Garbled static betrayed the nature of this sinister invader. The viscous fluid swirled further to form a globular texture in the shape of something like an embryo. Deep, heavy bass tones resonated in his chest. Panicked, Ness glanced up at the stairway as he remembered that upstairs, on his nightstand, Ness had left his Franklin Badge out of reach. Paralyzed with fear, Ness realized he was too scared to move. How could I have forgotten to bring that? Peering out of the corner of his eyes he saw what appeared to be a grin in the disfigured face. Then, in a flash, the speed returned to normal. SHATTER

"Bwahahahaha!" All at once his loved ones began laughing at his clumsiness as he let the cranberry sauce drop to the floor and shatter into pieces, splattering the contents everywhere.

HISSSSssss

And everything slowed again. Ness felt a dramatic lack of control. He felt helpless. While his loved ones were laughing in slow motion, they were all oblivious of his current agony. But more than that what worried Ness was that this enemy had control over them but they had no idea of its nature.

"But their prayers were swallowed up by the darkness…"

a mysterious voice breathed these haunting words—the hot breath hitting the back of his neck. Ness felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up as he began to hyperventilate.

He's here; he's back! Ness thought to himself. In his last encounter with that embodiment of evil, they only had the strength to suppress Giygas' enormous power. He had returned to the shadows to await a more vulnerable time to strike. Is it happening now? Looking to his friends protectively, Ness said a silent prayer for them. Even then as he prayed, he watched the flame of their auras fade—from a warm, orange glow to a deep-blue stillness. The color faded from their faces and clothing until they were frozen and grey—like cold stone. Even the food on the table began to rot before his eyes—maggots bursting out of the turkey. Cobwebs grew over the window. An icy grip took hold of his shoulders from behind and Ness felt his own aura transforming from crimson to cobalt blue.

Ness was trapped between a dream and a nightmare—wishing desperately to escape. But when he awoke, he was not at home. He saw for the first time the expanses of that blank sub-space and felt as did everyone else—clueless.

In order to make the most of this dire situation, Sheik reverted back to the first exercise of her ninja training: meditation. Inhaling deeply, she worked to slow her pounding heartbeat. Her chest rose and fell more slowly with each deep, calm breath. In her training Impa instructed her to curb her emotions in this way if ever she was pulled into that downward spiral: Panic.

When you surrender to the fear, it fills you. But at the same time, true control of your emotions is impossible since your circumstances cannot be controlled.

The second step in Sheik's training was to release that illusion: Control. So she let go. She relaxed her mind, with some effort, to forget the illusion and focus on nothing whatsoever. Her eyes closed, Sheik took solace in the sensations of breathing. Meditating felt the same here. Her body was the one anchor to reality she now held. As Sheik's meditation became complete, her calm heart rate descended from that pounding thump to a quiet pitter-patter. It was from this place of clarity that she was struck by the physical aspect of her manifold existence. I am not my body. She realized.

Sheik broke her meditation when this idea seized her fully. Taking up her long kunai, Sheik kneeled down on one knee and removed her glove. There is more to me than just this body. Having a body does not make me real. My will is what sets me apart—makes me distinct. That's what is real here. Dragging the tip of the black, iron blade across her palm, Sheik parted her familiar flesh to expose the source of her life—her blood. In deep concentration, she finished making the cut. Though she winced from the bite of the steel, she did not blink. She maintained an eager gaze at the stream of blood trickling down her arm to her elbow.

Sheik outstretched her hand, palm downwards, to let the blood flow out and onto the ground more easily. Sheik's brilliant, red eyes dilated to take in the image before her. They stared non-stop as the trickle of blood dripped down, down, down. It dripped to the floor but it didn't stop there. It passed down, down below her—maybe a hundred feet. Down it dripped until the drops of blood vanished from sight at a great distance. Before her very eyes a flesh-tone pixellation stretched over her wound and her skin was repaired instantly.

This is not my body… Sheik reasoned.

The nature of this enchantment is not a physical kind of imprisonment, but a psychological one.

Out of nowhere, Falco heard static start to come in over his headset.

Now this thing is trying to receive a signal? Falco puzzled as he slowed his pace and took a knee. Entering a few commands into the headset, a visual display began scanning his surroundings and breaking down the environment into zeroes and ones. Even though there were no objects on the horizon (or a horizon), somehow the scan did yield a numerical display:

233579811.0 x 646311217.1

Turning his head to the left and then to the right, Falco verified that the values did not change with his perspective. So Falco continued testing the values by stepping forwards and then backwards, by running in a circle, and by walking a square. In all of these tests he could see that one value grew larger as he moved 'North' but smaller if he went 'South.' The other value corresponded with his East vs. West position. So, my COM unit was able to pull up a coordinate plane for my position. Looks like this first number is my longitude and the second is my latitude. Falco jumped in the air. Hmmm… no value for height… Looking around him as he puzzled, Falco imagined what might be out there just waiting to be discovered. "So which is more important…" Falco wondered aloud "…knowing the limits of this enclosure or the origin?" Do I try to find the boundary so I can figure out how to escape, or search for the center of the map to see what point or landmark these measurements are based from?

"…Just go, Falco!" Star Fox, Captain of the Cornerian Armada's Exploratory Squadron, commanded. "She's my crew-member. I have to try to re-establish contact. You get back to the Lander and hail our cruiser for pick-up before they orbit past our position. I'm well-aware I may miss the rendezvous..." They stood on an uncharted moon at the mouth of a massive fissure in the rocky landscape. Squinting from the headlamps of Fox's suit, Falco couldn't see his smug grin as they argued about his orders. The white of their lamps revealed little of the landscape. This system had no star to orbit, so everything was pitch black. The only other light sources were some bioluminescent mushrooms (or were they grubs?) embedded in the fissure's walls ahead.

"I didn't sign up for this!" Falco shouted over the noise of their lander's engines.

"No one would blame you for doing what it takes to survive. Just remember to keep the engine running and wait for us as long as you can!" Fox called back. Star Fox heavily laid his paw on Falco's shoulder and looked into his eyes with genuine concern. Even though his lips were curled into a sly smirk, Falco saw through Fox's impossible confidence. Fox was scared, but he didn't hesitate, nonetheless. Fox hit the top of Falco's helmet as a gesture of good luck. Wheeling around, Fox reached over his shoulder to grab the stock of his assault rifle. He shouldered the weapon and engaged its field light. Falco just stood there watching in disbelief as Fox plunged into the shadows at a fast trot—his gun swaying with each step. Falco stared as the green beacon on Fox's back disappeared deep in the canyon.

Before he knew what he was feeling, Falco had clenched his jaw as tightly as his fists.

How can he risk the safety of the whole crew for one fighter pilot who got shot down? The longer we stay here the more chance we miss our take-off window. Well, I for one am going to make it back to the starship in time to get off this rock! And why should I go after him? He gave me an order after all. If he doesn't make it back in time who would blame me for leaving him here. I'm taking a huge risk as it is. After all, the Lander's got the juice for exactly one vertical take-off.

Falco just stood there gazing blankly in the dark for a moment, confounded by how this was such a simple decision for Fox. He buried his fear amidst layers of anger and contempt until he wasn't even aware he felt it. Fox had been decorated as a war hero a dozen times over for his exploits. He was an exemplary leader, a precise pilot, a strategic commander, and a courageous explorer. Whatever system they found themselves in, strangers recognized Fox and bought him drinks. Falco never could rise out of his shadow, even though they had been on dozens of missions together, and he was sick of it.

Shaking off the memory, Falco was incensed at the idea of turning tail to run without having any answers yet. Knowing Fox, he could be sure the captain wouldn't let him disappear on his watch—Falco knew Fox would come looking for him. And if Fox did manage to stage a rescue op, Falco knew he wasn't gonna let them find him sitting on his hands waiting for a rescue.

No, no, no… I'm not leaving that easily. If someone brought me here, they're gonna answer to ME! They messed with the wrong Falcon. So Falco primed his laser pistol and took off running for the origin—where both the longitude and latitude equaled zero—full of fury and looking for a fight.

When Trainer came to, he was no longer in that capsule. He wasn't at Bill's house. He wasn't anywhere. Looking up and circling around, Trainer called out as if Bill was observing him.

"Bill!? Bill? GASP …BIIIIIIIIILLLL!" With a deep sense of regret, Trainer dropped to his knees and hung his head. "PANT... PANT... He killed me… that pokémaniac friggin' killed me!" Turning side-to-side looking for his trusty companion to no avail, Trainer pulled out Pikachu's empty pokéball. Just what I was afraid of. I left Pikachu behind. Trainer shuddered to think that he had left Pikachu behind with the crazy guy that made him vanish in a half-cocked experiment. For all Pikachu knew, he had been disintegrated. But then he really shuddered to think Pikachu may be better off...

After collecting himself, Trainer adjusted the brim of his red baseball hat and took stock of his inventory. "Well, everything's here, it seems…" Pulling out the town maps, Trainer looked to see where he was. "Huh? My Kanto map isn't reading a position?" Tracing his finger along the map, he retraced his steps from Cerulean city north up the Nugget bridge and then over a ways to Bill's house with the weird, square pond (That had a bridge over it for some reason…). I'm not on here… He scanned the far corners of both the Kanto and Johto maps on the off chance that there was some funny-business. But the indicator didn't label him as being anywhere. Is this thing busted?? Going for his pack, trainer whipped out his pokédex. "A new pokémon seen? Oh, well looky here. It registered Lucario:

#448. - Lucario (FIGHTING / STEEL)

Height: ?, Weight: ?

Aura Pokémon

[ By reading the auras of all things, it can tell how others are feeling from over half a mile away. ]

I don't know what all that was about, but if Lucario's here too I'm not leaving without catching one. If I can get back home in one piece that might actually make for a good story. Walking in a random direction, Trainer bounced Squirtle's pokéball up and down in his hand pensively. There's nothin' around here as far as the eye can see… What was Bill thinking? Trainer remembered the setup back in the lab: two capsules connected by a large bundle of cables. Was Bill trying to make Lucario evolve or something? Or maybe he was developing a way for people to pass through the system used for trading Pokémon? Teleportation would be quite the invention. Is that where I am? But why would Lucario be in the other side? For all his baseless speculation Trainer wasn't getting anywhere.

Trainer bounced the pokéball in the air again, but this time when he caught it he hit the button to release Squirtle. POOF

"SQUIR-tle!" The Pokémon called out.

"Hey, buddy. I sure could use the company right about now." But Squirtle barely registered what Trainer had said to him. Instead the little guy turned his head to the left and then to the right—searching for something, anything, to be seen. Then he took a double-take to the left—and to the right. In a slight panic, Squirtle frantically wheeled around looking every which way—straining his neck with the rapid movements. Then Squirtle, his eyes bugging out of his head, looked up at Trainer as though expecting an explanation.

Squirtle became confused.

Squirtle used withdraw.

"Squuirrrrrrrrrr-tle?" The pokémon's moan echoed from within the shell.

"It's okay, boy. Come on out of your shell." Squirtle popped just its head out of the shell for a moment to look around. Then, he scurried over to Trainer and clung to the leg of his jeans. "I know, little guy. I know." Trainer sat on the ground and stroked his chin, trying to make sense of what just happened. Squirtle tried to imitate Trainer by scrunching up his nose, furrowing his brow, and placing a paw on his chin to appear to be contemplative. A dozen incompatible theories danced around in Trainer's head: Is Bill working for the Pokémon Center to transport severely injured pokémon digitally? What if he wasn't Bill at all and that was a member of Team Rocket? None of these theories seemed very likely. And they definitely weren't comforting. Brightening up markedly all of a sudden, Squirtle hopped up from Trainer's lap and scurried over to the open pokéball laying on the ground. Taking it in his mouth, Squirtle scampered back over to Trainer and sat it on the ground in front of him.

"SQUIRTLE!" Squirtle exclaimed emphatically, pointing to the ball on the ground at Trainer's feet.

"What's wrong, buddy? You wanna go back in your pokéball?" Looking angry, Squirtle clambered up onto Trainer and stole his hat, only to scamper back down again.

"Hey, what are you doin'?" Trainer protested, jumping to his feet. Squirtle put the red baseball hat on his little head backwards and picked up the pokéball in his paw. Stepping back in a triumphant stance, Squirtle posed dramatically as though he were acting something out.

"SQUIR-tle, Squir-!" Squirtle tossed out the pokéball with one paw while pointing onwards with the other. The empty pokéball knocked into Trainer's leg and bounced on the ground. All at once Trainer realized what his pokémon was trying to say and his eyes widened with astonishment. Trainer scooped up Squirtle under the arms and brought him up to eye-level. Staring into Squirtle's eyes point blank, Trainer exclaimed aloud,

"OH. MY. GOSH! We're in Bill's PC!"

On his way to the Center, Falco ran into something of note. It wasn't until he was right up on them that he even noticed them facing off. When Falco was within three meters of the two figures standing there, he skidded to a halt. Only with something in the distance coming into view could Falco finally tell there was a thick haze all about. Just three meters in front of Falco there stood a young schoolboy with brown hair, a red hat, and a yellow and blue striped shirt. The boy stood staring into the eyes of a blue demon. This 'demon' had glowing eyes and hands; he had canine features, but stood on two legs like a man. Its orange eyes glowered at the schoolboy as though he perceived him as a threat. The two had been sizing each other up when Falco stumbled into their midst and they barely acknowledged him.

Holding the palms of his hands skyward, Lucario manifested a dark, blue energy in his hands with a bizarre hybrid character of light and smoke. The 'demon' lowered its head and inhaled deeply. Then, in a flash, Falco reacted by opening fire on the 'demon.' His initial reaction was to defend this 'helpless' child. To his surprise, the lasers found their mark but with little result. Lucario didn't even flinch and there were no burnt marks on his fur. All Falco succeeded in doing was in getting his attention, which was sufficient for Ness to strike. Mustering all his might, Ness launched Lucario with PSI energy across the room like a rag doll. The instant he fell a meter backwards he disappeared from Falco's perspective. All he could see was the glow of Lucario's hands through the haze.

Falco turned back to the gifted, little boy. Is this kid really the victim? He doesn't seem so helpless all of a sudden. Then, as Ness began to rush after Lucario, the fox-demon's aura spread from its hands to cover its entire body in a violent ember. Ness disappeared from view and came flying back through the haze after Lucario knocked him back in a powerful blast. Falco decided to wade into the fray and commit to his newfound ally. He fired a volley into the aura while Ness shuffled back to his feet. The aura grew abnormally big before Falco realized the demon was actually rushing him. With a flurry of strikes Lucario was right up on Falco—punching, kicking, and clawing. Falco reflexively kept his guard up and prevented most of Lucario's strikes from reaching their mark. Then Lucario performed a double-palm strike at Falco's gut. Falco hopped backwards, out of range by half a meter and drew his weapon on the 'demon' again. But before Falco could pull the trigger, he was hit with a blast of Lucario's aura extending from his hands.

When Falco came to, neither Lucario nor his aura were around. The little boy, Ness, was sitting next to him with a look of both concern and confusion.

"Why did you have to get involved with that? Did I ask for your help?" Sitting upright and climbing onto his feet, Falco hunched down to make eye-contact with Ness until their faces were inches apart. Staring down the little brat, Falco burned a whole in the insolent whelp with his eyes. But Ness met Falco's glare and did not back down. Folding his arms, the little boy chided Falco on:

"You don't scare me, Bluebird. If you only knew the things I've seen…" This last remark was too much for Falco.

"Bwahahaha! Look at this little 'stone-cold killa.' You think you're big stuff, huh? Ya little twerp! Well, hey, I didn't know you had powers like that. So excuse me for tryin' to help a guy out." Falco turned his back on Ness and began to continue his march to the Origin.

"You see it too, don't you?" Ness asked. At which Falco stopped in his tracks. Falco turned around intrigued.

"See what?" They gave each other a quizzical stare hoping to figure out what the other one was about. Though neither one was willing to reveal any information they knew.

"Maybe you don't. Where are you going, then?" Ness inquired. Falco replied,

"I actually don't know what is there. But that's the point. I'm exploring. I'm an explorer." Ness wasn't buying it for a second. This adult didn't seem to share his ability to sense presences from afar, but nevertheless he was headed for the same object Ness was curious about. Ness naturally wondered,

How does he know about the Construct?

"And what was that thing, anyway?" Falco questioned. Ness wanted to play his cards close to the vest. Especially with strangers. But he could see that they both had the same questions.

"You're just as lost as I am." The young boy divined. Falco turned his shoulders square to Ness and outstretched his hand in greeting.

"Guess so. The name's Falco. I'm not supposed to be here."

Regaining her composure, Sheik picked herself up, brushed herself off, and began to move forward. It didn't matter that the prison she found herself in was a psychological one, she knew in her heart this is not where her story would end. So she pressed on. The direction didn't matter; the Final Destination was irrelevant. She would succeed. She had to. Her people were counting on her. The Hylians needed their princess back. She would not fail them.

After plodding onwards for an untold distance, Sheik stumbled upon a random cardboard box. In fact, she almost stumbled right into it.

Why did I not see it at a distance? Has it appeared just now? Taken aback, she glanced side-to-side to try to locate any explanation for the first object in this landscape. Hyrule had not yet mastered the artful craft of repurposing recycled paper into corrugated fiberboard, so she really had no context for what it was. But she was tentatively glad to see something at all. Somehow running around with no objects on the horizon gives your ave her eyes an indelible sense of being glazed over. Now that they were able to focus on something there was a strange sense of relief. For these reasons she cannot be entirely blamed for what happened next…

Drawing a comparison between this brown box and the crates she was familiar with, Sheik puzzled: What could be within? Taking out her kunai, Sheik sunk the blade deep into the box in-between the 'universal' symbols that represented:

"This side up"

and

"Do not use a knife to open."

Before she could complete the cut, the box rocketed skyward taking the knife with it as it twisted out of her hand. Simultaneously, Sheik's lead leg was swept out from under her. Before she knew which end was up she flinched defensively—inadvertently kicking a stranger in the gut in the process.

Sheik leapt to her feet and pulled a kunai and a fistful of senbon in the process. She faced off with the mysterious stranger, ready to counter his next move. The foe was a middle-aged man with a gruff appearance and beard. He wore a ridiculous headband that tailed down almost to his butt and a skin-tight, urban-camouflaged stealth-suit. The suit had belts and straps attached to dozens of pockets, bombs, and other devices she didn't know the use of. He wasn't a particularly large (or handsome) man. In fact on the street she would not have given him a second look (for either reason). But he had caught her off-guard, which was no easy task. She could not afford to underestimate this foe on the basis of his unimpressive appearance. Immediately she forgot the fear of the psychological prison. To her, the world became much simpler with an enemy present.

"Well, would ya just look at us, now." The man sighed wearily. "Playing right into their hand like this. It's just what they want." Relaxing visibly, the assassin stood upright and lowered his guard. By contrast, Sheik circled him with weapons drawn in her more aggressive fighting stance. She refused to blink even after he broke eye contact and showed her his back. "After all…" the assassin quipped, "What do prisoners gain by quarreling with each other?"

"You struck first, Box-ninja. Where are we and why does it appear that there is nothing around us?" Sheik knew that she was being impulsive. She couldn't trust what he had to say, but she still needed something to work with—even if it was a lie. If she was imprisoned it would be expected that Gannondorf may have in mind to interrogate her.

"Hehehe… I am NOT a ninja. Actually, it's 'Snake.' And I'll remind you I didn't strike first…" Snake gestured to the damaged cardboard box.

"Then where are we, Box-snake?" Sheik replied, agitated.

Snake palmed his face and looked at the ground "SIGH… It's just Snake. You act like I have all the answers—like I'm some mysterious sage. But I'll tell ya my only knowledge comes from experience—and a lot of it. I don't even know how long I've been lost here. But you? You seem pretty fresh to the scene. Am I right? Well, look, maybe I can explain it like this. The power of a great warrior is in the mind. This is all a deranged sort of 'test.' A test of the mind of a warrior. But everyone perceives it differently. The great expansive space, the solitude and the surreal physics all combine to test your grit. There's no real light or shadow and no right or wrong. We call it the 'Grey Area.' Nothing you do holds any consequence. But this is nothing next to Jigoku…"

"Who do you mean 'We?' And what is Jigoku, then?" Sheik questioned. Giving her the 'thousand-yard stare,' Snake broke eye contact and gazed out into the blank distance as though deep in thought. After a long pause he tried to put words to the terrible experience. In this moment Sheik questioned if he was really as old as he looked. Perhaps he had a hard life and the experience had aged him.

"This is merely a holding cell. Inevitably we will all do battle in the Arena." She cut him off,

"The Arena?" Snake resumed,

"Despite the countless battles I have fought—despite all the wounds I have received—I cannot die. It is there that we do battle for their amusement. It is pain without end; it is conflict without resolution. There is only a break—a pause—before you must do battle again. Imagine it, no way to mark time, no knowing who you will fight next or if they will wipe the floor with you for hours. And it all has no point or purpose. It's the wages of sin… I suspect. I know my sins all too well. I can think of nothing else. So… what are you in for?"

Sheik became aware she had been backing away slowly in disbelief. She tried not to react to what she was hearing. Even knowing this could all just one of Gannondorf's lies, the fear gripped her. Her face flushed to pale white as she and Snake made prolonged eye contact in silence. Could he truly be a prisoner like me? Am I not alone in this? But something about his story just didn't add up.

"You said your name was 'Snake'... You claim to fear you are experiencing eternal judgement and you give me a cover identity? Do you truly expect me to believe this farce?" Frustrated and perplexed, Sheik turned her back and walked away from this mysterious agent. Though shaken, she had all of her tact working for her.

"Wait!" Snake called after her. She paused, waiting for him to show his cards. "It's happening again!"

It was quiet at first, but Sheik became aware that some sort of anthem was playing all around them. As it grew stronger, it sounded to her like a grim, ceremonial march. Sheik circled around, head held high, trying to locate the source of the sound, but it was as if it emanated all around them from a great distance. With a grave look, Snake zoned out gazing at the ground as if watching too much blood pour out of a wound on his leg—like he knew he was finished. Sheik turned to face him and, much to her surprise, he was now wearing a red, digital-camo version of his previous stealth-suit. Even the bandana was red now.

"What's going on?" Sheik shouted over the now blaring music. Snake slowly looked up to meet her gaze.

"It's happening… again." Snake droned on again about as monotonous as a zombie. His outfit flashed rapidly different colors: Grey, Red, Brown, and Blue. Finally, as the music approached a climax, the outfit roulette stopped on a hideous arrangement of combinations of various pelts from great cats—the most dominant of which was a yellow, leopard print.

"Of course…" Snake bemoaned just before the Arena took him and he vanished.