I don't own Zorro.
Please let me know what you think.
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The Only thing keeping him alive.
The prison was old, stinking of decay, human sweat, blood, alcohol, rotting food and faeces all in one putrid mixture, and the lack of ambient light streaming in from the outside world only made it physically impossible for anyone to know what time it was outside. The only things that helped the prisoners within the cells tell the time were the meal times and the ageing of their bodies, although much of it was purely down to stress as the weary years in the stinking latrine that was this prison wore down everyone.
But it was not long before newcomers who came in, screaming in kicking and thrown unceremoniously into the cells were told by their peers and neighbours the great Zorro was with them.
Only he didn't feel great any longer.
Huddled in a corner of his cell, Diego De La Vega didn't care about the cries from the prisoners; his sense of compassion and justice which had been honed during his days as a child when he had witnessed the cruelty of the colony's garrison even when the soldiers had taken advantage of their positions to cause pain and grief to the local peasants, the farmers and traders who were not immune had never left him, the anger that filled him when he had seen the way the soldiers whipped that girl, the rage he had felt when he had travelled to Spain for a complete education which told him the corruption and the evil in Man existed everywhere, the same disgust which gave him the desire to do good as Zorro.
He didn't care about the stench; he had been here for so long - he didn't know how long - but he had become so used to the smell permeating the prison that he had grown used to it. It was either that or his nostrils had simply died.
Diego sighed, calling up the memories he had of his wife, Esperanza before her murder and their daughter, Elena. There was no doubt anymore in his mind Montero, his oldest enemy, had taken his daughter away to raise as his own and twisted her into something she shouldn't have been.
It would be like his oldest enemy, who had been so warped, so corrupt and arrogant, who had believed so much in the desire for more power than what he'd already had to get his revenge in such a sick manner. It broke his heart to think of his innocent daughter being twisted to become as greedy and callous as Montero, but Elena was the only thing that was keeping him alive.
Thinking of her kept the hope within his heart strong. The sight of her cherubic little face as she stared at him wide-eyed whenever he told one of his stories - oh god, please say that somehow his stories were deep within her mind and her soul, and kept her soul as good as her mother's and not as twisted as Montero, Diego pleaded.
As he languished within the prison, Diego often thought about the mistake he had made when he had last fought Montero. He knew now he should never have mentioned in his Zorro guise the withdrawal of the Spanish forces leaving it to Mexico, but at the time it had slipped out and he hadn't expected anything to come out of it.
That mistake, so small, so seemingly insignificant had led to the destruction of his family, the death of his beloved wife and his daughter being taken away from him.
Thinking of his mistakes made Diego realise how stupid and arrogant he was to treat the war, and it was a war, between himself and Montero as a kind of game, like two swordsmen meeting together during training matches rather than implacable enemies meeting with one coming up with a plan only for the other to stop them. Diego had treated the whole contest he'd had with Montero like that, never taking him seriously enough to kill him even when he caused so much pain and grief whenever he overtaxed the masses and publicly had children whipped.
And why hadn't he just killed Montero?
It was partly because of the fact he had known if he had killed Montero, someone like him would simply slip into his place and run things the same way. But the rest of it was because Diego enjoyed the contests even though he had known the moment he had begun fighting the scum in California that he was waging a war. When he had first begun, Diego had believed his efforts would be similar to those vigilante attacks he'd carried out in Spain.
In Spain, he had just conducted hit-and-run attacks against corrupt soldiers and officials, but in California, it was so different. He was waging a fight against a larger enemy and the score was higher. But his boyish need to have contests had persisted, and it had resulted in Esperanza's death.
That was going to end.
For years, he planned out a way to escape. He had decided that he would lay low in the aftermath, gathering information to see what had changed over the time he had been imprisoned and make plans accordingly. Once he had rested and recovered, Diego would travel to Spain and track down Montero when he arrived. And when he did, he would kill his old enemy. He had been preparing for a long time, exercising as best as he could to restore his former strength even if age had sapped his speed and agility from him.
And then one day, he had a surprise.
Montero had arrived in the prison personally to discover the fate of his old enemy. While everyone had squabbled and claimed to be Zorro, he had kept quiet until he had gotten to his cell, realising his plans had changed since he knew that the long journey to Spain was no longer needed. He could simply follow Montero and kill him when he could.
Thoughts of what happened to Esperanza and his beloved daughter filled him with the strength he needed to choke the life out of a guard and deceive the others into burying him.
