=Prologue=

The first thing he remembered when he woke up was that it was dark.

That was a stupid thing to remember and, as he got up, he wondered why he didn't think up of some witty escape plan instead of wasting his precious brainpower wandering in the memory that it had been dark. Night was dark. Empty voids were dark. The cell he was in was dark.

His name… if only he could remember his name. "Now that would be useful," he thought aloud, "instead of thinking about the dark!" He waited a moment, pondering for a brief minute. "Remembering what happened to me would be useful as well, you know."

There was no response except for a grim echo: You know… you know… you know…

"No, I don't know!" he snapped irritably. He threw himself back onto the grimy bench, his wings flapping madly. "I must be going nuts. I can't remember who I am, I don't know what the heck I did to get here, and I'm hungry…" He gloomily looked at his tiny surroundings. "Maybe there's something to bust me out of here. Hello? Anybody home?" he shouted, standing up once again.

Anybody home… anybody home… anybody home…

"Fine! Be that way!"

That way… that way… that way…

He sat back down and caught a glimpse of himself in a rather muddy puddle. From what he could tell, he was rather gaunt, especially around the face, with dark bags hanging underneath his dull blue eyes. What really caught his attention, though, was the defeated expression the reflection had on. He absentmindedly wiped at it, as though he could wipe it off with the dirt and grime clinging to him like a second skin. When he found that he couldn't erase it, he pulled at the wispy strands of hair over his face. There.

"So you're awake?" asked a bored voice.

He stood up (the third time today, he noted. He must be feeling unusually feisty) and saw an odd looking humanoid creature leaning against a wall outside his cell. It seemed to be made completely of some purple, crawling matter and it seemed to scowled at him when he looked its way. "Mister Anderson," it spoke in a high falsetto tone. "I've been waiting for you."

"'Mister Anderson'?" He scratched his head. "Is that my name?"

"No. I'm just quoting some movies," said the creature, returning to its low, rumbling pitch and grumbled under its breath before replying. "I'm bored to death babysitting you. If I had it my way, I'd just shoot you straight off the bat." It somehow managed to look thoughtful though it had no face. "But the Big Boss would kill me, so…" It scowled again (it's amazing what you can express without a mouth, he thought) and kicked at a random pebble.

"Where am I? And who's Big Boss?" he asked in what he thought was really polite tone.

"Figure it out yourself," snarled the creature.

"I can't. That's why I'm asking you."

"Do I look like Google to you?"

He was getting the feeling that this… thing knew very much but was not telling him. "You can trust me," he said, trying to sound cheerful.

The creature gave a harsh laugh. "This isn't a matter of trust," it said. "You know, if you ask one more question, I'll cut your tongue out."

"But Big Boss will kill you," he added.

The creature growled, grumbled, and pounded the wall several times before answering. "Yes. He would kill me."

"So," he said, "there's no harm in telling me, is there?"

The creature spat. It left a black stain in the floor that ate away at the rock floor. "Yes, there is. Listen here, human. You're only useful because you're the Key, you got it? Once your use is done, I'll be allowed to rip that annoying head of yours off."

"But until then," he said, thinking he was very clever at this point. "I'm allowed to ask you as many questions as I want, right?"

The creature only blasted a portion of the wall with its blaster. It turned around, its purple mass bubbling in a dangerous manner. "Yes. And every time you ask a question," it hissed, "I'm going to count it as an extra stab I get to give you when this whole affair is over!"

He shut up, though a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. The creature sensed this and the bubbling on his body went up a notch. "Hangal uto-uto," he heard it mutter before it sunk back into the shadows.

He felt suddenly tired, very tired. He sat back down once more, his legs refusing to support him any longer. "One nap," he whispered to himself. "One little nap won't hurt…" Perhaps everything would be made clearer after a short rest.

With that comforting thought in mind, he nodded off to sleep.

A/N: And so begins a long -sigh- requested saga about another cliche notion of Tabuu's return. I'm looking forward to it, though. Be sure to R&R to tell me what you think of it.