June, 2020: Warning: Unedited. Low quality.

COUNTING STARS

Chapter 18: Visionary

The iron-barred door slid shut, separating the guard from the young man trapped inside. With a smirk, the guard strode off from the lad's new cell. "Enjoy your stay," he called derisively.

"You still haven't told me why I've been transferred! I retain the right to know!" the young man shot back, earning no answer. He let out a strangled yell and furiously slammed his hand against the bars.

He exhaled deeply, gritting his teeth, before noticing that he was not alone.

"Newcomer," a thickly-accented voice stated from behind him.

He slowly turned, gaze falling on a muscular, dark-skinned man with an orange outfit that matched his own. The young man eyed the other person coldly, lifting his chin in pride. "You will call me Ghirahim."

Instead of getting angry like the lad expected, his cellmate chuckled. "Fire, you has. I like." He paused, looking past Ghirahim for eavesdroppers, then lowering his voice to a whisper. "But boss man don't."

Ghirahim rolled his eyes. "The last place I was in, I took care of its boss on my first day." A frown. "I don't care if I offend yours."

"Boss man kill fifty people in single day. That why he here," he explained, almost in a pleading tone.

"Who is he?" Ghirahim demanded, stepping closer. "Tell me his name."

His eyes widened; never had Ghirahim seen such a powerful-looking man be reduced to such a fearful coward. "No allow to say boss's name. He don't like."

"As if he can hear you," Ghirahim scoffed, tossing his white hair to the side.

Nodding adamantly, the man said with a shaky voice, "He know. He always know."

.-:—:—:-.

The next day found Ghirahim in the dining hall, a large room with long tables that seated his fellow inmates. His head was on a constant swivel, catching dirty looks from left and right. Still, he held his head high, watched his back, and looked around for anyone who could potentially be the boss of this joint. If he couldn't earn respect, he thought, he would have to take it.

A tattooed behemoth of a man bumped into him from behind, nearly toppling him over onto the floor. "Watch it, gup," the towering man grunted, ugly head contorted into a scowl.

Ghirahim tilted his head to either side until his neck cracked, inhaled deeply, and clenched his fists as he regarded the man. "Listen, y—"

A shaky hand gripped Ghirahim's shoulder before he could explode into his tirade. The grip loosened after it had hastily pulled him away from the man's imposing presence.

"What are you d—" Ghirahim stopped, recognizing the other guy as his cellmate. "Oh, it's you."

"No fight, newcomer. No fight."

"You think I can't handle myself?"

The man shook his head, wide-eyed. "You are guppy. They hate all guppy. You fight, everyone team up on guppy."

Ghirahim frowned fitfully. He was at such a disadvantage ever since being transferred here to Death Mountain. "I'm no bitch," he spat stubbornly.

"What better? Pride or life?" the foreign man questioned. "Life better. Follow orders, no smoke."

Ghirahim crossed his arms, icy gaze falling on his cellmate. "Tell me where the boss is."

He bit his lip pensively, then sighed. "There. Man who wear no peel."

With a frown, Ghirahim repeated, "Peel?"

A toothy grin spread out across his cellmate's lips. "Orange shirt, gup."

Ghirahim had already grown tired of that derogatory nickname, whatever it meant, and set off in the direction his cellmate had pointed.

He knew what "peel" meant when his eyes landed on a man wearing a white tank top, the only person in the dining hall without the orange shirt. Like an orange peel, he mused. The dark-skinned man sat with his back turned to everyone, his table completely vacant. Ghirahim strode boldly up to the table, audibly clearing his throat. The man lifted his head, pausing, then slowly turned around and stared at the newcomer coldly.

Ghirahim noted his strange appearance: a thin face, dark skin, and piercing eyes the strongest shade of yellow he'd ever seen. Red war paint—possibly blood—was painted around his eye sockets, down his nose and around his mouth. Tattoos in tribal shapes lined his forehead. A necklace of shark teeth hung from his neck, and two of the large teeth were attached to the top of his bald head in a devilish fashion.

"Guppy," was all the strange man said, and it took the last of Ghirahim's willpower to not lose his temper.

"You're the boss of this place…" Ghirahim eyed the name that was printed on the left thigh of his orange pants. "…Majora?"

If possible, the man's eyes grew even wider, but he showed no sign of anger aside from that. He hadn't even blinked.

After a long, drawn-out staredown between the two, Majora said smoothly, "Yes, guppy, I happen to be the boss." He reached into his pocket, brandishing a shiny stone that dangled from a golden chain. "And you have much to learn."

Sunday, November 18th

I'd been scared to sleep.

My previous dream about Ganondorf had me wide awake, tossing and turning all last night, reluctant to subject myself to another subconscious vision of the like. I hadn't expected to dream about Ghirahim, of all people.

Death Mountain Prison. What a terrible place to be. I suppose those who are sentenced there deserve it, however. Like that creepy-looking boss guy. I wonder what kind of monster he once was—or still is.

This gets me wondering… Why do I get these crazy, random dreams?

After vowing to research this strange phenomenon, I sit up on the couch in Shad's living room. I check the time on a clock hanging on the opposite wall. Eight AM.

I reach for my FiPhone on the coffee table, noticing I have some notifications. Seeing the multiple texts and missed calls from Sheik, I curse under my breath. Why do I always leave him wondering about where I am, or if I'm safe? I'm not a very good friend to the guy.

Sighing, I read his messages. Where u at—?—Link its 2am come back—Even dark is worried now link cmon—hello?—Dude answer your phone.

Oh, gods, Sheik. He's probably already filed a missing person's report, knowing him. I hastily type: I'm okay sorry bro my phone was dead. Stayed the night at my detective's place. No homo tho.

"Morning, Link," Shad says with a yawn, already attired in his detective uniform.

"You work today?" I ask directly, not bothering to return the greeting.

He nods, making his way over to the kitchen. "Yep. Seven days a week, now."

"Whoa. No days off?"

"Well—" He shrugs. "No. Chief wants me to focus on finding Hero, while I want to focus on finding Dragmire." A pause. "The more I prioritize your case—which I find most important, believe me—the more hours I'm forced to put in."

"Wasn't Auru the one who appointed my case to you?"

"Y-yes, but.…" Shad's gaze falls to his working hands as he prepares himself a cup of coffee. "I hate to say it, but he thinks finding Hero is more important than Dragmire. And he made that very clear to me."

I frown. Auru never seemed to have liked me, and this just furthers my assumption. But why? What have I even done to him? "So he thinks Hero's more of a threat than Ganondorf."

A nod. "Apparently."

"Well I haven't killed anybo—" I stop, clamping my mouth shut, throat tightening. I inhale sharply, then exhale a slow breath. "…N-no one knows I've killed anyone," I murmur quietly, correcting my error.

Shad sips his coffee, gazing distantly. He breathes a sigh. "I know. I'm sorry. Just know that I'm on your side, even if the chief isn't. Honor before orders."

I nod. "Well... in that case... have you heard anything?"

Shad's lips twinge into a small, intrigued smile. "You're a dutiful one, Link. But no, unfortunately, I haven't."

My shoulders sag, disheartened.

"However," he adds quickly, raising a finger, "that could be good."

I frown. "How?"

"Have you noticed—aside from Veran yesterday, of course—that the M.O.D. have been practically invisible?"

I ponder that, remembering the numerous unsuccessful nights of thug-hunting. I haven't seen any of Dragmire's cronies, except for Veran and then those bokoblins that one night with Dark, since the encounter with Sakon. "…Yes," I tell him slowly.

"Maybe," he begins with an inspired smile, "they know their forces are thinning. They're hiding, so what you're doing is working. Soon enough, Dragmire will lose his power and we can overwhelm him and bring him to justice!"

The smile on my face gradually fades. We, he said. As in the police.

No. I'm going to kill Ganondorf for myself. Definitely.

But Shad doesn't need to know that.

"…R-right."

He notices my change in disposition and frowns. "What's the matter?"

He doesn't need to know, I remind myself. "I just… don't think that's the best method."

"You think we should do something different? Change up our tactics?"

I shake my head, pausing briefly, before setting my eyes firmly upon his own. "I have a plan. I think you should leave it to me."

He blinks several times. "…Leave it to you."

I nod.

"…So you don't want my help."

"Well I—"

"Do you realize what I've been going through here?" Shad interrupts, eyebrows narrowed. "You're wanted, yet I'm protecting your identity and helping you find a murderer. I'm working against direct orders. I could be discharged."

"I thought you were on my side," I retort.

"I didn't say I wasn't." He pauses, exhaling. "I know you want to be the hero, here. But look—there's bravery, and then there's stupidity."

"I'm known for both of those."

Shad nods. "Factual." His gaze softens slightly, running a hand through his curly hair. "I trust you, Link. What you're doing is working. But what I'm doing is also working." A pause. "So here's my proposal."

"I'm all ears."

Shad exhales, seemingly reluctant to continue. "Your case is at stake here, but so is my job. I will still help you as Link, but—but not as Hero. Therefore..." he tells me, "do whatever is necessary, but for Din's sake, leave me out of it."

"If I pissed you off yesterday, you could've talked to me."

"You piss me off every day. But that's not why I left."

Sheik frowns. "Then why did you?"

I shrug. "I dunno. It was a nice day."

"It hit record-low temperatures."

I bite my lip, searching for another excuse. "…I went out to lunch."

"No one ever eats alone."

"How would you know I was alone?"

He sneers. "You're Link. You ain't slick with any girl."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, you're right, Sheik. You're the slickest. I don't have any sisters to go after like you."

"Half-sister, dammit!"

My immature chuckling is abruptly halted by a forceful hand gripping my shoulder from behind, promptly spinning me around to face its owner. My eyes widen when they fall upon the familiar golden irises of the tan-skinned, broad-shouldered douchebag that K.O.'d my friend Pipit. His cherry-red pompadour bobbles up and down as he heaves heavy, angry breaths as he stares down at me.

"You've got to be kidding," Sheik mutters.

The dude's lips mold into the all-too-familiar arrogant sneer that constantly made me want to drop-kick him. "Surprised to see me?" asks the one and only Groose Loft.

I merely return his scrutiny with a stale glare.

He lifts his chin. "I'm back," he says tauntingly.

Sheik snorts. "I never noticed you were gone."

"I was suspended," Groose spits indignantly, smirk fallen, "after that fight with your puny friend Pippy."

"Seems more like you were just a forgotten character," I say with a shrug. "And now you've been brought back to cover another little plot hole."

Groose knits his eyebrows. "…What?—shut up, I don't even care. Listen, you dope," he orders, pointing a meaty finger at my face. "I've had enough of you."

I swat his hand away, already bored by his stupidity. "I've literally forgotten all about you."

"Shut it, nerd!"

"You should work on your name-calling skills."

"You should work on your shutting-the-hell-up skills!"

"Good one."

Groose snarls, baring his teeth oh so menacingly. Really, I'm scared. Just terrified. Wah. "You've made me look horrible in front of Zelda," Groose grumbles to me.

"I think your hair did that for you," Sheik retorts.

It takes all his willpower for Groose to ignore Sheik. He clenches his fists, tightly setting his jaw. "I'm tired of you, Gaiden. Zelda and I are going to be together."

"Watch it," Sheik asserts warningly. "That's my half-sister you're talking about."

Groose fixes him with a disgusted look. "The hell? Weren't you the one walkin' around sayin' she's hot?"

I struggle to contain my laughter at that. Sheik, fuming, closes his eyes and grits his teeth.

"Incest is illegal, you kn—"

"Shut up, you damn oaf!" Sheik roars, lunging for the redhead. I calmly stick my arm out and keep my friend from fighting the much larger guy, since we all know how that would end up. He thrashes against my arm determinedly, but my strength is far superior.

"What do you want, Groose?" I say through an annoyed sigh once I get Sheik in check.

"What I want," he snaps, glaring daggers at me, "is you to back off Zelda."

I blink. "Okay."

"Now you listen to m—Wait." His forehead creases in a frown. "Okay?"

I nod nonchalantly. "Okay," I repeat, just as unenthused.

"So… you… I… she…" he stutters, knitting his eyebrows. "You're… done with her?"

"I was never with her. But sure, Groose," I respond. "Go right ahead."

Groose's expression remains thoroughly confused for a moment longer, as if he were asked to find the sum of two plus two. He blinks twice, then his lips bust out in a toothy grin. Without another word, he turns on his heel and thunders down the sidewalk in the opposite direction.

Sheik turns to me as a few raindrops begin to fall upon us. "You're just letting him loose?"

I smirk, watching my footsteps. "Yes. I'm letting Groose loose."

"Why? So you're legitimately one hundred percent done with Zelda?"

I shrug meekly. "Regardless if I am or not, Groose doesn't have a chance."

"Still," he says, "he's gonna pester her for months now."

"If it gets him to stop hating on me and my friends, I'm okay with that," I tell him. "After all, I'm not around her anymore, so that doesn't affect me."

Sheik's eyebrows raise. "Whoa."

I send him a questioning glance.

He gazes at me with concern in his eyes. "I didn't expect that out of you."

"And why not?"

"Not gonna lie, it sounded kind of selfish."

Sighing, my eyes fall back down the sidewalk, observing the assortment of dark splatters of raindrops. "Sometimes it isn't the worst thing to be focused on yourself, you know."

Sheik looks away quietly, the distant sound of thunder echoing my tumultuous thoughts. "I guess you're right."

"I've missed you, buddy."

"We saw each other like two days ago."

"That's fourteen days in dog years."

"Are you a dog?"

"So I've been told."

I roll my eyes as Dark gives me his signature oblivious grin. "What do you want, Dark?"

He leans against the doorframe, peering into our room as I sit on the couch. "I want you to help me go find Miranda."

I eye him peculiarly. "…Midna."

He gives an affirmative nod, still grinning. "Yep."

"You realize that she's the one who hates my guts, right?"

"Yep."

"And that she's the one who's in love with Sheik, right?"

"Yep."

I blink. "…Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Nope," he says.

I huff, rising to my feet. "Look. It's a bad idea, Dark, whatever it is you're planning with her."

Dark frowns. "Why?"

"…Because of the reasons I just explained to you," I drawl out slowly, as if I were speaking to a third-grader. Well, third-grader might be a bit too generous.

"Oh," he replies simply, gaze falling. Meeting my eyes again, he shrugs, saying, "Oh well," and turns to head out the door.

"What do you mean, 'oh well'?" I demand, hurrying after him.

Dark doesn't bother turning his head, speed-walking down to the stairwell. "You're not gonna help me find Marina because you don't like her, so I'll just go myself."

Frowning, I hasten my footsteps and throw my arms outward, frustrated. "That's not why—Dark, have you even been listening?"

Without stopping, he shakes his head, then raises his fist in the air proudly. "Love is deafening, Link!"

"You're not in love, dumbass!" I protest, finally catching up to him. I grab his shoulder to slow him down, turning him so I can look him in the eye. "For Din's sake, Dark, you don't even know her name!"

"I do know her name!"

"Then say it!" I shout, heedless to the attention we must be bringing to ourselves in a public hallway.

Dark scowls at me as he lifts his chin and promptly speaks in a confident, indisputable tone: "Ashley."

I blink—twice, three times—before shaking my head and telling him flatly, "…You're on your own, dude," and leaving him there to wallow in his oblivious stupidity.

The cool night air nips bitterly at my cheek, the wind whistling through the alleys of the city. A discarded chip bag tumbles down along the pavement; a dog barks in the distance. As my footsteps click quietly on the vacant sidewalk, I turn my head side to side, observing my surroundings.

It's quiet. The street is empty.

An eerie gust of northward wind ruffles my hair and chills my neck, one of the few places on my body left exposed by my green attire. I stop abruptly along the sidewalk; my ears perk up.

A wild snort. A high-pitched whine.

I'd recognize those noises anywhere. Although, I'd really prefer it not to be what I think it is—I'm not in the mood for another fight.

But just in case, I feverishly search around for a weapon, reprimanding myself for once again forgetting to have one handy. After scanning the area twice over, however, I unfortunately have found nothing to defend myself with.

Gods, I'd even settle for using that selfie stick right now.

I suppose I will have to rely on my leather-gloved fists and my summonable energy—that is, if it works this time. The last time I tried to do so, all energy within my Triforce piece seemed to have vanished; I haven't any idea as to why that occurred. Let's just hope for the best this time.

The odd squealing noise catches my attention once more, seeming to have come from an alley half a block down. My jaw tightens; I step forward. Might as well bring the fight to them while I still have the element of surprise.

When I clench my fist, I feel the familiarity of energy coursing through my veins from deep within my body. It's there. I exhale a breath of relief, feeling slightly safer.

I take gritty steps forward, unsure of exactly what I'm about to face. Feeling oddly calm in spite of the daunting unknown, I find myself arriving at the alley.

I rush forward, the electricity spilling about between my fingertips, eyes set on my target I am determined to kill—

"Yo, back up!" a voice shrieks frantically.

I freeze in place, digging my heels into the pavement and forcing myself to stop. The energy I had at the ready gradually retreats back into its nest—nest?—within my body. I blink my eyes to focus on the figure before me in the dark alley.

"No… frickin'… way." A scoff.

My eyes widen behind my black mask as I recognize who I almost just accidentally murdered. Midna.

Another person I hadn't noticed peeks his head out from behind her, red eyes boring into mine.

"L—Hero?" he blurts.

"Dark?" I respond impulsively without thinking.

Midna, meanwhile, whips her head back and forth between the two of us, a look of bewilderment on her face. She sets her eyes on Dark. "…You know him?"

He catches my eye, and I know exactly what he's thinking. Way to go, dumbass. "Uh," he scratches his head, "I—"

"He saved my life," I cut in, drawing both sets of red eyes. "I, uh, I was here on this road, fighting bokoblins—"

"Fighting what?" Midna interrupts.

"Book club kids," Dark says quickly. He eyes me again, making me feel even stupider. Are you kidding me, Link? his look says.

"…Yes. Book club kids."

"So you're telling me," she begins, eyebrows furrowed, "you call yourself Hero but you spend your time bullying little nerds?"

"No, that's not what I—"

"It's no wonder you're a criminal."

"They took his lunch money and gave him wedgies," Dark chimes.

"You're not helping!" I shout at him.

Right then, a deep bellowing cry erupts from behind the three of us. I whirl around, only to be met with a thundering smack to the chest.

I feel myself flying backward through the alley, landing painfully on my back. Immediately, a strange sensation presents itself from within my body. A wave of exhaustion washes over me as I feel my energy start to fade, draining out of me like water. Staggering to my feet, I set my eyes on our attacker, who has shifted his focus to Dark.

Dark throws a right hook straight into the wooden shield of the largest bokoblin I've ever seen. He wails in pain as the skin splits on his knuckles. Stepping backward, eyes wide, Midna watches with horror as the creature swings his thick blade downward. Dark narrowly escapes by diving to the right.

I rush forward, shoving past Midna and Dark, summoning the holy energy with all my might. I raise my arm to send a bolt of electrify straight into the monster's skull—but nothing comes out.

So here I am, wearing a ridiculous costume, standing in the middle of an alley with my arm harmlessly pointed at a monster, feeling like a schizophrenic cosplayer on crack. Or just a cosplayer in general.

The bokoblin flicks me away effortlessly with his shield. It snorts to itself as I'm knocked to the ground once again, seemingly laughing at my pathetic attempt to kill it.

"Are you an idiot?!" Dark yells.

"It's not working!" I shoot back as I get back up.

"What, your fireball? You didn't scream loud enough, Goku!"

"I'm talking about my energy!" I run up beside him as he tries to disarm the creature. "I can't shoot it anymore!" I complain frantically.

"Figure it out later!"

Dark manages to successfully trip the creature by sweep kicking its stubby legs. The bokoblin falls face-first to the ground, loosening its grip on its blade.

"Quick—grab the sword!" I command as I repeatedly kick the bokoblin in the head.

He obeys, hurrying over to the weapon and trying to pry it from the monster's grip. "It's too heavy!"

"Start working out!" I yell.

A loud, feminine battle cry erupts over the commotion.

Dark and I turn our heads to see Midna holding a pocket knife over her head, rushing up to the monster and plunging the small blade into its thick skull. The monster whines, flailing its limbs about, before it goes limp and disappears into a plume of purple smoke.

The small pocket knife falls and rattles on the ground, settling where the monster's head had been.

Midna turns to us, eyes wild. "What was that?!"

We share a brief look before Dark quietly answers: "A bokoblin."

"That was no book club kid!"

"No—" Dark shakes his head. "Bo-kob-lin."

"I don't even…" She puts her hands to the sides of her head. "What the hell is a bokoblin?!"

I look at her, irked. "What the hell do you think it is?" I ask. "It's a frickin' monster."

"I'm not stupid!" she argues. "Tell the truth!"

Rolling my eyes, I fix her with a fed-up look. "It is the truth. Don't be immature. When are you gonna grow up and realize that monsters are real?"

She squints. "Do you hear the words coming out of your mouth?"

I turn to Dark, exasperated. "Why couldn't I use that energy back there?"

Dark shrugs, sighing. "I dunno, man. Did you get hurt?"

"Yeah, he smacked me with his shield—Wait." I raise a finger. "…Maybe it doesn't work when I get hurt."

"That's what I was getting at."

I raise my eyebrows. "I'm impressed."

He tilts his head curiously.

"That was the most intelligent train of thought you've ever had."

He grins a toothy grin. "I'm working on my smartness."

"…I take it back."

"Hey! Dumbasses!" Midna interjects, coming between the two of us. "You still didn't explain to me how you know each other. I'm really suspicious!"

"I was trying to tell you," I grumble, turning away from her and walking toward the alley's exit, "but you started calling me a criminal and shit. Oh, and a monster tried to murder us. No big deal there."

"Shut up and tell me," she demands, following me out the alley with Dark in tow.

I roll my eyes. "I was fighting bokoblins—"

"Much smaller bokoblins," Dark says. "Nothing like this one. This one was, like, on 'roids."

I glare at him. "Can I finish?"

Dark frowns.

"Anyway. They were kicking my ass. Dark came in and helped out. That's it." I nod affirmatively, and Dark mimicks the action. And thus concludes my slightly-fabricated tale.

"…So you aided a criminal," Midna says, turning to Dark.

"Hero is not a criminal!" he refutes adamantly. "He's wanted when all he's done is help the police do their jobs!"

"Hm." Midna pauses, eyes dropping. "…I don't care about this idiot," she tells Dark, gesturing offhandedly toward me, "but… make sure you don't get yourself in trouble."

"Touching," I grunt. "What were you two even doing out here in the middle of the night?" I ask them, folding my arms across my chest.

"She likes exploring the city at night," Dark answers, "and I went with her to know what it's like."

I scoff. "You know what it's like, Dark."

Dark gives an aloof shrug.

Turning to Midna, I ask, "So you go out at night a lot, but this is the first time you've seen a monster?"

"…Well, yeah," she replies quietly after hesitating.

Odd, I muse, leaving the conversation open to the air. I guess Ganondorf's monsters are geared to only target me.

"Think the monsters are getting tougher?" Dark asks me following a brief moment of silence.

"Apparently," I say. "Or there are new breeds entirely."

"Gods. We gotta get tougher too."

"Or," Midna pipes, coming between us, "you get more recruits." Her eyebrows raise implicitly.

We turn to her, foreheads creased. "We're a criminal and a goth who fight mythical creatures. Who would possibly want to join us?" I ask dubiously.

Dark raises a finger. "I could think of a few. Metallica fans."

"Rebellious teens who spend their time crying on Tumblr," I add.

"Skyrim players."

"Crazy old men who say they've got nothing to lose."

"Stoners who think it's all a trip."

I chuckle, turning back to Midna. "A true dream team we've got, huh?"

She frowns. "I fit most of those categories, but I was talking about me."

"You?!" Dark and I both exclaim.

"Yes."

Dark scoffs. "Nope. Can't. Not happening."

"Agreed." I shake my head no.

"Well why not?" she demands stubbornly.

"Well," I begin, "for starters... why?"

Midna blinks.

I gesture to Dark. "You barely know this dude, and I guarantee that you would hate whoever is under this mask," I say, jamming my thumb to my chest.

"I hate a lot of people," admits Midna with a shrug, "but how could you possibly assume that?"

My mind drifts back to the day Midna exploded on me for ending things with Zelda. You're a coward! she'd yelled in my face. Not my fondest memory. "Trust me," I tell her, "I just know."

"Whatever, freak." She puts a hand on her hip and sighs, looking away. "Just keep me in mind, 'kay?"

"No promises."

Midna turns to leave us.

"Whoa, hey—" Dark interrupts, stopping her. "—where ya going?"

"Home?" she replies with a raise of an eyebrow.

"But I can't let you—"

"Do not come with me," she orders. "I'll be fine, and I want to be alone."

Dark bites his lip before reluctantly stepping aside. "…Okay."

She leaves, walking swiftly under the cold light of the moon.

"That was cute."

"Shut up, Link."

"You were a true gentleman, right up 'til the end, there." I grin at Dark teasingly. "Props for trying, my dude."

He glares his scarlet eyes at me. "I don't wanna hear it."

We walk along the distressed sidewalk curiously, looking into the dark windows and gated doors of the closed-up shops. I notice a familiar licensing building across the street, but think nothing of it and keep walking. Dark's gaze lingers on the building as well, and he stops abruptly. I proceed for a short distance before I look back and realize he's behind me. "Dark," I say, "what's up?"

"Look," he answers. I follow his gaze to the building.

"Yeah, I saw it. Looks familiar, but I dunno."

"It's where I got my ID," he tells me.

Suddenly I remember the significance of this store; an illuminated lamp inside flickers off. The door opens, and out comes a large person wearing a trenchcoat and a fedora. He locks the doors behind him, wipes his crooked nose, and walks southward with his head pointed down.

"…Is that him?" I ask quietly.

"It's gotta be," Dark responds.

We tail the broad-shouldered man as he heads toward the south side of Castle Town—fitting for a gang member.

"I've never been to this part of town," I whisper to Dark as we hide behind the cover of an alley.

"I have one time," Dark tells me, keeping his eyes on our target. "I got mugged by a homeless dude. He stole my Pop-Tart."

"Our thoughts and prayers are with you."

"Thanks."

Ten more minutes of stealthy walking leads us to a gated neighborhood beside a trailer park—completely contrasting their inhabitants' levels of income.

Dark and I duck behind a convenience store's alleyway as the man looks behind him for followers. We watch as he turns back around and punches in a six-digit code into a keypad. The gate opens, the man walks in, and it closes.

We walk out into the open, stopping a few yards before the gate. We watch, unsure of our next move, as the man ascends the paved-hilled-driveway toward an imposing mansion at the top. Nice houses line the driveway on both sides, big in their own right, but half the size of the mansion.

"What do we do?" I ask.

Dark shrugs. "Break in, knock him out, leave him for the cops."

"Isn't that breaking and entering?"

Dark scoffs. "You're a criminal. Remember?"

"Oh. Yeah."

By now, the man had disappeared, having already entered his less-than-humble abode. The rest of the neighborhood seems to be fast asleep, each window dim.

Dark steps toward the eight-foot-tall gate, gripping two bars and hoisting himself up and over the thin steel spires. I follow suit, landing swiftly inside the privileged neighborhood.

These people live rather decently in the bad part of the city. Anyone with this much money in this area probably gets their money illegally.

Dark and I quickly and quietly proceed to the mansion.

The breeze ruffles my hair and flops my green cap in its wake. The night is eerily quiet. A dog barks, startling me, but it had come from behind a home's fence.

At the hill's crest, we arrive at the man's home. It stands four-stories tall, as wide as a convenience store. Three large garage doors grace the front wall beside a short staircase that leads to the mansion's entrance, with glass windows above the white double doors that show off an expensive chandelier inside.

Dark and I creep along the perfectly-manicured grass toward the bushes. At the foliage, we crouch beneath another window with its blinds drawn back. I poke my head up, and Dark does the same.

Inside, polishing his chrome pistol with a white rag, stands Ganondorf's right-hand-man: Agahnim. Dark catches my eye and offers me a motivational grin; I ignore him and return my mirthless gaze to my target.

With Agahnim gone, the M.O.D. become significantly weaker. That shall make killing Ganondorf Dragmire a possible task.

I clench my fist, ready to take on this challenge.