DISCLAIMER: I do not own Digimon.

WARNING! This story contains homosexual relationships (male x male), aggressive/violent behaviour and excessive swearing. If you're sensitive about any of these subjects, I suggest you don't read. Thanks!



They threw themselves against the bars like animals in a cage. Their hisses and shouts, the pounding of their boots against concrete, all blurred into a thunderous roar around him.

Yamato Ishida walked with his eyes cast downwards. 'I can do this,' he told himself as his lips began to quiver. 'Don't cry. Just keep moving. One foot after the other…one after the other…that's it…forward…just keep moving forward …'

Two brawny bodies were pressed against his back, nails pinching his skin as he was propelled towards his cell. He was being led upstairs. The iron stairway clattered nosily underfoot as they mounted to the second level of the three-storey prison wing, and the blur of noise began to tunnel into words. Hoots of laughter filled his ears and obscene abuse exploded around him.

'…Oi ya fuckin' faggot, you betta watch ya back if ya wanna survive…'

'…Hey, hey, sweetie-pie,' another purred, 'nice little arse you got there…'

Faceless hands grasped at him as he passed, pulling at his clothes and hair, sizing him up. The guard growled with annoyance and smacked away reaching hands with his baton as he passed.

'Oi, I don't want any shit off you fuckers tonight!' he bellowed furiously, but that only seemed to antagonise the throng even more. Whops and cackles ruptured all around, the thumping of their feet intensifying until the blur of sound was so loud it hurt Yamato's ears.

'Shitheads,' the guard growled through clenched teeth, his hold on Yamato tightening. 'Fucking shitheads.'

Yamato was literally thrown into his cell when they reached it. Pain surged through his body as he landed in a tangle of limbs on the hard concrete floor, and he bit back the cry of agony that rose in his throat. The guards watched him with malice sort of satisfaction as he withered on the floor beneath them. Their eyes seemed to be alight with glee, faces gnarled in a smirk as they spotted tears in the blonde's eyes.

'Fucking pussy,' one growled, the toothpick in the corner of his mouth bobbing as he spoke; 'won't last five minute in 'ere at this rate.'

His colleague snorted with laughter beside him. 'Fucking prick,' he spat, and then he coughed up a mouthful of phlegm and hacked it over Yamato's body. 'I hope you get everything you deserve, you little fucker.'

Yamato winced as the cell door slammed shut behind them, and through the haze of sound Yamato heard the footsteps of the guards clatter down the stairs, their throaty chortle rising above the rest, and then the booming snarl: 'Lights out, ya little dickheads.'

The florescent light embedded in the ceiling overhead buzzed and flickered, and then blackness consumed the tiny cell. Yamato was still. The pain had subsided, and he was left sprawled, aching and cold, emotions and thoughts whirling. Moonlight seeped through the tiny window and set his cell off in an eerie blue-tinged glow. The iron frame of the bed shimmered brightly and the silvery-beams of light drew shadows on the pale wall, shifting and ever-changing as cloud seeped across the inky-black sky and blotted out the moon.

The prison was slowly quietening to a murmured hush. Someone in the above cell was humming under their breath, while someone else was pacing back and forth, their boots scuffing the floor. Outside, crickets chirped and an owl fluttered its wings and hooted shrilly, soaring high and free amongst the stars.

How Yamato wished to be that owl, flying high without a care in the world, but no matter how much he wished, willed and prayed, nothing could change where he was, the sentence that hung over his head. These four walls, they were his home now, and would continue to be for the next twenty years of his life. The very thought made Yamato's stomach churn. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly as his heart began to pound painfully with anxiety and his breath became rugged, short and shallow.

Twenty years. He was going to be locked away from society for twenty long years. That was almost a third of his life. When he tasted freedom again, he'd be thirty-eight. No career, no family, no friends…no life…

And all because…

Yamato shook the thought away. No, there was no point dwelling on the past. Thinking about that night, the injustices of it all…that would get him nowhere. He had to look forward. Stay focus and clean. That was the only way he was going to keep himself alive in this godforsaken place...