Copyright disclaimer: I don't even know what to say to you anymore. This relationship is just a downward spiral. How many times have I told you that I don't own the Legend of Zelda!? I don't own the Legend of Zelda. Jeez.

CHAPTER 16: The Imprisoned

I was dreaming.

In my dream, I had just left the courthouse. I never liked going, but they'd asked me to cease sending representatives in my place and to show up myself. Fi congratulated me on solving my seventeenth case—my probation period of minor cases was finally over.

"You are going to work yourself into the ground," she said, and I told myself that I was content with such a thing.

It happened on the walk home.
The snow had frozen overnight, and the sky was a dreary shade of grey. I slipped twice, but luckily avoided falling. At home, I planned to slack off because I'd start taking on big cases the next week.
I was almost there, I could see my apartment building approaching. As I passed by an alleyway, someone I did not see pulled me into the shaded passage and pushed me into a large canvas sack. I was dragged to an unknown place as I kicked and screamed, but I eventually tired out and attempted to create a plan for escape. Snow was soaking through the bottom of the sack.

Whoever was dragging the bag stopped and pulled me out. Briefly, I saw a high ceiling with exposed beams, countless men clad in black clothing and white masks, and a syringe containing an electric blue substance.

The small prick in my neck and the unnatural rush that rumbled through my blood told me that whatever had been in the syringe had entered my circulatory system.

I never knew what it was like to dream of sleeping, but it was a frustrating experience. I was aware that I was unconscious though I could not move or open my eyes. The ground was cold. For hours, in this strange dream, I awoke for a brief period and then fell back into a forced slumber. Each time, the ground was colder, and I realized that my coat had been removed, then my hat, scarf and boots. There was a blindfold tied snugly to my face and a gag in my mouth. My arms and ankles were bound tightly and I could feel the rough rope cutting into my skin. I heard pieces of conversation every time I woke up:

"...kinda looks like a girl."

"Two's new toy, huh?"

"I think we should wreck him."

This was the most realistic dream I'd ever experienced, but I almost wished it wasn't. I finally came to and sat up.

"My, my, the sleeping beauty hath awakened," one of the men said, and my blindfold was removed.

Around twenty men with white masks were spread throughout the place, and I was surrounded by eight or nine. To be encircled by so many masks was surreal, to say the least.

"Well, Mr. Link," said a man that crouched to my eye level. "I think we've given you enough mental torment. 'Who are these strange men with white masks? Why are they following me?' I'm sure these questions have passed through your mind one time or another." I glared at him. He gave off the same aura as Gear: immense power.

I realized that I'd seen this masked man before. He was the one I'd ran into on the street, the one that sang. I thought to myself that the dream was becoming too realistic as I tried to figure out where I was.

"Hey, Five," another man groaned in boredom from behind me. "Don't give another long-as-fuck speech when we're about to knock him out again."

"Yes," someone else said quietly. "I want to see his blood." The man called Five gave an irritated sigh.

"Do you see the impatient pricks that I work with? Seven, get your ass over here." From a distance, someone responded. I tried looking around, and saw that I was in a tremendously sized warehouse with low lighting.

Seven rolled a large metal case in front of me.

"Remember me?" he asked. "I was the first to see you." His mask was a frowning face. I remembered; he was standing across from me after Horwell left to take a smoke on the night that I found Kukiel with Batreaux.
I nodded, and he clapped.

"Oh, good. Your face while you were sleeping was..." He trailed off, and his shoulders slumped. He was quiet for a moment and then looked up. His movements were twitchy as he fell to his knees and grabbed my shoulders.

"Hey, Mr. Link," he whispered. He began shaking my shoulders. "Tell me. Tell me. Tell me!" His nails dug into my skin. "Why are we even alive? Aren't we living to die?" While he shook me, the cloth gag that had been cutting into the sides of my mouth slid down, leaving me free to speak.

"I'm dying to live," I said to him. Seven slumped down again and sat very still.

Five stepped forward, an annoyed posture holding his black-clad body.
"Four, could you help this fool?"

"Yessir," a gravelly voice replied. As he picked Seven up by the collar, I saw his mask: a smile and a red tear drop. His thick arms were covered with scars, and he easily lifted Seven from the ground. Without warning, he slammed Seven onto the concrete floor and walked somewhere outside of my field of vision. After a moment or two, Seven sat up and got back to his feet.

"Thanks, Four," he said. I looked at the area on the ground where his head had landed. There was a pronounced dent there, one that meant that Seven shouldn't have been so unshaken.

"Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, right." He opened the tall case, which displayed rows of syringes filled with colorful translucent liquids. There were three of each color.

"What's your favorite color?" I didn't say anything. I was sure that I would be injected with whatever color I gave him.

"He won't answer," a quiet voice said. He walked to the case and faced me. His mask was adorned with two crescent-shaped eyes that seemed mocking. I remembered him too.

"Try green," he said. "It would compliment his eyes."

"You're a sadist, Six."

"I know one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine others," he said under his breath.
Five stood in front of the case.

"Well, Mr. Link, I will be explaining this to you," he said as he gestured to the case. "Here, we have many of Six and Seven's Sadistic Solutions. Each has a different effect. Green, which Six picked for you, is a very fun experience. This one is for incredible pain," he said as he pointed at the first one, "and this is for incredible pleasure. The last one is a mystery," he informed me.

"Why am I here?" I asked. If it was quiet before, it was now dead silent.

"Someone put the gag back on him. And you know what? The blindfold can be re-tied too." Seven crouched down and first tied my blindfold, then the gag. I was returned to the darkness.

"Here, hold him down."

"Neck or arm?"

"Neck. It's more passionate that way, like a hickey."

"Shut up, Eight."

A sharp pain went through my neck again, but this time it hurt more. The needle was much bigger. It felt like my heart plummeted downward all the while being clenched by sharp claws.

For a tiny juncture of time, I felt nothing. Then, as it felt like knives were being plunged into my skin and pulled slowly, I let out a scream. It simultaneously felt as if I were being burned alive and suffering from frostbite. I couldn't hear anything, but I think Four kicked me in the stomach. He was the only one I'd noticed wearing steel-toed boots.

There were different phases pain that tore through me. The sensation of sand filling my mouth and nose and the idea that my lungs were being crushed caused me to hyperventilate. After that, a pressure formed in all of my joints, as if they were all dislocated. To top it off, I still felt the torturous dyad of fire and frostbite throughout.

I don't know how long I convulsed on the floor in pain, but I do know that after it was over, I learned what it was like to feel dead inside.
This can't possibly be a dream, I reasoned with myself. But what explained the dreamlike, half-consciousness that I was experiencing?

"Hello, Mr. Link. You didn't see me earlier, but I'm Eight. I never got to see you outside like the others, but just so you can fantasize about me, my mask has two X's for eyes and one for a mouth." He was crouched over my stomach. "See, my therapist told me that I was a nymphomaniac. Naturally, I masturbated on his stupid shit-colored couch and came in his coffee. I made him drink it while I sucked him off. I don't really like guys, though. I just like sex. So then I cut his neck and made it look like a suicide." He rubbed a thumb over my throat.

"What were you trying to accomplish by telling him that enchanting tale?" someone asked sarcastically.

"I was explaining why I got my mask. I also wanted to make a point. Mr. Link looks a bit like a girl, you know? So I'd probably be cool with fucking him." His voice was a lazy drawl, but when he said that, he became excited. I was scared.

"Just fucking inject him already," someone commanded from a distance. "You know that's not the plan. Just leave a couple love marks, man."

"Fine, fine," he replied, and poked a needle into my neck. If the last shot was a plummet, this one was an upward surge. My heartbeat sped up and a deep set heat descended my body. If even the lightest thing brushed against me, a shock of pleasure bolted up my back. My body was hyper aware of everything that was touching me, my clothes, the blindfold, the ground, and Eight.

"Oh, you're trembling," Eight said. His voice no longer sounded lazy. Now it was low and serious and reverberated through me. He bit my neck and sucked on the same area repeatedly. He continued to do so on my collarbone, and after unbuttoning my shirt a little, he did the same on my chest. The mask that I was pretty sure he'd pushed up his face was rubbing against me, and I shuddered at the contact.

"I want to fuck him, Five."

"Do it after we kill him."

"I don't do dead bodies. Plus, doesn't he need to cum to get this one out of his system?" He said this as he rubbed his hand over my crotch.

"How about a deal: if we execute the next part of the plan early, I'll let you."

"Do we start now?"

"Yes." First, I felt a kick to my ribs. Then someone picked me up by the collar and threw me on the ground. The heel of a boot was ground into my eye. I was assaulted by these masked men. Kicks went mostly to the head and ribs, my head was slammed into the ground many times and I became dizzy. I was covered in punches.

I tasted blood. I was sweating. One more kick to the head and the consciousness whose gentle fingers were slipping away finally escaped my grasp.

The ground was still cold.

The sheets were warm.

However, they were foreign, and I was in a room I'd never been before. I woke up with a start, but I couldn't remember what I'd dreamed about.

I left the warm, foreign sheets and stood. For some reason, I was shaky. A migraine wound itself from the back of my neck and through my skull. Massaging my temples, I noticed that I was wearing someone else's clothing; a long-sleeved white oxford shirt that was too big for me. My own clothing was nowhere to be seen.

I looked around to gauge where I was. A bedroom, obviously. Everything was white, though there wasn't much in the room. One of the walls was made of huge diamond shaped windows, each shape defined by white frames. The view from the window showed SkyCorp in the distance, so I knew that I was still in the city. The sun was setting.

I walked cautiously out of the room, the thought briefly coming to mind that my entire body ached. There was a long, wide hallway lined with diamond shaped windows. At the end of the hallway was a large kitchen and an open space with a couch and fireplace. In the kitchen, the tall man at the table with a brooding look on his face was none other than Gear.

"Gear—Ghirahim?" He slid his eyes over to me.

"Yes?" He replied.

"Why am I here?" I inquired, and a stifling feeling of déjà vu flew over me.

"You cannot recall?" He was the most surprised that I had ever seen him.

"Should I be able to?"

"No, perhaps not. Two days ago, I happened to come across you in an alleyway. You had collapsed and so I brought you here, and you were asleep the whole time."

"Why didn't you take me to my apartment?"

"How rude of you, I expect a—"

"Thank you."

"We were closer to my apartment than yours."

"Where is this?"

"The East-Central division line."

"Right, near the courthouse. Wait, what day is it, then?"

"Sunday. It's five-ten PM."

"Oh, goddess, I've got to get home, I'm being assigned new cases tomorrow." I took one step, and a wave of vertigo hit me. I stumbled backward, clutching my head. The room was spinning. I lowered myself to the ground and steadied my reeling head.

"I am not convinced that you can get home at all."

"Can't you take me there?"

"You aren't vomiting in my car. Can you stand?"

"No. I'll just stay here for a second," I said, and he hoisted me over his shoulder.

"You need to lay down. I think you hit your head when you passed out."

"I'm going to barf," I said. Gear rushed me to the bathroom and set me down in front of the toilet. I heaved the contents of my stomach out, though there wasn't much.

"Why is it that every time I help you, you feel the need to vomit?" He asked, leaning against the doorframe and looking away with his arms crossed.

"I'm disgusted by the idea of you helping me," I joked.

"That makes sense. There are dental hygiene items on the sink. Call me when you finish." He walked off, and I rinsed out my mouth with water twenty times before I even looked at the brand new toothbrush. I scrubbed my teeth nonstop until it almost felt like I'd inhaled the 'cool mint' toothpaste.

I didn't want to call him. Why did I even have to call him? Right, I can't walk.

"Ghirahim," I said quietly. Screw it, I'll crawl.

I crawled down the long hallway.

"What are you doing?" Ghirahim said from behind me. "You look like an idiot." He carefully picked me up and walked me to his bedroom.

"Go to sleep, imbecile."

"I need to get home."

"Quite the shame."

"I can't sleep."

"You slept for two days."

"Exactly, so I'm not tired."

"So, what you are implying, then," he said and threw me on the bed, climbing on top of me, "you want me to keep you up all night?"

He came closer, then scrunched up his nose.
"You smell like upchuck," he said. "Go take a shower and I will go out to buy dinner. I'll lay out clean clothes."

"Yes, officer," I said.

"You know, next time, I can handcuff you and see how things escalate from there."

"I refuse."

"The bathroom's through that door." He pointed to a door on the far side of the bedroom. "I'll be back in twenty minutes. Don't let any weird guys in."

"So what should I do when you come back?"

He raised his eyebrow and sauntered out of the room before calling,

"Prostrate yourself before thy king." It was peculiar that we were speaking to each other so easily, so I didn't think about it and instead entered Ghirahim's massive bathroom.

There was a shower with glass doors on the right and a behemoth of a tub on the left. I chose the former to bathe and undressed. I stepped into the shower and turned the water on. Right when the water hit me, I felt my body relax. Though my head was pounding, the stream of warmth was probably the best feeling I'd had in awhile, and I enjoyed it.

I reached for the soap in front of me, and noticed that something was off with my skin. The water that ran off of it was clouded white. A thick, creamy substance had been caked onto me, and it wasn't just my arm, it was my entire body. It covered my neck, chest, legs, and the area around my eye. I was sure it was makeup.

I squeezed soap into my hand and tried to scrub the gunk off of my arm with force, but it hurt horribly. I let the water rinse more of it off and then washed myself thoroughly.

With the makeup gone, several contusions were revealed. Confused, I exited the shower. Grabbing one of the towels from the rack on the ground and hurriedly walked to the mirror, wiping away the fog. I didn't usually look into the mirror, but I considered then to be a necessity. I looked alarming. My eyes looked sunken and tired, and there was a dark ring around one of them. There were reddish-brown spots on my neck and collarbone.

And then came the bruises.
It was a gruesome sight, like I'd been painted crude colors by an angry artist. My torso was covered in different shades and sizes, but they all hurt the same. Sickly yellows, saddening purples, dull reds. I strained my neck to look at my back, and the image was the same.
The worst was the biggest one. A green and purple bruise in the middle of my stomach. I poked at it gingerly and sucked in a breath.

My wrists were bruised too, and a bit cut up. My ankles had the same marks.

Ghirahim had a lot of explaining to do.

I tiptoed down the long hallway. He'd left me a similar shirt to the one from before, but no pants. I wondered what I should do first: ask him for pants or start the unavoidable argument that would stem from inquiring about the bruises?

I was about to turn the corner when I saw Ghirahim in the kitchen. For some reason, I found myself hiding behind the wall and watching him. His back was to me, and he had a mortar and pestle in front of him. He uncapped a bottle of pills and took a few out, crushing them with the mortar and pestle. I watched him pour a glass of water and stir in the crushed pills.

...Goddess, is he seriously going that far to help me?

After he put everything away, I walked into the kitchen and stretched.
"You live rather extravagantly, king."

"Such is expected of a monarch. Sit at the table." I did as he commanded. He handed me a styrofoam container and a plastic fork and set the glass or ibuprofen-laden water in front of me. I gulped down the entire glass of water.

"Aren't you eating?" I asked him, noting that he had no food for himself.

"No."

"Do you ever eat?"

"When I feel the need."

"How often is that?"

"Shut the fuck up and eat already," he snapped. He looked at me like I was the most exasperating thing to ever walk the earth.

I opened the container, which was filled with rice. I was glad because I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold anything else in my stomach. I scarfed it down.

"Thanks for the meal," I said.

"Mhm."

"I really appreciate everything." He sighed and sat at the table.

"You are so tiresome." He leaned back in his chair, like someone that was very comfortable with their home.

"How much ibuprofen did you put in the water? I might need more, my joints really ache."

"Four pills." He didn't seem to care that I saw him, he'd probably known.

"Why am I covered in bruises?" His eyes flicked to me. "Do you know if I was mugged before I passed out?" It was a leading question, I knew for sure that no ordinary thugs could put me in such a physical state.

"Your phone and wallet were still with you," he replied easily.

"Then, the soreness in my body, persistent migraine that's probably due to a concussion and the horrendous number of bruises covering me is your doing?"

"No."

"I wasn't mugged."

"You were not mugged," he agreed.

"What number are you?" I blurted. The question popped up in my head, and it came out before I could think about it. Gear's eyes widened, then narrowed.

"What do you mean?"

"What does your mask look like?" Another impulsively asked question. I grasped my head, the pain increasing.

"What do you mean?" he pressed.

"I don't know. These out-of-place memories keep coming to me."

"You were abducted by the Imprisoned."

My, my, the sleeping beauty hath awakened, I heard. The scenes rushed back, almost overwhelmingly so.
"That didn't happen," I said quietly. But what else could it be?

"When I came, you were in a puddle of blood, cut up and unconscious. I didn't have time to kill them, but I'll do it later."

"Don't kill anybody," I said. I was denying that it happened so I could act normal.

"You and I want revenge, though."

"I don't. Revenge is an endless cycle, they'll just kill me. Why would you want revenge?"

"You heard their numbers, didn't you? I am Two. The Imprisoned is ranked by skill, from one to two-thousand."

"You're a sadist, Six."
"I know one-thousand, nine-hundred and ninety-nine others." The conversations were coming back to me.

"One and Three weren't there."

"One is my boss and Three is my assistant. One, Two, and Three are executive positions."

"So, wait, why was I abducted?" I couldn't wrap my mind around it. It was probably because he was always hanging around me.

"Betrayal is the worst offense you can commit there."

"You betrayed them?"

"When I came to HONEY DROP and saved your worthless ass, it counted as betraying one of the filthy bottom feeder gangs that we help out." He was fuming, and started to mumble. "My skill is superior to theirs in every aspect, so they have no right. To defy me in such a way," he trailed off, only getting angrier.

"Didn't you tell me that you got a promotion? Are you even with them anymore?"

"I am above them, and trying to provoke their boss is some of the dumbest shit I have ever seen anyone attempt." His tone was sharper. I ignored his venting as a superior angry at his subordinates and thought more deeply about everything that had happened.

First, for months on end it felt as though someone was watching me, but I'd only recently started seeing the masked men. I recalled a weird that call I'd gotten in the summer, in which someone described me perfectly with a voice that sounded tampered. Was someone else watching? Considering how upfront the Imprisoned had been with me, I didn't think it was them. There had to be someone else.

Second, Ghirahim's explanation for why they abducted me made sense—he "betrayed" one of the branch gangs that the Imprisoned usually aided by helping me. I understood why he was helping me now, no matter how you looked at it, it was his fault for always following me around. But why did he help me the first time?

He'd stopped talking and poured himself a glass of wine. I thought, now's the time, while he's mildly inebriated.

"Ghirahim," I said. "Why are you helping me?"

"Even demons have a sense of responsibility." It was good that he knew how I felt about him, and it seemed like he was repenting.

"Ghirahim," I said again, hoping to lead to another question.

"You need to close your mouth and let me ask the questions from now on." He took a sip of his wine and said called me an asshole under his breath.

"Alright, that's fair." I sat back in the chair but flinched because I'd put pressure on an especially painful bruise. There were a few cuts on my back, too, and I think that my slouchy posture in the seat had reopened them.

"Could you help me patch up my back first, though?"

I was sitting on Ghirahim's bed with my legs crossed, and my bare back to him. He was ripping old bandages off of my back so that he could apply new ones.

"Shit, just take it off already!" I exclaimed. He was pulling off a bandages excruciatingly slow.

"Ooh, nice phrasing." He ripped it off and I gasped. "You didn't notice these in the shower? Dumbass."

He ripped the rest of them off and put new ones on.

"Th—ah!" He dug his thumb into one of the bruises on my back. I swatted at him and he applied more pressure.

"You should've seen yourself when I brought you back. When I cleaned out your cuts, you were hollering so nicely. Actually, I recorded it. It's my new ringtone for you." He pulled out his phone, tapped on it a bit, and put it to my ear.

"Nn... N-not there," someone that sounded like me cried weakly. "Ah! G-goddess," I said, and then let out a short but frightening yelp.

"Why does it sound so lewd?"

"Actually, that reminds me."

"What now?" I buttoned up my shirt and turned to face him, legs dangling off the bed.

"Your dick was hard when I brought you home."

"That was—that was—" I was mortified.

"I know, they gave you the green. I swear, they never change. Do you want to know how I helped you with it?" He smirked and tilted his head to the side.

I raised my eyebrow.

"I got behind you first, to hold you up. You were delirious, and even though I tried to wake you up, you wouldn't stay awake for very long. So, I was behind you, and I put my hand over your crotch," he said, speaking slowly. "My, are you red already?"

"Damn you," I said, covering my face. "Take me home."

"If you show signs of miraculous recovery between now and tomorrow morning, I will."

"I have work."

"No, I called the woman called Fi on your phone and told her that you were sick with the flu and collapsed."

"And why would you do that?"

"You said it yourself, you are most likely concussed."

"That doesn't give you the right to do that," I said. He smiled and brought his face close to mine.

"That is where you overstep your boundaries. You have been speaking to me without thinking all day, and I've put up with it. But after all the running around I've been doing for you, you dare to utter that I don't have the right? Please. You obviously lost too many brain cells than you could afford to lose while you were abducted. Get your shit together before I snap your neck." He said it all very calmly, but he'd reached out and pressed his fingers into my larynx.

I leaned back, hoping to evade his grasp but he leaned forward to get closer. I leaned back, he leaned forward, I leaned back, he leaned forward. Soon enough, I was on my back on the bed and he was above me, hand still on my neck. I felt a persistent anxiety gnawing at my consciousness. It wasn't as if I hadn't forgotten what he'd done to me the last time I'd seen him, it had only dulled in comparison to the killing intent of the Imprisoned.

He put his lips to my ear and whispered, "I'll finish the story I was telling earlier." I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to brush off the feeling of fear gathering in my stomach.

"When I brought you home, before I treated your wounds, your dick was hard." I started to speak, but he tightened his grip on my throat.
"I knew they injected you with the green, so I, being the honorable, generous man that I am, was kind enough to assist you in such an issue."

You can't be serious.

"So I put my hand here," he told me, sliding his free hand down my crotch. "You were absolutely lethargic, therefore you did not hold in your moans." He rubbed his hand over my groin.

"It moved up, and down, and up, and down, and up, and down," he purred as he did what he dictated.

"Stop it," I managed to say.

"Then go to sleep or I will go into the kitchen, find a fork, and stab your eyes out." He removed his hand and I nodded, breathing deeply.

He left the room and closed the door behind him.

"Just take me home already," I grumbled.

I crawled under the covers and fell asleep quickly.

The sheets were cold.

When I awoke, two wide eyes were staring at me feverishly.

"Did you dream about me?" Ghirahim said with wild excitement.

"Why?" I asked. Did he not threaten to gouge my eyes the night prior? Was that a smile on his face?

"You were screaming in your sleep." He wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes as if he felt absolute bliss. "Oh, what an exquisite sound."

"No. Will you take me home now?" His smile fell flat and he glared at me.

"Of course not." He slammed the door.

Who was this man keeping me captive?

A/N: The time has come. The answer to the inquiry involving Gilmore Kiffen:

Demise from Skyward Sword. We had one winner (thank Hylia, because I had no idea what I was going to do about those tie-breaker questions).

What does this mean for the story? Will we see the Imprisoned again? Why is Ghirahim acting so freaking nice? I mean, if we just ignore that he threatened to gouge out Link's eyes with a fork.

I edited earlier chapters because it was brought to my attention that it was difficult to read them. Sorry, I went backed and looked at them, and it was horrid. So, rejoice, because now all of the chapters are abiding by actual grammar rules to my knowledge.