I know what you're thinking; "Oh god here we go again with the dark fics, she's gonna chop legs off again". That's not true as of this moment, as opposed to my prior fanfictions, this one is going to focus more on the psychological breakdown, and then the rebuilding aspects of it, as well as the violence.

I hope you enjoy this story, and if there's anything you wanna see happen in it, please let me know in a review!

Prologue: The Boy On A Stage

There was a room that had been sealed since the war had been won, inside was supposedly the best spoil of the war. No one had gone in to check if it was alive, the doors had never once opened, no food had been thrown in, only meager amounts of water dripped in, enough to keep a parched soul alive. In time, it would break though and they would be victorious. Surely something so young would have been broken fast by the silence, the isolation, the trauma of the week before their capture. They had thought it was the way to win, sacrificing one of their own. If only they had known the truth.

Not all that is printed tells the truth.

When it had become apparent to them that their fool-proof solution wasn't working, they fled, splitting apart further. One by one though they would be found like this one had been, chained and dragged to their own personal hells, their new place in the new world. They would all be pushed to their own breaking points, and eventually, they could be useful.

For now though starting with one would be more than enough. One as a test. And once this one broke, the true victory would be there. The one who had the best chance at winning, the one who was never meant to lose, broken down, a desolate child. He could become a shining example to those who opposed the new world order, a puppet at best, his strings pulled by the man in charge.

It would be the best victory of them all. And if by that point there were any still hiding, it would be a show that no one would oppose him, and that if they tried, this, or worse could be their future.

In the darkness of the room full of stale air, a figure crouched, his legs numb, arms numb, he hadn't moved in a very long time. His head was drooping forward, hair covering eyes with dark circles under them, a face with tear stains that had carved rivers into the layers of desert dust that he had been shoved in before his capture, tears that hadn't been shed in self-pity over his capture, but in anger, in loathing, in disappointment from the failure he had become. This was far from what he had been told to be.

He was sleeping for once, held up only by the chains on his arms, torso forward, arms pulled taut behind him, as footsteps approached the grand hall, he stirred, opening a sleep-crusted eye to look around the darkness. Two people entered the hall, torches lighting all around him, and he lifted his head slightly, hair still hanging limply in his face. The boy looked at them, too tired to protest, too tired to say any snarky remark. He denied what he was feeling deep down, that there had been a split second he was happy that someone had come down to see him, that he hadn't been abandoned and left to die.

It seemed like years passed by in a matter of seconds, and they reached the platform he was on, looming above him, forcing him to look up at them, childish curiosity still powering him, compelling him to find out as much as he could.

"I believe it's time you have a proper meal, child..." The shackles around his wrists were being toyed with, almost as if they were now debating on releasing him, even for only seconds, a pair of handcuffs already open, waiting for him. "To...discuss what happens now."

The worst case thoughts slipped through his mind. Poison, execution, forced to fight to the death against a friend, a final meal for his ending future. Surely that was what was coming. He was resigned though simply because he was too tired to fight back as they unchained him, bringing his arms in front of him to cuff them. The feeling was foreign, how long had it been since his arms hadn't been outstretched without any relief, without any breaks? He let his head droop as he was supported, half-dragged from his spot onstage, out of the stale-aired room.

Fate was changing before him, right before his weakened form, he was guided through the labyrinth, the guards allowing him to get his feet under himself once again, and he was allowed to stumble, trying to get used to walking again. His eyes were sharp though even with his body so weak, so tired. They took in details, the layout, how many stairs, things that could help with an escape once he was strong enough, once they let their guard down for even a minute. He knew he needed to take the first chance he had.

His team needed him.

I'm going to ease into this... Clearly I will alternate updates of this with updates of Like Father, Like Son. I am basically gonna throw 2 different "Lloyd as Chen's son" stories at you, one where basically the whole show never happened, and one where the show did happen, and this is an alternate ending to that.

If you wanna see more, please comment and let me know! :D Love you guys and the support you give!