Zekko slowly opened his eyes. The darkness of his cell greets him. With a groan, he rubs at his eyes, drawing himself out of his tired state. His head was throbbing. He sits up in his bed, familiar with the sound of shackles as they move with him. He was bound once again, yet a new weight on his leg alerts him. He turns to see and finds a bandage wrapped around his left ankle and foot. He tilts his head, confused. How did this get there?

An itching around his neck strikes him to touch the area. He pulls away his hand and fur comes away. It's burnt.

Taser sticks. Memories flood back into his head. Him screaming at the CEO. Guards rushing in. The tasers electrified him from left to right. He was then bound and muzzled. They took him to Dr. Gutman. They restrained him into a chair and left him with the doctor.

Zekko shakes his head and holds his head in his hand. He gingerly touches his throat, feeling bruises. He scowls.

A scent passes his nose, distracting him. He sniffs and looks up. There on his desk was a tray. It had a milk carton, oatmeal and a muffin. His stomach growls and Zekko clutches it.

Standing up, he hops over to the desk and leans against it. He does his best to avoid pressure on his bad leg. He stares at the food on the table. He wrinkles his nose at the oatmeal. With a single finger he flicks at it.

"Disgusting." Zekko spat.

Zekko plops down into his seat. He grabs the muffin and removes the wrapper around it, pushing the rest of the meal away. He licks his lips and bites into the muffin.

"Quite the tasty morsel we have here."

Zekko chokes on the muffin. He thickly swallows the piece in his mouth and scans the room. The darkness that flooded the room made it all too easy for someone to be hiding within the shadows.

"Don't be scared."

Zekko freezes, dropping his muffin. That voice. He knows it. Not now. Why now? He holds his ears down.

"Oh, none of that now." The voice cooed. "We've got so much to talk about."

Zekko shuts his eyes closed. "Leave me alone."

A giggling laughter floods his ears. Zekko flinches and shrinks in his chair. He doesn't dare open his eyes. He doesn't want to see it. He can't stand to see it. Not again. Not now. If he doesn't open his eyes he won't be able to see it. It can't hurt him.

"Now why would I want to hurt you?"

The voice sounded louder now, closer. Zekko dares to open an eye. He jumps straight up out of his seat, tripping over his shackles. Zekko hisses in pain, clutching his ankle. Massaging his injury, he looks up. In the darkness outside the glass was a grinning smile. Zekko could barely make out the figure sitting outside his enclosure. All he could see was that smile. That terrible cheshire grin.

A set of white gloves appears and starts throwing a ball back and forth between the hands.

"Zekko, my friend." The mouth speaks, its smile never faltering. "It's been a long time now hasn't it?"

Zekko did his best to hold his ground, but found his hands trembling. He hugs his arms.

"What do you want?" Zekko mutters silently.

The hands stop tossing the ball. With a single twist of the wrist the ball has turned into a teacup on a plate of china. The hands lift the cup to the mouth, which sips the tea in silence.

"I just wanted to drop by." The voice says, lowering the cup. "Is that so wrong?"

"I don't need to be checked up on." Zekko retorts. He turns around, crossing his arms.

"But I think you do." he hears the voice clicking its tongue. Zekko can imagine the movement quite vividly. It made him shiver. "He hurt you again."

Zekko growls. "You don't have to rub it in my face."

"Who said I was?" The voice calmly states. Zekko can hear the ball being thrown in the air once again. "He did hurt you, didn't he? You have bruises around your neck."

Zekko shuts his eyes close, swallowing. He rubs his neck, remembering what the doctor had done to him. He was drugged and assaulted.

"You should've made him suffer." The voice says. "I would've done it."

"Well, we can't be you," Zekko turns to glare. "Can we?"

The grin had turned into a frown. The ball lands in one gloved hand.

"No, I guess not." The voice says.

Zekko watches as the mouth grows a face to accompany it. The rest of the voice's body comes into light. A scrawny toon that looked much like Zekko, but his fur was black like the night. He had the brightest cherry red nose and bloody red eyes. He wore a white bowtie and a pair of gray slacks. The toon returns to tossing the ball between his gloved hands. A sly smile settles on his face.

"But all good things come in time." The toon says. "You know that."

Zekko's scowl fades. He takes in the toon's words. He gives a sure nod.

"I do." Zekko agrees.

The toon's grin widens. "It's coming up, you know."

"I know." Zekko sits back down in his seat.

The toon stops tossing the ball around. He leans in closer to the window, closer to Zekko. "Are you ready?"

Zekko was silent. He dares to stare down at his injured foot. He remembers the pain of the taser sticks, the jab of the syringe, the hands that choked him. His hands turn into fists.

"I am." Zekko says, looking to the toon, but to his alarm he was gone. His attention is taken by the warm breath on his neck. He feels two hands land on his shoulders.

"They're waiting for you, Zekko." These words are whispered into Zekko's ear.

Out of the corner of Zekko's eye, he can see the toon in the reflection of the glass. The toon was standing behind him, whispering into his ear. His eyes were on fire and angry, but his face remained neutral. Zekko swallows thickly.

"You won't let down our siblings will you?" The toon asks.

Zekko's hands tremble and he clutches them to keep them from shaking further.

"I won't." Zekko automatically says.

A gloved hand lifts his head up by the chin. Zekko looks forward. The toon is in front of him now, eyes blazing.

"You won't, what?" The toon says. "Be specific for me."

"...I won't fail them." Zekko firmly says.

"Good." The toon coos. He cups his hands around Zekko's face. He grins. "This time is the one, Zekko. I can feel it."

Zekko closes his eyes. He can still feel the toon's hands around his face. He could feel the warm breath on his face. Even if he opened his eyes now, he would see those red eyes staring right at him.

"Chesire?" Zekko voices, saying the delusion's name. The one his therapists always told him to avoid. It's not good to talk with Chesire, they would tell him. Ignore him. He doesn't tell you good things.

"Yes?" Chesire says to him.

"Can we talk?" Zekko asks. He opens his eyes.

Cheshire is sitting on his bed now, drinking tea. He lowers the cup from his mouth. A simple smile on his face.

"Of course, my friend." Cheshire says.

Zekko's ears flinch at hearing voices outside his cell. He can tell it is the guards. Zekko frowns.

"Ignore them." Cheshire tells him, but Zekko hears the whispering.

"Prisoner 001 is talking to himself again." One guard says.

"Zekko, did you hear me?" Cheshire says, a bit more firmly this time.

"Do we call it in?" The other guard says.

"Yes, I heard you." Zekko tells Cheshire, looking at him. "I'm sorry."

"I'm calling it in." The guard says, louder. Zekko can hear the click of a walkie talkie. "We have a situation."

Zekko turns his full attention to Chesire. The toon was grinning. Zekko knew that grin. He knows because everytime the guards call these moments in, he always has something to say.

"They're calling the doc, aren't they?" Cheshire says giggling, clapping his hands together like a child who was getting candy. "Just wonderful!"

"Why is that so wonderful?" Zekko mumbles.

Cheshire grins wickedly, a literal cheshire smile if you will.

"Because now you get to make him suffer."