OOC: A thousand apologies, oh patient Reviewers. Let's just say two plays at the same time don't give you very much time to work on an update. Needless to say, it was a long month… But I did eventually update! ^-^ I PROMISE! I will update sooner! If I don't… I'm going to allow a spoiler for the first reviewer who points it out! : ) On with the story!

The tuxedo tom smiled weakly... "And I'll help in any way I can… however, can you explain to me… exactly what's going on between the two of you? And exactly who the heck this tom is?"

Zela chuckled quietly at her friend's words, and was glad that he was still the same tom, despite the abuse he withstood from Macavity. She then took the time to explain to Misto exactly what she had been through the past month, and exactly what was between Marceth and herself…

~^..^~

"Things could be worse…" Mungojerrie kept whispering to himself.

Every hour of darkness he felt himself alone in, Jerrie kept repeating this statement to build his spirit up. Yet now, it sounded more like an insane, ranting phrase that he wouldn't stop saying.

Nights in his pitch-black cell were growing worse and worse. There were at least twelve instances during the month of his capture that Mungojerrie's guards force-fed him. His vomit was almost surrounding him now, and he was sure that the blood-loss wasn't helping much. The truth was he was doing his best to vomit the scraps from his stomach as he constantly tried to make his body give up and die. Was his lack of nutrients going to be enough though? He felt weak in his joints, and always felt cold under his fur, but no matter what he did to lose the value of his life, Jerrie knew Macavity would keep him alive as long as possible. He wouldn't allow the tiger-striped tom to die while Zela remained untrustworthy. This much Jerrie was able to figure out by himself.

The selfish part of him wanted Zela to remain loyal to the Hidden Paw. Maybe then, his ex-boss would stop feeding him and have him killed. He could picture the moment of his death; dreamed of it even each night he got a full hour of sleep. He imagined one last, weak breath escaping his lungs before his lifeless body grew cold and motionless. But from his molted skeleton, his soul would rise into Heavyside Layer. He pictured peace and complete freedom from his numb pain. And standing there to greet him would be Teazer in all her beauty. They wouldn't have to part ways ever again. They could be happy in death. No more hate or destruction; Just Teazer and him forever.

But that vision slowly passed as his tormentors came into his cell on a daily basis. He had the belief they liked to switch the tortures during the week. Mondays and Wednesday s, were physical tortures. Tuesdays and Thursday were emotional torture, and Friday plus the weekends were free for mental tortures or interrogations. Jerrie had broken down weeks ago though, so the tortures were slowly being desensitized from him. It was maddening to think about the time alone with himself, though. He was beginning to sabotage himself, not only with the hunger and dehydration strikes, but with his thoughts of his state were what made him feel so pathetic and weak. Who was Mungojerrie now anyway? A broken-hearted kit of a tom that was deteriorating in both health and mental constitution. He felt like he had absolutely nothing to lose. Perhaps if he truly did die, it would at least give Zelaphelia the freedom she deserved. Why would anyone wonder why he was reaching so strenuously for death?

Jerrie's sagging eyes trailed routinely around his cell as he leaned his head back on the concrete wall. He passed the time by trying to wriggle his paws enough where his claw could reach to his wrists. So far, no results. Banging his head against the wall was also not a good option. He couldn't smash it against the concrete hard enough or long enough before someone stopped him from giving himself a concussion. Why was suicide so difficult to achieve in a place filled with death? As the tiger-striped tom kept this thought consistently through his brain, he felt himself drowning in darkness until his tormentors came precisely at their unpredictable time.

The silhouette of the larger one had yellow eyes that were so big, Jerrie still thought his victimized face was mirrored in them. "Guess what day it is today?"

"...The end o' the world, Oi 'ope…" Jerrie muttered tiredly.

The skinny, sleazy one standing at the door snickered darkly. "It's a Monday, Mungojerrie."

A Physical torture day. Figured. These were the worst days by far for the tiger-striped tom. These were the more painful and torturous, and were just for the interrogators' pleasures in torment. At least he knew that even if he did talk about the Jellicles, the best it would do him was a shorter time on his beating. Both his eyes were already bruised, along with his upper lip, his cheekbone, and he received several cut wounds along his jaw line and his body.

Hopefully he would feel a little numbness today…They might just kill him during the process…

~^..^~

How anyone in the Junkyard had survived this week, Munkustrap would never understand. There was absolutely nothing standing between the fate of this tribe and death. Though everyone was convinced that the blood-stained notes that belonged to Misto were what kept this tribe in existence. There were combinations on the endless number of crumbled sheets that proved to be good for both the pain and side-effects of the toxin. Jelly and Jenny's treatments were pointless painkillers compared to Mistoffelees' research.

And yet what was the point? The tuxedo tom was gone, and there were no good number of able-bodied cats that could go search for him. This was taking a serious blow to the tribe, especially Victoria, who hadn't been speaking to anyone since the discovery of her mate's kidnapping. And this was the final straw for Munkustrap and his family. Everyone knew that Misto was their last hope. He was the only one who could solve this mystery before anyone lost their lives. But now, the long term toxin was taking its toll on everyone. Plato and Etcetera were on the verge of death. Cori and Tanto were doing their best to keep up their healing powers, but their energy was being wasted.

And to think, all this time, Munk should have been the tom that protected this tribe from harm, yet all he could do now was give them false hope and patrol the borders. The remaining survivors were as frightened of staying in their home as any sane cat would. They spread themselves away from the medical den, covering the mouths from the air, sleeping in isolated areas. They were slowly dying from fear itself, even if they couldn't see it. Sharply inhaling Munkustrap watched them as kept to the edges of the clearing. Tugger and Teazer had become quite close, he noticed. It was painfully obvious why though. And no one was speaking about those situations if they valued their morale. At least they realized that something was wrong in the first place, and that was what Munkustrap was hoping for; someone to be able to realize their fatal problem and know how to fix it. Heavyside knew he couldn't.

That was why he was standing out there on the road outside the Junkyard. Life would be so much simpler if he were just gone. It was the only way the tribe could survive. The next leader to take over for him would be Alonzo, and since he was one of the few remaining toms that were not affected from the toxin, he would figure out a way to save them. It was the only way the ones he loved would survive.

The pavement of the roads were callusing the skin of his paws as he rubbed them into the ground nervously. One would think death would be much easier if it was quicker, but the London streets were not being kind to him tonight. "Come on…" he whispered, gritting his teeth and digging his claws into his palms, "Just kill me already…"

But in only a few minutes, that thought became louder to him. "Just kill me already, you bastard!" He shouted up into the night sky, "I've been standing here for who-knows-how-long! Can't you see that you've chosen the wrong tom for this job? I've failed, Everlasting Cat, I've failed everyone! My body… my mind… everything is so corrupted. There can't be much left of me to waste…" Munkustrap collapsed to the ground, forcing tension into his arms. He clawed the blacktop in anticipation. "Just end it now. I'm not doing anything. Just end it!"

No matter what he tried, there was always something blocking him from happiness. "I've tried… I've tried so hard… Can't you see all of my efforts are in vain? My family is going to die! My mate will die… my friends… my little girls … Don't take them away from me; just take me away from them…Can't you tell I deserve it…?"

And at that moment, when he said this, Everlasting Cat must have heard him. A tremor throughout the ground began rising in its vibrations. There was almost the sound of wind filling Munkustrap's ears as they twitched around wildly. All of his instincts were telling him to run, but his feelings were making his perspective quite clear. Munkustrap wanted this to end. He wanted the sweet relief of death to hit him like a rainstorm. And it was coming. Death was coming somewhere between forty and fifty miles per hour.

…Yet as the brightness of the headlights flashed over his forehead, Munkustrap felt an impact hit him…

~^..^~

As swift and harsh as Tugger's approach was, there were no other options in saving Munkustrap. The Maine Coon had only caught sight of him by chance when Teazer and he were going for a walk. It was almost unbelievable when he caught sight of Munkustrap standing in the middle of the midnight road with a monstrously large car speeding toward him.

An immediate reaction bolted through Tugger, knowing that he needed to save his brother from this peril. He pounced at the silver tabby, clear of the vehicle within a few moments, which was now swerving from the sight of the cats on the road. Both Tugger and Munkustrap landed hard on the paved road. He fell forward; blood covered the raw blisters of Tugger's paws. Heavyside, did it sting. Yet he ignored the engrossing pain for now, and focused on his brother who had his face plummeted into the road.

The silver tabby groaned hoarsely, shutting his eyes tight. Tugger weakly stood up and dragged his brother over to the sidewalk. Teazer stood on the other side of the road with her paws covering her mouth." Is he okay?" she shouted.

The Maine Coon shook his head as he carefully flipped Munk on his back. "I don't know!" He finally answered, seeing the fresh scrapes covering the right side of the silver tabby's face.

Tugger winced at the sight of his brother and inhaled deeply, "Oh Heavyside, Munkus, what the hell were you thinking…?"

Munkustrap only let out a faint groan in reply. Yet his dull eyes were openly staring at Tugger's face. There was guilt omitting from the pools of light blue as they began to glaze over in tears. "Tug…" he whispered shakily, "I'm sorry…"

"What were you doing, Munk?" he asked gently, though it was too obvious to even say. Why Tugger was forcing his brother to say the words was a mystery to him. Maybe he wanted the silver tabby to realize his own stupidity.

Munkustrap exhaled quietly as he leaned his head by his brother's arm and started shaking. "…I was… I…." But to his surprise, Munkustrap wasn't speaking anymore. In fact, he wasn't even moving. He was taking on a bizarre attitude of silence.

Tugger raised an eyebrow as he put a paw on his brother's shoulder. "What is it, Munk?"

The silver tabby didn't answer his brother. Instead, he took on the awkward habit of convulsing next to him. Tugger frowned deeply as he moved away from his brother and watched him momentarily shaking through his body before sitting still for a few seconds. "Oh no…" Tugger murmured shortly.

It couldn't be. His brother had been probably the most stressed out tom in the Junkyard, and yet he had remained the strongest. Or so the tribe thought. Yet there was no way that he gave into his weakness in the worst way possible. Was Munkustrap being infected by the toxin? It couldn't be…

"Munkustrap, you have to talk to me. Please. Talk to me. Tell me to go do something. Yell at me! Say something, Straps!"

The begging and pleading would not suffice for the weakened silver tabby tom. The silent convulsing wouldn't stop, the moans of anguish were beginning, and obvious signs were beginning to show.

Turning his head up, Tugger stared at Teazer, who was still standing there in confusion. "Tugger…?" she called warily.

"Get Alonzo! Munkustrap's infected!" Those last words were teased in his voice like a fatal blow. Their strongest tribe member had fallen to the mercy of this disease. It was causing so much damage to Munkustrap, that it honestly hadn't been surprising. And yet… here he was, surviving a suicide only to be crazed with the maddening side-effects of the toxin.

Teazer sprinted back to the Junkyard, disappearing into the darkness. "Hang in there, Munk…" Tugger muttered encouragingly as they both waited in the darkness. But the Maine Coon was losing his courage as time quickly ticked by, knowing his brother was now potentially a dead tom ….

~^..^~

As it turned out, Interrogators got more access around the Warehouse than guards did. Marceth was soon discovering there were quite a few little-known-facts in his home than he had been aware of. The system that the Henchcats ran was extremely competitive, yet at the same time, a simple misdirection of duty could throw the balance of the henchcats' workforce in a loop. Yet anything the Napoleon of Crime wanted the Henchcats to know, it would immediately be given to them through their own messaging system. The head interrogators already knew that he was to start training with them the day after tomorrow. Marceth just decided to tell them that he wanted to work ahead of time, which he knew he would pay for with the time he had with Zela.

But he had to put that aside if he wanted her to stay safe… that didn't work so well when she started following him half way around the halls just to make sure they had a plan. She had the same strategic, logical side as her father when it was needed. The gold-red queen was acting different, strangely, as if she had some sort of motivation to be alive. As good as it was to see her happier… Marceth couldn't help thinking that it wasn't his presence that was causing that. She had her Jellicle friend now…right after he finally was able to admit his feelings to her. They had had the most erotic, passionate night of their lives, and it all seemed to be ruined now… this was a chance for her to leave the Warehouse… Why was he helping her?

You want her happy… The tortoiseshell tom reminded himself. She's your mate. You want her happy… He turned his head to Zela, who was still walking down the hallway with him.

She was looking forward and spoke her words quietly. "So, you're sure you can get in with the interrogators?"

"Positive." He replied calmly, looking at her with a slight smile.

"Good. And be sure to find out where they're putting him… Why would they torture him on a daily basis though?"

Marceth shrugged, "It's the way they do things. Torture prisoners on a daily basis, trying to get their jollies out of pain… Interrogators are quite sadistic when they want to be."

Zela snorted as she looked up at him. "What convinced my father to promote you to an Interrogator?" she teased lightly.

He playfully rolled his eyes at her and nudged her. "I'm stealthy and rugged and far too awesome for the Cells?"

"I think you forgot incredibly handsome…" she countered with a wry smile.

Marceth grinned at her, quickly looking around before nuzzling her head. "Thanks, Zel… keep it quiet though, I don't want anyone else knowing you think I'm so amazing out in public."

"Well aren't you humble?" she joked, grinning back at him.

Marceth chuckled as he looked back in front of them. "Oh yes, definitely!" he replied, "You know how humble I can be. I'm a piece of humble pie."

Zelaphelia laughed, but tried to keep her tone down. After a quick chuckle she looked up at him with the same happy smile that he loved seeing. She had such a wonderful smile. It was always genuine and good. It almost compared to the look of her mystical eyes. "All joking aside, Marceth… spies are made spies for a reason… let's get this done and we can talk tonight, okay?"

"…You're right…" he said, peering around once to see if any henchcats were actually around, looking at them together. "Yet tonight doesn't seem to have much privacy…" Marceth sighed as he thought angrily about Mistoffelees being in the Cells now… the only private place he and Zela had… now it was the place where the Jellicles would plot their escape…

Zela just smiled again, rubbing her shoulder against his for a short second. Far too short for Marceth… Damn that this relationship had to be secret. "We'll find a way around it." She assured, smiling up at him.

With her positivity right then, the tortoiseshell tom smiled back at her, and they had another moment of pure peace.

Yet those moments were beginning to grow shorter and shorter as a guard instantly stopped them at the end of the hall. "This is as far as she is allowed to go." He stated bitterly.

Both Marceth and Zela frowned at him. Curse the restricted areas. Turning to the gold-red queen slightly, Marceth nudged his head back, motioning her to leave. She gave a begrudging nod and silently left his side. It was hurting him not to be able to show his feelings about her outside of the Cells… but it would just get them both in trouble, and he was going to do his best to enjoy his time with Zela for as long as he could.

"I'm here for the next interrogation." He told the henchcat on guard. The two toms stared at each other shortly before the henchcat nodded and let him pass through the next hall.

Marceth moved quickly through this new hallway, committing the look of it to memory. Surely no guard had been able to see this place. Marceth knew he should consider himself lucky to be chosen for this job, even though the setting was still very morbid. The air was lingering the scent of death; crisp, fresh death. These darkened halls held only the faint torch lights on the wall. Every door he passed had several metal locks on it. There was a buzz in his ear, which the Tortoiseshell tom figured was the screams of prisoners. He ignored that though. He was so desensitized already to the pain of his home that he didn't mind the small traces of screams.

Finally, he arrived at the end of the hall, pausing as two toms dragged a weak, shackled tom with faded black and orange stripes into the room at the dead end. Marceth's eyes narrowed as they pushed him through the door violently. "Get a move on, Jellicle…" a henchcat snapped.

A Jellicle; the striped tom had to be the only one in these maximum security prisons. Marceth blinked before swiftly running to his fellow henchcats. "Excuse me, is this tom going to be interrogated?"

The one that looked older gave Marceth a grim nod, yet also gave him a curious look. The Tortoiseshell cleared his throat. "I'd like to watch… for experience."

There wasn't any argument to this, besides the few murmurs between the other toms about now having to watch out for a kit and a prisoner. Marceth just rolled his eyes from behind as he shut the interrogation room's door. He had learned to ignore jokes about his age. And being weak. And not being too clever. Negativities grew old when someone grew up with them, and Marceth was no exception. Leaning back against the wall, Marceth watched as the prisoner tom was tied down to a post, his paws bound tightly enough that they weren't even able to wriggle. Surely he had to be losing circulation.

There wasn't much about this tom. He looked like the typical weakling Jellicle that Jezabella had taught him and other trainees about. His features looked tired and pained, as if he was giving up the will to live. This was seriously the tom that Zela wanted to save? He was a recreant henchcat that Macavity would have had killed weeks ago. Marceth watched silently as the toms circled the tom aimlessly, unwinding a long whip into its long, snake-like form.

"Mungojerrie, aren't you tired of this yet?" the interrogator said with a harassing tone, "Life would be so much easier if you just told us what you know…"

The tom weakly stared up at his captor, giving him an icy glare. "Got nothin' ta say, mate… ya moight t'as well kill me…"

The henchcat just chuckled and dug his claws into Jerrie's shoulder. "You know we can't do that, Jerrie… it wouldn't be as much fun…" The dark-pelted tom leaned up from Jerrie's side and took a few large steps away from him. He drew the whip back, prepping himself before lashing the tiger-striped tom's back. A dark red line extended from Mungojerrie's shoulder blade to his mid-spine, blood visibly running through his coat. He didn't react beyond a twinge of pain.

It was right then that Marceth realized that Mungojerrie's backside was covered in the slashes of a whip. Surely, the first strike wouldn't be that much pain for him. The next few cracks of the whip had the same reaction, though he did notice a few winces after the process grew longer. The henchcat didn't surrender the torture until he finally got a pained groan out of Mungojerrie.

"I bet you're just aching to see that little queen in the afterlife, eh?" the henchcat said at a pause, continuing with his cruel, mocking way of provoking his prisoner.

Jerrie let out a pitiful hiss and growled at the floor. "Don' you dare talk abou' 'er…"

He got a punch in the face for that answer. The tiger striped tom gave another pained groan and kept his bruised eyes to the floor.
"You didn't answer my question." The interrogator hissed, taking a firm hold on his prisoner's bloody pelt, "Why don't you try again…?" He held his claw of Jerrie's throat threateningly.

Jerrie just inhaled deeply as he struggled to raise his head to the henchcat's face, "Oi'll answah when oi'm dead."

Once the words came out of his mouth, Marceth knew Jerrie would regret it soon after. The henchcat snarled fiercely and placed his claw at the top of the striped tom's cheekbone. With one movement, he sliced his claw up through Jerrie's bruised face. The sharpness of his nails tore through Jerrie's flesh. Momentarily he needed to cease cutting because the largest claw had been stifled by the bone in Jerrie's nose. Yet still, as the prisoner tom screeched a horrid, agonized cry. The henchcat was able to scratch up to the peak of Jerrie's brow, and Marcetheus finally had to turn his head away, genuinely terrified of seeing the multiple dribbles of blood stream down the striped tom's face.

"You'll be dead when I saw you'll be!" the henchcat snarled furiously. He snapped the whip again, this time across Mungojerrie's side.

Marcetheus grimaced at the sight, turning himself fully away from the torture session. He would never understand how any prisoner took that, nor would he understand how he would stomach such gruesome affairs. Quickly and quietly, the tortoiseshell tom left the interrogator to finish his work… or rather, his fun. Zela would want to know about this, and right away…

~^..^~

During the time that Marceth disappeared through the restricted areas, Zela and Misto used all of it to catch up on what had been going on. They spent what precious, few hours that had together by covering on what they had recently lived through. Misto was describing grew filled with detail and started to make her feel guilty about the tribe's suffering. Zela was wishing she was dead sometimes. Maybe if she had died a while ago, none of this mayhem would have occurred. Yet Misto made it clear that nothing could be done for this situation. She was alive, and she had to stay that way if she were to get everyone out of this mess.

Though they tried to be blunt, most topics were awkwardly avoided, especially those concerning Tugger. Zela was thankful that he wasn't bringing up the type of subjects that were upsetting. However, his curiosity possessed him when their conversation ever hung over Marceth. She didn't say it out loud, but it was becoming annoying how frequently her new, unofficial mate was brought up. Misto seemed to realize that in her thoughts, though. He had the smug look on his face that proved his guilt.

Misto fought hard to contain his smirk. "So… I already know about him being your guard … and your somewhat secret relationship… and now your mateship …but I do have another question for you."

Zela raised an eyebrow at him, looking unimpressed by his statement. She sighed quietly, deciding to humor him until his curiosity was satisfied. "Ask, then…" she said tiredly.

"…Do you trust him?"

Zela paused momentarily before snorting, "I don't think I'd be with him if I didn't."

Misto waved his hand and readjusted himself. "Yeah, yeah, I get that," he dismissed, "But what I mean is do you trust him to help us? Help the Jellicles? Zela, you have to keep in mind that he is a henchcat."

Zela sighed quietly and looked at her friend seriously, "Misto…he's different. I've thought about it all several times. There's a chance he's lying to me. There's a chance he's just using me for his own advantage…Heck, I even thought he might be doing this to spy on me for my Father…I've ran every scenario through my head, Misto… but somehow… when I look into his eyes… all of those doubts disappear. Misto, you must know that look in the eye when you see Victoria… It feels so gentle and loving… and I know he's not going to be the kind of person to betray me. He loves me… He genuinely loves me Misto… Honestly, I don't think someone has cared about me that deeply."

After finishing this, Zela looked up at the tuxedo tom tentatively, wondering if he could feel anything empathy towards her feelings. She was so sure that he would understand the love that she felt… but she'd been wrong before… The gold-red queen found herself relieved when she saw a small smile on the corner of his lips. Still, he looked like he was doubtful in a way. "Well, Zela, if you're really sure about it… then I trust your judgment… just remember who the enemy is, okay? Also, Zel, I think you should know something about Marceth… I don't know if you've realized it yet."

Zelaphelia stared at him, wanting to question him on what this vague sentence meant, but before they could continue the rest of their conversation, Marcetheus slammed the Cells' door and entered inside with a bright smile. "Well, I found him!" he announced happily.

As concerned as Zela was for Misto's statements, she found comfort the moment her mate walked into the room; his dark coat, speckled and blotched in gold and auburn markings made her feel like the sun was looking at her. The gold-red queen stood up from the bars outside of Misto's cell and quickly greeted him with a kiss. If Mistoffelees wasn't there, it would have been a perfect moment. It also made her understand that she was clinging to these moments as much as she could, fearing that whatever information he had could help her, Misto, and Jerrie escape this Hell… but leaving Hell meant leaving Marceth behind in the fire.

Trying to push these sad thoughts away, Zela looked up at Marceth, who looked positively ecstatic. She chuckled quietly and led him back to Misto's cell. The tuxedo tom gave her a look of uncertainty, but eventually, he loosened up as Marcetheus began to unravel a descriptive narrative of everything he had seen. The most important thing about that story was the only thing Zela was concerned about. Jerrie was alive…

~^..^~