Suggested by @StoryMaker7
~This story's for you!
In which Zane is stuck in the Never-Realm, alone and forgotten...
Before Season 11
"Where is everybody? This isn't Ninjago at all."
Poor Zane rested his head on the stone wall of the cave, a damaged mech laying on a bed of ice not far from him. He slammed his fist into the wall, tears pouring from his eyes.
"Where is everybody?!" he yelled, slamming his fist again in agony. "Why does this have to happen?"
He turned to the mech, its presence somewhat called to him. "Don't be so miserable," it seemed to say. "If you repair me, maybe you can to find your way back to Ninjago."
He couldn't give up hope, not now. That mech may be his only chance of survival, even if he didn't find his way back home. Besides, he was built to protect those who can't protect themselves, so going through this mess in Sensei Wu's place is worth all the pain he can ever experience. He vigorously wiped the tears from his eyes and quickly worked to repair the mech.
He couldn't help but think that he was alone. This was the first time he ever felt that way. Not even fixing this mech took his mind off the fact that his friends weren't there.
"My friends. . ." Feeling some tears lining his eyelids, he wiped them away and continued working. They should be here by now, he told himself. Where are they when you need them the most?
He tried to recite some common quotes his friends would say oftentimes to keep his mind off those negative thoughts.
"Ninja never quit!" He expected encouraging cheers from his friends, but the sound of his voice echoed throughout the cave, which only reminded him that he was alone. As time passed, he felt like his friends forgot about him. He felt like someone else took his place as the Master of Ice since it seems they weren't coming for him. He felt empty inside. . .forgotten. . .
"Dang it!" he shouted, throwing his tool aside and bursting into tears. "Why? Why can't I just be optimistic for one moment? Can I not just hope for one second?"
He desperately wanted someone to come and at least hear him. He wanted to be seen, to be heard, to know that he wasn't alone. He breathed heavily, the tears continuing to stream down his titanium cheeks, waiting for an answer. . .
No one. The voice of the howling wind doesn't count.
He needed to get his misery off his chest. That was the only way he could stop thinking about those foolish thoughts for once. Seeing a rusty video recorder sitting uselessly on the side, he eagerly fixed it and started recording.
At least I would be heard. . .one day. . .