A/N: If you haven't already done so, please read the preface to this tale, which is in my profile bio, before proceeding further to get a general understanding of the purpose of this tale and why I am writing it, if for no other reason than it is important to me. While I welcome any and all interested readers, this is primarily intended for die-hard fans of Digimon Adventure, and those who are not may not get as much enjoyment out of it. Anyway, it contains major spoilers for Digimon Adventure and Zero Two, as well as Last Evolution: Kizuna, so consider this your final warning if you are not caught up. With that out of the way, happy reading!

Obligatory disclaimer: I do not own the rights to anything related to Digimon, which is a franchise by Toei animation. Please don't sue me.

Prologue.

United Nations Detention Unit – The Hague, Netherlands.

September 12, 2010 – 9:30am

The man strode with an air of confidence that he did not feel as he traversed the long hallway, the walls white and nondescript and littered with doors spaced at intervals of a few meters. Each door had a small window slit at eye level covered with shatterproof glass, and he wondered briefly how many pairs of eyes might be quietly observing him behind those slits. They didn't concern him, however; he was here for one door in particular which lay near the end of the corridor, the only one that was actively guarded. The soldiers standing on either side of the door snapped to attention as he approached, sidearms visible from hip-holsters and palms raised to block his way.

"Halt! State your business here," barked the guard to his right, a broad-shouldered and mustachioed man who looked to be in his mid-forties.

He flinched. He had hoped that the first checkpoint he'd gone through at the compound entrance would have notified the guards of his coming. "I came to see the prisoner," he stated simply.

The second guard spoke. "I'm sorry sir, but the prisoner is denied visitors at this time. Please come back later." This one had a slimmer physique and was much younger, maybe even younger than himself.

"But I've been granted clearance," he protested.

The guards exchanged decidedly skeptical looks; the man standing before them was in his early twenties and wore a cheap business suit that clashed harshly with the blue tennis shoes on his feet and his disheveled mop of hair. He certainly didn't look like the type of person that would be granted special clearance. He reached into his back pocket for something and the guards instinctively put their hands on their sidearms in preparation to draw.

"Stand down, sir!" the elder guard ordered.

The man's arms flew up over his head in surrender. "Wait! I was just getting out my proof of clearance!"

The guards didn't let go of their pistols, but nodded for him to continue. "Easy does it, sir," instructed the younger soldier. "No sudden movements."

A bead of sweat came to the young man's brow, and he wondered briefly what was the point of going through the metal detector back at the entrance. Seriously. They ought to know I'm unarmed. He carefully pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to the elder guard to inspect. It was an official document containing a photocopy of his ID and a couple paragraphs of text detailing expressly what his permissions and restrictions were.

The guard's eyebrows rose and he gave a low whistle when he got to the signature at the bottom. "Straight from the top. This is legit. You must have pulled some serious strings to get this."

"Not me; a friend of mine."

"Powerful friend."

He shrugged.

The paper passed to the second guard, whose gaze bounced from the picture to his face and back again, lingering for a moment on the young man's curious choice of headgear, then to the name written on his ID as if to confirm his suspicion. "Wait, I recognize you now. You're one of them." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What exactly are your intentions with the prisoner?"

"I just want to talk."

"Hang on," the elder guard announced. "I've gotta take this up the chain of command. This kinda thing is way above my pay grade." He pulled out a large satellite radio and held it to his cheek. "This is Staff Sergeant Groeneveld. I need to speak to Lieutenant Haggart." There were a few moments of silence and a crackle of static before the muffled sound of a gruff and irritated voice came from the other end.

Sergeant Groeneveld continued. "Good morning, sir. I have someone here that wants to see prisoner oh-one-niner-alpha. Yes, that's the one." A grumbled reply came from the walkie. "I'm aware of that, sir, but he claims to have clearance."

The young man couldn't hear the lieutenant's response clearly from there, but it definitely contained an amused chuckle followed by what sounded like a sarcastic remark.

"That what I thought too, but he uh...he actually has it. I've seen the paper, sir. It's real." The atmosphere in the room suddenly became much more serious. Groeneveld verified the official marks of the document. The lieutenant asked who authorized it, and Groeneveld told him. What followed was an impressive and increasingly vulgar string of profanities from the lieutenant. That the young man had no trouble hearing.

"He claims that he just wants to speak to the prisoner.," said Groeneveld. The walkie was silent for a moment, then Lieutenant Haggart sighed and murmured something about "damn politicians mucking everything up", and then proceeded to give Sergeant Groeneveld several points of instruction in a low voice.

Groeneveld nodded along as he listened. "Yes, sir. Yes, sir. No, sir...no, sir. Understood." Groeneveld set the walkie on the floor and returned to attention. "All right, this is how it's going to go down: we will open the cell door and you will enter, the door will be closed behind you. Lance Corporal Klaasen and I will remain here, right outside. You can request to leave at any time, simply knock on the door and call for us, and we'll hear you. You will have a maximum of thirty minutes with the prisoner, but if we hear anything that sounds like an altercation, you will be removed from the cell and immediately escorted from the premises."

The young man nodded. "Understood."

"Also, I must inform you of the risk you are taking by going in there. It's possible she may become violent. By entering this cell you affirm full responsibility for whatever happens inside, to yourself and the prisoner. This facility will not be held liable if you are injured."

The young man shook his head. "I don't think there's much chance of that."

Sergeant Groeneveld frowned. "Very well. If you are ready, then…" He gestured toward the door and the young man stepped forward.

"Wait, sir!" Corporal Klaasen blurted. "Is it true what they say about you?"

The young man paused. "I'm not sure. What do they say about me?"

"Is it true that you've saved the world?", Klaasen clarified, a touch of awe in his tone.

He considered the question thoughtfully. "Which time?" he asked, a wry smile playing at his lips.

Klaasen's eyes widened in amazement and he and Groeneveld shared a look, and suddenly Groeneveld's stoic face split into a massive grin and he gave a deep belly-laugh, slapping the man on the back. "I like you, son! You've got stones. 'Which time?' ", he repeated, and started laughing again.

A loud buzz sounded in the small dark room and the door opened. The narrow shard of amber light that spilled through the door's window-slit expanded into a thick, bright swathe that stabbed through the blanket of shadow. The young woman lying on the cot against the far wall stirred with mild curiosity. She was clad in a black tank top and teal gym shorts, her auburn hair splayed out around her in disarray, free from its customary braid and butterfly pendant. She held up an arm to shield herself from the intrusive light and squinted as the silhouette of a man appeared in the doorway. Though she could make out nothing of his face she knew his identity immediately by the shape of his untidy bird's nest of hair and the goggles which encircled it.

Tai Kamiya stepped into the room and the shape of his form vanished as the door closed behind him.

"You," she breathed in disbelief. Menoa Bellucci sat upright and hugged her knees to her chest. "Why have you come?" There was a complex mixture of emotions in her voice. Curiosity. Shame. Perhaps fear.

Tai said nothing at first. He couldn't. Then Menoa knew.

"It's Agumon, isn't it?" She sensed his nod more than saw it.

"He's gone." Tai's voice quivered with the gravity of those words, words which spoke of a loss so complete, so intensely personal and devastating, that none who hadn't experienced it could understand. Menoa knew that sound well.

"Oh, Tai. I'm so sorry."

"And not just him," Tai went on. "Gabumon, and Biyomon as well."

"When?"

"Three weeks ago. At sunset, the day..." He didn't finish his sentence. She didn't need him to.

"H-how…?" Her voice wavered, and she paused. Then: "How did it happen?"

And so Taichi Kamiya began his story…

A/N: What is Tai doing there in Menoa's cell? I thought this would be a fun place to begin my story by setting up an atmosphere of mystery. The only other thing I'll say about this is that I did some research about where international criminals are held, and this is a real place, the only inaccuracy is that my description of Menoa's cell is pretty far-removed from reality: the real holding facilities are actually much nicer than what I depicted, and the prisoners are treated better and have more privileges. But as it went against the very clear and strong vision I had of this scene, I altered it to suit my tastes. Just know that this isn't an accurate portrayal of the real U.N. Detention center. Thank you so much for trying out my fanfic, and please leave a review telling me what you think!