Due to an increase in impatience I have decided –quite generously- to reveal two of the secrets I have kept…uh… a secret. Anyway, you may know who they are but you will not know why they are there. At least not now.

Chapter Twenty-five

To SXK,

The hologram is ready. I will send it to you when you need it. I have intervened my artistic talents into this, there is a live footage, I have made my prisoner angry enough to speak. The other snaps are still-photos; I had taken great pride in capturing his posture. I made sure he looked like he was having the time of his life.

By all means write to me.

Your Dearest,

Zohare had sent the message ages ago, he wondered how long it would be until Sixkiller received it. He felt a great pleasure in reading her letters, she was one of the few contacts to the real world he had.

Zohare is a sort of outcast. What sort should not be mentioned since it may blow his cover dangerously. Of course, that is not saying that Sixkiller doesn't know what sort of person was Zohare. She knows.

It was not a clean and tidy place, and by this I am talking about Zohare's home. Zohare himself will say that there is no such thing as 'clean', 'neat' and 'tidy'. Creativity? This exists.

To the normal human, having a door stuck in the ceiling with a ladder that wraps its way around the walls to get to it; is not only stupid but illogical as well.

For Zohare it makes perfect sense. It means that he could go in and out as he pleased while his prisoners stay…imprisoned.

Everyone knows Andalites cannot climb ladders. At least, not with those hooves and hands they couldn't.

Zohare does not allow his prisoner to roam as he likes, but there is a danger in assuming that the little cell he had built underground was a hundred-percent inescapable. Of course, Elfangor couldn't morph in the building –due to a piece of technology installed- and nor could he use his tail blade –since it was sheathed. So he would be helpless if he did get out of the one-way dungeon cell.

The only way into the cell is through a trap door that is hidden beneath a heavy Persian carpet. Zohare only opens the trapdoor to give his prisoner food or to carry out orders from Sixkiller. Nothing else. There is no nice chatting or anything, he always approached the prisoner in silence.

Or sometimes he would open the small slot that's in the trap door and stare down silently at Elfangor, he would say nothing or do nothing, just observe him. And this, more than anything, drove Elfangor crazy.

Right now Zohare was eating breakfast, he had purposely chosen the house he was in to be made out of wood so that his footsteps could be translated to the cell, Elfangor would be able to tell where he was, what he was doing and what he would be doing just by hearing the steps.

Silence meant that his torture was not home.

Four steps walked from the bottom of the stairs meant that he had gone to watch TV.

Six steps accompanied by scrapping of a chair means; his torturer is at the table where he would eat or work on something.

Eight steps; the bathroom.

Ten steps; confusing because he stops and doesn't move.

Twelve; the mail.

Fourteen; his own food –a mixture of grasses- delivered down the slot.

Twenty; which is fourteen steps towards him and six spent on walking round the trap door; his torturer is going to just stare at him.

Twenty-four steps; which are fourteen steps towards him and ten spent on walking round the trap door; his torturer is going to inflect pain.

And this is basically what Elfangor's enforced life meant. He could barely stand it if he counted above fourteen, wondering if he would stop at twenty or twenty-four, wondering which was best? To be in the company of the human? Or in the dark claustrophobic cell alone and feeling as if the walls were suffocating him.

Until now he did not find the answer. He feared when it will come to him, knowing that he would prefer to talk to his mute torturer than bear the silence and darkness anymore.

For some strange reason, one that Elfangor could not figure out, was why his torturer liked to live in darkness, why did he not speak? And why wouldn't he allow Elfangor to see more than his blank blue eyes?

Elfangor was sure that besides him and his torturer someone else occupied the house, but no matter how much he screamed and yelled for help, it never attracted the attention of the four-footed creature that barked-growled-snarled or whined above him. He did not know what it was.

Until this day; his torturer had left the slot open, he was still in the house but else where, perhaps outside, Elfangor has yet to figure out what ten steps meant. It was pitch black in his little cell, but above there was light, and it penetrated the gloom a bit. He heard the telltale clicking of the four-legged creature, panting and then the light was blocked out.

Elfangor looked up. He could not tell what it was that was looking at him, he could only see the head; a black nose, a brown and black face, two pointed ears, a reddish brown eye, and the muzzle containing a long tongue and a dozen sharp teeth.

The creature looked up at something and then emitted a sharp bark. It looked down and barked again. It started scratching the slot with its paws furiously. It pounced on the slot then barked again.

Elfangor sent a private thought-speak plea for help, but this only made the creature stop its activity and stare down at him. It scrambled away.

Elfangor yelled at it to come back. When it didn't he started yelling hysterically. He felt the creature move even further away. He heard soft whining.

Thud! The slot was slammed shot. Elfangor had noticed the steps coming but he no longer cared that his yelling had caused his only source of light to vanish.

Deafening silence and utter darkness greeted him as he stopped his enraged screaming. He had long recognized that he no longer possessed the will power needed to keep himself sane.

The hardest thing to fight was the boredom. The lack of stimuli. The silence. Facing his tight confinement and hating it.

He had vague memories of what happened on the night his fighter crashed to Earth. He saw five human faces –kids really. He saw another of his kind –his sworn enemy. After the darkness; emptiness of nothing, and after the darkness and emptiness; despair.

Despair. It seemed a long time ago that he had lived without it. He could barley recall at time where he had been relaxed and happy. Content that he was on his family's land.

Talking to family. His parents. Little brother.

All thinking he was dead; that's what brought in disappear; the knowledge that no one knew that he was alive and imprisoned. The knowledge that people thought that he had gone peacefully to his death killed all hope pf rescue.

Elfangor was ready to welcome death with open arms.

If only he had that option.

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