Lloyd remains unconscious for a long while.

He doesn't come to when he's broken from the ice, flaming hands melting the ice that trapped him. Not when his arms are sloppily chained by black metal, and not when he's tied safely to a wall in a tiny cage, below the floors of the Monastery.

He doesn't come to when he's chained up below deck of the Bounty.

He does come to when he's dropped haplessly on the floors of the very cell his own father had been locked in, hardly a few years ago.

He groans, pushing himself from the hard surface beneath him. There air is chill, in the frankly tiny glass cell. He assumes its warm enough to keep him alive, but not enough to keep him comfortable. Not even in his thick layers of gi, or with the scrappy excuse for a blanket underneath him.

The bed itself wasn't even a bed. It more resembled a slab of metal. Same with the strange table, and an immovable chair sat just in front of it. A basin sat between the bed and desk, off to the side a little, and Lloyd quickly finds himself dreading it's purpose.

Layers upon layers of thick, heavy duty glass cut him off from the vast, empty, and pitch black room. The only sources of light, as far as he could tell, was the scrawny lightbulb above him, and the beady lasers that blocked a far away door from use. It lid the void in a horrible red light, and cast the two figures in front of them in terrifying shadow.

Lloyd ignored them for now, opting to stare as far down the pit as he could. He faintly remembers the time he'd broken Aspheera out of this very cell. Zane had dropped the lazer cutter and it had tumbled down, down, down until nit even a fraction of the device was visible. It made no audible noise as it hit the ground, if it had hit the ground at all. It's a nauseating sight, but Lloyds entire body felt numb and the random nauseousness was almost welcome.

A white light flashes somewhere by the unreachable door, and his eyes scan to the two dark figures, now lit up by a small light illuminating off of a hand held device. From afar he could make out two neat-black suits, adorned with golden buttons. One was proudly decorated with a shiny golden badge and heavy duty boots, the other with freshly polished slacks. It was the police commissioner, and the warden.

He takes offence to the fact that two near strangers were left to guard him, and not his friends. Although, with the beating Pixal and Zane had received, they most likely needed some repairs from borg. Not to mention the Dark Island: Had the two head off to collect the others? He hopes it took them a while. The thought of the others being left to their own minds, stuck on that stupid island, he hopes they got a taste of what they deserved. He hopes they go mad. Mad because how were they to survive, in such a hardly familiar place? They had no Garmadon to help them, even through they needed it.

He wonders if they'd seen the smeared mess across the floor of the octagonal room; He wonders if Jay had told them more of what he knew. Told them that Lloyd had murdered someone in that room, even if it was just a theory proved by action. He wonders if Kai had woken up surrounded by the blurry, mangled faces of the rest of his team; His sister, his brother in law, his close friend- and that random explorer.

A walkie talkie sits tightly in the commissioners hand, a bright light illuminating from under the antennae and it warbles as he presses a finger firmly to its side. The sound is horribly loud in the dull room, but his stern voice is louder:

"He's awake, Talk to him as soon as you get back, over."

They're plunged into silence again. Lloyd feels a frown groan on to his face.

The device bubbles again. "We're almost back," His teammate croaks, voice hoarse and dehydrated, scratchy as if he'd been screaming. "Don't cross the platform until we get there: We don't know what he'll try, over."

Momentarily, he's surprised to hear Cole. He sounded a bit rough, and awfully tired, but very much alive. The confirmation that he had in fact not died was... something.

He stands from the bed, legs straining after not being used for who knows how long. Footsteps echo thunderously throughout the room as he paces. He paces, paces, and paces, his legs slowly regaining strength again as he wanders circles like a caged beast on display. The cell was too small to make pacing comfortable, his foot occasionally scuffing the metal stool, but he made do.

Fingers press soothingly at his temple, massaging. His mind strained to reach out to the voice, for entertainment, or advice, he didn't have a clue. He was met with painful, utter silence. No matter what he thought, what he whispered under his breath, the stupid voice would not respond. It was radio silence.

And it infuriated him beyond anything else.

It was so silent that the faint, distant, and repetitive thrum of the protective lasers made his ears bleed and ring, so he pressed his tense hands against them, trying to block out the noise but they still rang. It was slowly but surely driving him mad. Worn hands shake against his head, and he gives up too quickly, letting them fall to his side to clench and unclench and flex out in front of him as he paces. It's all an attempt to distract himself, yet it was failing so miserably.

He wonders if the voice was such a menace that it only whispered to him when he didn't want it to. Ignored him only when he wanted something to talk to. Or maybe, it didn't even exist, and he'd been hearing a voice that was never really there. Maybe it was all just his own mind, his internal thoughts, cruelly tricking him into thinking he's not all alone. His own mind feeding him ideas and plans.

Kote armour shifts uncomfortably, side to side, as he shimmies his foreaerms in an attempt to calm his racing mind and bring himself back to earth. His footsteps go from angry, heavy and quick, to considerably heavy as he stomped but slowed his pace to standing in the middle of the cell, back to the other two in the room.

His voice still whispers out, trying to reach out to that horrible voice, yet it did not respond. Instead, tens of others did. They weren't his voice. They yelled and they whispered and they tapped at the shells of his ears. They spewed nonsense and they sang tempting advice. They told him he would be trapped forever, they berated him for failing to finish his plan, blamed him for failing and convinced him he'd never speak to another living being again, not till the day he died; Who knows how long that would take. His father was half immortal, what did that make him?

They drive his hands to the side of his head again, and quickly, he begins pacing again, back spine doubling over as he clutched his head and hissed. He trips and stumbles over his feet as he paces, the world spinning around him, but he doesn't fall. He never will.

But the choir of noise, he swears they grey hands, and for a moment he swears they were grabbing him, persuading him and pulling his limbs like a puppet on a string. He flails his arms, brushing against his skin and slapping away air, wiping the hands off like cobwebs, but they persist. They push, and pull, yank, tug, and his limbs aren't his own as his fist hurls into the glass wall. Behind the barrier he could see the figures of the warden and commissioner. They stood calmly, arms folded behind thei backs, and it infuriated him that they could be so calm while he was trapped.

His actions became his own again as another fist hurled into the glass, and another, and another. Again and again he lunged full force into the glass, fists aching as his knuckles bruised and lacerated from the pure blunt force. He tried to break the horrible barrier, tried to summon his abilities to aid him. His heritage did had weakened during his unconsciousness, and they did not respond as he searched deep in his lungs for it. Another punch. Desperately, he called upon his green powers, but he couldn't find them in himself. He cried and yelled into each punch, blood spurting from the tens of tiny wounds and splattering as he punched them again into the glass.

With as much force as he could manage, he landed one final punch to the window, shattering his knuckles in one fell blow, but still the glass did not chip, and his powers did not respond.

All too quickly, he stopped his aggressive onslaught. Standing back to bitterly admire the smeared design he'd left behind, he huffs a breath. It forces his chest to shudder, bringing back his exhaustion. He collapses his back to the glass, smearing the mess of cherry down the barrier and across his gi as he slides to a tuck against it, arms folded over his knees loosely.

Faintly, a shuffle can be heard from the far side of the room. He wonders if the commissioner was watching him.

A few clicking and thunking noises sound out from behind him, followed by a light thud. A mumble, "What happened?"

It was almost too quiet to hear, but in the silence he heard it. His breath hitched at the question, his nose twitching the slightest amount. He doesn't answer yet.

So the commissioner goes on, "I've known you for many years now, son, and you've never been one to turn your back on those that need you." His voice is almost monotone, almost. Lloyd can hear the confusion, the betrayed lilt in his tone.

Over his shoulder, he glances to stare at the other two. The warden had pulled out a folding chair, and was sitting heavily against it, arms crossed silently across his chest. His brow was far from furrowed, instead resting relaxed on his nonchalant face. He looked almost bored, but his tense jaw gave away the fear. He looked out of place in his own prison.

The commissioner himself- he still stood, arms folded as well as he shuffled one foot to another. His entire face was furrowed. "Have you been possessed? Is it really you, green ninja?"

Lloyds eyes meet his, and the commissioners squint, before drooping. He seems to have already gotten his answer, but Lloyd answers anyway. "No. This is me." Uncontrollably, a sad smile creeps onto his face, and he turns his head away before the man can see it. It's no use, the cell had 3600 cameras that could see his every move, but he would rather ignore that.

Why he was suddenly overcome with sadness, he doesn't know. Maybe it was because he could never go back. Not really. Even if they forgave him, somehow, he wouldn't be able to live with himself. He wouldn't be able to go back, emotionally. Or maybe it was because his mission for power and revenge hardly seemed worth it. It hardly seemed worth betraying his friends, his family, and those that believed in him. Those that loved him.

But they loved the green ninja. They didn't love Lloyd. They only loved what he could do.

What about Lloyd? The ex-professional window wiper? The kid in an adults body? The brother, the friend, the person? He was a weapon. It hardly seemed fair, that while he had given up his childhood for his friends and for his country, they were only ever grateful when they had to be. It hardly seemed fair that after the wounds he'd bared, the horrors he'd seen, the enemies he's faced, that the world would only see him as the son of a warlord, and a part-oni freak. The party- where the mayor had publicly thanked them for saving the city- he had been ridiculed for his heritage. The mayor had planted that little seed of distrust, because their hero had used "unconventional methods" to save them. How dare they. He'll show them. He'll show them what a part-oni freak could do.

It made him wince at the realisation that the mayor had been right.

Once his mission is complete, he'll be the most powerful being in ninjago. Who will be there to save them now? Who would be there to stop him? What hero worthy enough of praise would stand up to him then? It sure wouldn't be Lloyd: They'd had his chance with him, he was so done. He'd show them he was the single most powerful being, a being that needed no help and no service, a being that they should have kept on their side. It's what they all deserved, all of them, it was their fate! If destiny wanted to stop him, he'd destroy the very cloud kingdom.

The commissioner sighs, loudly, painfully. It didn't sound relieving in the slightest.

"What happened?" He questioned again. Lloyd groaned under his breath. He'd only repeated it once, but it was already starting to annoy him.

He doesn't give the boy any chance to answer as he speaks on, "I never would have expected you to turn out like this." A shuffle, "You were our sworn protector, we trusted you-" He cuts himself off with a ragged ground, frustration getting the better of him as he takes the hint that Lloyd will not answer. Not to him, and not while he's simmering in his own drying blood.

They revert to silence.

-

It felt like hours had passed in dead silence before the walkie talkie buzzed again.

It warbled, and the white light lit up the face of the commissioner. It startled the sleeping warden awake, though he was paid no mind to.

"We're coming in now. Over." It was Cole again. He's here.

Lloyd tears himself from the ground, tripping over his feet to wander to the middle of the cell and face his friends as the door cranked open. A stream of light flooded into the room, through the harsh lasers that swiftly flickered off, blinding him to the point of making him wince. It cast the ninja into shadowy figures, but Lloyd knew them so long he could see who was who.

As the door clunks all the way open, his fists tighten at his side. He sneers at them and they meet his eyes, he can't see it but he knows that they are.

As they step into the room, door closing ominously behind them, he feels shame. Not guilt, regret, remorse or even sadness anymore. Just shame, that he had the gall to do what he did and fail. Shame that he was trapped in a cell made for the biggest villains of ninjago, while his team was on the other side, basking in glorious light.

Before it fully closes, the commissioner steps silently from the room. The warden quickly follows, taking the folding chair with him.

The light barred thin as the door entirely shut, plunging them back into dimly lit darkness and drowning them in red light as the lasers shuddered back on. Still, their faces were entirely shadowed out by the light, he could not make out what they were thinking.

Slowly, the bridge to connect the cell to the small platform began to extend from a secret notch under the others, dragging invisibly over the void and slotting awkwardly into place. It was a mechanism hardly used, it was unrealistic to expect it to be perfect.

They disappeared into the void, walking as nothing but shadows over the platform, the only thing indicating their presence being the quiet sound of their naturally stealthy footsteps. Their faces are slowly lit up by the light above his head; the first to be seen is Cole.

Clearly, by the stern look on his face and his position in the group, he's taken back his role as leader. It was only natural, Cole was good at it. He was someone to be depended on, someone to lean on. Too bad Lloyd took over. A kid in an adults body, the youngest on the team: He must be feeling sickly satisfied to see the brat who stole his place behind bars. Lloyd knows he would.

But instead Coles face is all but that, his eyebrows furrowing and twitching ever so slightly as hesitation and fear flashed across his barely illuminated face. Surely the images of their fight were flashing through his mind, the image of Jay near decapitated against the ground and Nya skewed to the deck like a kebab. The images of the spear slicing at his own flesh and purple dust spewing out where it wasn't supposed to. He wonders how scared he was when he woke up, the fear that maybe he hadn't and maybe he was dead.

Behind him, Kai looks utterly horrified, sticking close to Cole as he stares anywhere but Lloyd. This must be a nightmare for him: He'd taken it bad enough when Morro possessed him, what now? Was he ashamed that he ever called this thing his brother? Was he fearing the boy behind bars, the boy who'd nearly murdered the entire team? Was he infuriated with the damage he'd caused, the chaos he'd left behind?

On the other side of Cole, just behind Kai, Nya looked furious. Her jaw is clenched tightly and her nose is scrunched horribly, eyebrows furrowed to match. Despite this, her eyes and posture give away her grief. Her shoulders droop and she hunches over herself, her eyes water in a way that is unlike fury.

Jay: Jay looks awful. He's stood behind Nya, who almost shields him fromLloyds view, but his gaze is uncaring. The first thing to catch his eyes is the nasty rash across his neck, extending out in a diamond shape from beneath his gi to the underside of his chin. It was angry and sore looking, in the way Jays neck tensed and flinched at every step he took. He had a blank stare on his face, far from nonchalant, but his eyes swam with emotion. They were wide, and watery, and flickered from Lloyds face, to the smears on the glass, to his knuckles and to his face again. His hands hung in front of them, nails picking at nails in a bitterly familiar way.

At the back of the group, Zane and Pixal share a similar look: Hurt. Hurt, that they'd been the only ones to push through the horrible assault. Hurt, that their brother had betrayed them. But they hid it behind stoic masks, because they were equally self-sacrificing and put others first. Their hurt would have to wait, because the others went through worse.

The group stand in front of his cell, staring him down. He stares back, struggling to contain his giddy delight at the lack of Master Wu.

A frown plasters on his face instead

They stand in tense silence, before Coles frown deepens, and he mutters:

"What happened?"

His heart lurches into his throat.

-

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Note:

Imma be real I forgot to update on Wattpad, I've been updating on AO3 tho I swear