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!



Yamato's mind was reeling. Everything seemed to be happening so fast, his mind was having a hard time keeping focus. It seemed strange to think that only yesterday he was at home, pulling on his black-tailored suit and knotting his tie neatly as his family bustled round him.

'It's going to be OK, Son,' he remembered his Father's saying, gripping his shoulder as they got ready to leave for court, 'they haven't got enough evidence to pin you down. Just stay cool and everything's going to be OK – you hear that: everything's going to be OK.'

Yamato had smiled and thanked him for his support then – his Father really had come through in his time of need – but now his insides burned with anger and frustration. 'Everything's gong to be OK,' he thought bitterly, a strangled sort of laughter in his throat, 'what a fucking joke – he knew, the bastard, he fucking knew I'd go down, but he'd just strung me along like one of those slappers he fucks – fucking prick, I hate him.'

And, the strange thing was, after everything his Father had put him through in his life, he'd never realised this until yesterday.

'He just has a few problems,' he used to tell himself, wincing as he nursed his wounds from his Father's recent bout of anger, 'I know he cares really – he just doesn't know how to show it…'

But yesterday, as the verdict was read aloud, not a flicker of emotion passed over his Father's features – no shock, no horror, no disbelief – and as Yamato had peered up at him helplessly, he'd turned away smirking, and Yamato, for the first time in his life, truly saw his Father – the cruel, heartless bastard he really was.

Takeru, however, had leapt to his feet in an instance, blue eyes wide and horror-struck.

'Yama!' he shrieked, his voice cracking with emotion. 'No! He didn't do it! He's innocent! What are you doing? Stop it! For fuck sake, leave him alone! You're hurting him!'

Two burly Police Officers had seized his arms roughly and thrust them behind his back, his face slamming into the glass barrier of the dock painfully as they slapped a pair of handcuffs over his wrists. But the pain hardly registered, Yamato was in a daze, his mind whirling as the Judge's words rang in his ears, over and over:

'Ishida Yamato, you have been found guilty of murder – on the morning of September the eighteenth, you brutally took a knife and killed Kurosawa Yuna, stabbing her eight time in the chest. Not only is this attack unlawful, but brutal and evil in nature, and for this, I sentence you to twenty years in Odaiba High-Security Prison–' The Judge had paused then, his eyes glimmering with malice satisfaction as he took in Yamato's form and then a smirk pulled at his lips as he commanded: 'take him away, Guards.'

The words didn't have an affect for a moment, and then they sank in all at once and a sudden swell of panic and fear flared in his chest. 'TK!' Yamato had yelled, struggling as the guards began to pull him from the dock, 'Help me! I…I didn't do it! I'm innocent! Tell them – tell them I didn't do it!'

It didn't seem to matter if he was innocent or not, all that mattered was that someone was to blame. The Kurosawa family watched on as he was pulled down, relief etched on their long, mournful faces as, in their eyes, justice was done. Somehow, watching someone being punished for the crimes against them seemed to ease their pain, ease their suffering.

For Yamato, though, it had only just begun. It was bad enough he was to lose his freedom for twenty years for a crime he didn't commit, but the Officers were rude and obnoxious, and the inmates were ever more so. They glared at him distastefully as they passed by, firing spiteful and vulgar comments in his direction.

Then there was Ichijouji. For some reason, he'd taken a keen interest in Yamato, and Yamato was certain by his word that his that interest was one he really could do without: 'I'm going to enjoy this…every—little—inch—of—you…'

His attention was definitely not welcomed – Yamato was positively certain he was not gay; although, if one was to listen to the rumours at Odaiba High School, one would begin to question whether he was or not. Even Yamato himself had to admit it was strange for an eighteen year old man to have never been involved with a woman, but Yamato had been waiting for the 'right' one – the pretty, smart girl who was going to sweep him away – but…she hadn't come. He wished now, he hadn't waited…in hindsight, it all seemed rather pointless…

Ichijouji had kissed him earlier today, and as much as Yamato hated to admit it, it'd been his very first kiss – a stolen one at that, and with another man. The thought still made his skin crawl with disgust and he wanted nothing more to run to the bathroom and scrub his lips until they were rid of his presence, but he couldn't. Along with the other new inmates, he'd been gathered up and horded into small, cream-coloured room that had been allocated to the introduction of new inmates ('Room 26: Induction and Recruitment Office' the golden plaque on the door had read).

As it turned out, Yamato was the only one who hadn't been in prison before. Listening to the small group of inmates chat amongst themselves as they waited for the Senior Wing Officer, he found out they had served a total of ten years together.

'Longest five years of my life,' the bald man next to him was saying, 'but it was worth it to kick the shit out of that little dickhead.'

The young red-haired man sat to his left stared at him with amazement. 'The most I've done is five months for jacking a car,' he admitted, 'and even then I only served a couple of month, then I was out on probation.'

'Yeah,' another piped up. He was a beefy-looking man in his late twenties, his black-hair was closely shaved to head and a jumble of colourful tattoos crawled up his arms and neck. He was sat next to the red-haired, slumped in his chair as he rolled up a joint idly. 'I did a stretch like that – three months for theft, but only served a month. Fucking sweet, I tell ya…the six years for manslaughter weren't, though. Fucking Pigs kept me in for the whole stretch – dickheads…'

They seemed as though they were trying to out do one another, as though the longer the sentence and more serious the crime committed, the more 'hardcore' they were, and thus, the higher up the invisible prison hierarchy they were and more respect they deserved. Idly, Yamato wondered where twenty years in the slammer would get him, and for murder, too, but at that moment, the sound of keys rattling in the lock could be heard and then the iron-green door to the room was pushed open with a creak.

Every faced turned as a young man bustled through. He was tall and a lean-build, with dark chestnut hair that was windswept and damp from a recent shower. His eyes were a bottle-green in colour and shimmered brightly in the brisk morning light. As he took in the four of them, he smiled. 'Hi,' he said pleasantly, which surprised Yamato somewhat as, to that moment, no officer had spoken to him without a derogatory 'cunt' or 'dick' added to the sentence.

There was a grunt of acknowledgment from the bald man to his left, and a general stir of greeting from all round – a nod and smile – but no one uttered a word. This didn't seem to faze the brunette, though; he strode over to the front of the room and placed his battered briefcase on the small table. For a moment, all was silent as he snapped open the buckles and pulled out a pile of flimsy white folders with the words printed on the front: 'Induction Pact', and then he spoke:

'All right,' the officer said, turning as he addressed the throng. His tone was not at all unfriendly, but it had a sort of authority-like quality to it that held the group's attention in an instant. 'So, erm, I guess I should introduce myself – My names Aren Ryusaki and I'm going to be your personal officer here at Odaiba Prison. If you have any queries, worries, or problems, just come straight to me and I'll help you out as much as possible, OK?'

He smiled encouragingly at the throng before him, but they remained stone-faced. 'OK,' he continued briskly, turning his attention to the Induction pact in his hands, 'so I have a pack for each you – ' He flicked open one of packs and pulled open a wad of sheet: ' – And inside you'll see a combination of leaflets and handouts. This one for instance, is a layout of the prison and show's you where places are – the canteen, the hospital wing, the library – that sort of thing. It also shows you times. As you'll see, some places are only open at certain times. The library is only open in the afternoon and the wash room from seven to seven thirty in the morning and eight to eight thirty in the evening – if you miss it, then its hard luck I'm afraid. Also – ' He delved into the pack again and produced a handful of colourful leaflets and held them up. ' – there are leaflets about what to expect from your sentence, who to contact if you to need legal advise or have any personal problems, and – oh yes – a schedule for the routine day.' He paused for a moment and glanced round. 'Any questions yet?'

All was silent. Outside, the sound of cars zooming passed could be heard, and the low murmur of voices from the other room. After a moment, the Officer stirred: 'OK, that's good then,' he said, 'Right then, there's one each, so take one and pass them on.'

He handed the pile of packs to the red-haired man, who passed one to the tattooed man to his right and one the bald man, who in turn handed one to Yamato.

'Just have a quick flick through for a moment,' the Officer rattled on, 'and see if there's anything that immediately jumps out at you.'

As Yamato flicked briefly through the pile of paper and leaflets, he couldn't help notice how very much like school this was. On his first day at Odaiba High School, he'd received a pack similar to this, but he'd barely glanced at it – there had been little need to. This pack, however, needed more attention – this was much more important than what uniform was acceptable and who to contact if you wanted to join any of the extra curriculum activities that were available – and as Yamato flicked through the leaflets, it was the schedule that caught his attention the most. The day was structured into a routine, and the little paper timetable in Yamato's hand read very much like his school timetable, except the small boxes weren't filled with lessons, but by tasks to be completed through the day. Scanning across the line, Yamato noticed that 'outdoor recreation' was next on the agenda.

The bald guy grunted as he, too, spotted it. 'Time to check out the gangs, I think.'

The red-head beside him nodded. 'Yeah, I heard there are three in this joint – the Jouji's, Yagami's and the Kanon's. The Jouji's have the upper hand at the minute, but I've heard the Yagami's and Kanon's won't take any shit.'

The bald headed man nodded thoughtfully at his words. 'I see,' was all he said, but Yamato didn't see exactly what he saw.

He didn't have much time to dwell on it though as the Officer was speaking again. 'OK, now that's done, I have to assign you to your work placements.'

The bald man suddenly snorted and cut across rudely: 'Work placement, what a joke – slave labour more like…'

The Officer frowned slightly at his tone. 'This system,' he said sternly, 'has been put into place with your best interest in mind. Having a work placement is considered an essential part of your rehabilitation program. You not only have the chance to learn some valuable skills, but it also helps to create opportunities once you're released…'

It was a fair point, and as the Officer continued to speak, Yamato learnt it was very important to have a job. Not only did it help to pass the day, but it was also a valuable source of income. They would not be paid much for their toil, but they'd be paid enough to buy from the Prison shop – chocolate, cigarettes, that sort of thing. They would start with the menial jobs and work their way up as they progressed. Yamato was to be a 'Kitchen Assistant', which, Yamato concluded, meant cleaning pots and pans, and scrubbing the counters clean. In all, it didn't seem such a bad job – he almost always did the washing and cleaning at home – but then he remembered the stocky, round faced inmate from breakfast and a sense of uncertainty began to unfurl in his stomach. He held up his hand. 'Er – '

He stopped short. What was he suppose to call him? Aren? Mr Ryusaki? Sir?

The Officer's attention had already been caught, though. He ambled over and smiled pleasantly. 'Yes? Do you have a question?'

'Er, I was wondering if it was possible to change my job…' he ventured.

The bald haired man, who'd obviously caught his words, suddenly snorted loudly and snarled: 'Looks like the prissy little bitch here doesn't want to get his hands dirty in-case he breaks a nail.'

The small throng chortled hard with laughter, and Yamato felt both angry and humiliated.

His cheeks flushed with colour and he squirmed awkwardly in his chair.

The Officer sighed heavily, pointedly ignoring the comment. 'Actually,' he said, 'there's usually no point – most people progress onto the next level fast, so I wouldn't worry if I were you, you'll be out of the kitchen in a couple of weeks.'

Yamato nodded weakly as the Officer whirled on his heels and cleared his throat pointedly, drawing the group's attention onto him.

'Well, seems this will bring us nicely onto our next point –' He twisted round and pulled a video out of his briefcase: ''Suicide and Bullying in the Slammer',' he said, quoting the title on the video. 'I think we'll all benefit from watching this.'

They were shown a short documentary, and as Yamato watched the violent, bloody beatings on screen, he couldn't help envisioning himself in that position. In his mind, Yamato could see himself clearly, curled up on the hard concrete floor, cowering, as Ichijouji's delivered blow after blow with his boot-clad foot…

It would be just like when his Father beat him. He'd freeze up in fear, and if Ichijouji wanted him to suck his dick, take it up the arse, or even eat his shit – as Yagami had so crudely put it earlier – there would be nothing Yamato could do about it.

The yard was sited on the top of the building, a six-foot iron-mesh fence the only safeguard from the sheer four-storey drop all around. In all, the yard was nothing more than a bleak concrete stretch with a basketball court printed on it; two skewed goal posts erected either end. There was a small greenhouse to one side and an area set aside for fitness – a punch-bag and pull-up bar. Nothing much, but it seemed to keep the small throng of inmates that was gathered around amused. Around the white-striped court were wooden tables and chairs, where huddles of inmates sat and watched the game, cheering and howling obscene comments at the players as the game drew out.

'…C'mon, Nanahara! Don't take that shit, kick his fucking butt…!'

One loud-mouthed inmate exploded, while another bellowed: '…Oh, what the hell? That's a fucking foul…!'

Yagami and Dai were already out; sat on one of the wooden tables with a brown-haired man Yamato had yet to come across. The pair were sharing a joint, inhaling deeply before passing the short, stubby roll-up to the other, while their brown-haired friend sat a little from them, deeply absorbed in a dog-eared book. Yagami was cheering on the game, but Dai seemed distracted, his gaze set on something across the yard.

Following Dai's gaze, Yamato spotted Ichijouji on the pull-up bar. For a split moment, Yamato did not recognise the raven-haired man. He'd rid himself of his neon-orange overall and was now clad in a lose pair of black trousers and black leather boots. He was naked from the chest upwards, his chest, toned and shapely, was slick with sweat and his long jet-black hair was plastered back from his face. Yamato was mesmerized for a moment as he watched his muscles ripple and contort as he heaved himself off the ground with a grunt. Ichijouji must've sensed his gaze, because as at that moment, he glanced up and caught Yamato's eyes.

Yamato's heart jerked into his throat as black eyes met blue and he glanced away quickly; only to then catch Dai's eyes. For a moment, his brown-eyes bore into his uncomfortably, and then slowly he smiled, before beckoning him over with a curt nod of his head.

For a moment, Yamato was unsure whether or not he was talking to him, and he glanced over his shoulder questioningly, but there was no one there. Dai was still staring at him when he turned around again, and Yamato took that as an invitation.

Taking a deep breath, Yamato began to cross the pitch. He tried to keep his pace unhurried and leisurely, as though he couldn't see every face turn as he passed, but he was concentrating so much, he didn't see the mound of clothing on the floor. He lost his footing as his foot connect the material, and he stumbled, only just managing to keep upright as he staggered forward awkwardly. A cackle of laughter exploded around him and, as Yamato straightened up, he wished for nothing more than the world to open up and swallow him whole. When he reached Yagami's table (his face ablaze and heart beating wildly), Yagami grinned broadly at him.

'Nice trip?' Yagami smirked, his tone teasing.

Yamato smiled weakly. 'Yeah, fantastic…' he mumbled.

Dai suddenly thrust a hand out in greeting, changing the topic and drawing the attention onto him. 'We haven't been properly introduced yet,' he said, 'I'm Motomiya Daisuke, but you can call me Dai or Davis, whatever you prefer.'

Yamato shook his hand amicably, his grip strong and firm. 'Ishida Yamato,' Yamato said, 'or Matt for short – whichever, I'm not fussed.'

'Well, nice to meet you, Matt,' Daisuke said. He turned to the others. 'Erm, you already know Yagami, but…I don't think you've met Izzy yet – Izumi Koushirou meet Ishida Yamato. Yamato meet Koushiro.'

Koushirou glanced up vaguely and smiled. 'Hey.'

He was shorter than both Yagami and Daisuke, and was no older than Yamato himself. His face was square and pleasant-looking, and he had a short mop of reddish-brown hair and brown eyes. There was nothing unfriendly about his tone, but there was nothing welcoming or inviting about it either. Yamato mirrored his smile. 'Hi.'

Yagami exhaled pointedly then, a swirl of smoke clouding the air. 'So, who's your PO then?' he piped up.

Yamato glanced at him blankly. 'PO…?'

'Personal Officer…'

'Oh – erm, some guy called Aren,' he trailed off, shrugging.

Yagami grunted and, with one last puff, flicked the stub of his burnt-out cigarette on the floor. 'Unlucky for you – he's a fucking prick.'

Yamato creased his brow slightly. 'I dunno, he seemed all right to me…'

The moment the words passed from Yamato's lips, he knew he'd said something wrong. The air changed in an instant, and the gleam of amicability in Yagami's eyes had hardened. Daisuke was glancing uneasily between Yagami and Yamato.

After a minute, Yagami stirred. 'Let me tell you this now, Yamato,' he said, drawing out his name pointedly, 'No screw in this joint is all right – you hear that? They may act like they want to help you, but trust me, they're all here to screw you over – Ryusaki's the worse. For a moment, you can almost believe him, he sounds almost…sincere, but…he's just the same as the others – fucking pigs…'

He trailed off with a sigh.

Yamato was unsure what to say, but Yagami suddenly leapt off the bench and threw his arm around Yamato's shoulder. 'Hey, look, don't worry about it,' he said, 'you're untitled to make a few mistakes – it's your first time, but…just don't do it again.'

Yamato nodded hesitantly. 'Erm…OK…thanks…'

Yagami just smiled.

Suddenly a grunt sounded behind them, and than a harsh voice sounded: 'Oi, if I could break up the lovebirds for a minute, Blondie, here, needs to come with me.'

Yamato glanced round – Yagami's arm sipping from around his shoulder as he did so – only to find the stocky, round-faced inmate from breakfast stood in front of him.

Yagami glared at him distrustfully from his side. 'What the hell do you want him for, Ashiro?'

Ashiro's nostrils flared as he took in Yagami's form. 'The little shithead needs to get to work, cunt,' he spat, 'the pots aren't gunna clean themselves, ya know…'

Yagami's eyes narrowed suspicously. 'Work doesn't start for another twenty minutes – what do you really want him for?'

Ashiro snorted. 'Work, dickhead. He missed this morning's shift, and damn if I'm gonna scrub those pans – ain't my job.'

'But how the hell do you think you're gunna do that?' Daisuke suddenly piped up, 'You can't just go wondering round prison as and when you please…'

Ashiro smirked then and thrust his hand into his pocket. A moment later he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper and threw it at Daisuke. 'A permission slip,' he snarled.

Daisuke scooped up the slip and glanced at it. 'Looks official enough,' he muttered, scowling.

'That's because it is,' Ashiro spat. He suddenly turned to Yamato and poked his roughly in the chest, and jerked his head towards the entrance.

'Oi, cunt, let's go.'

But as Yamato turned to go, Yagami suddenly seized his arms. 'Don't,' he said, glaring at Ashiro, 'something's not right here.'

Ashiro's temper flared then. He thrust Yagami roughly in the chest. 'Oi, fuck head, we've got to get going.'

Yagami temper flared, too. His hands balled into fists, but, catching sight of the guards stir as they spotted the pair, Yamato suddenly stepped between them, placing his hands firmly on Yagami's chest, 'Hey, it's all right,' he said, 'I'll be fine – I'll…I'll see you later.'

'Yeah, you listen to your bitch, Yagami – she'll be all right. Now, c'mon Blondie, let's go.'

Ashiro began to stride off, and with one last fleeting smile, Yamato tailed after him.

The tiles in the kitchen were an off-white colour, something resembling cream almost, and black darkened the gap between. The walls were washed in the same pale green as the cafeteria and matched the glossy work surfaces, which were also a green, though slightly darker in colour.

As Yamato was led through the empty kitchen, something didn't feel right. There was no one around – no guards, no inmates – and an uneasy silence fell around them, their footsteps the only sound to pierce its stillness. The lights were off, too. Shadows lurked eerily around the corners of the kitchen and gave the place an ominous feel. As they rounded a worktop, the stocky, round-faced chef suddenly stopped abruptly and pointed to the drab sink in the corner where a pile of dirty pots and pans were mounted.

'Over there,' he grunted throatily, 'and don't get pissing around either, I need them for Lunch.'

And with that said, he left Yamato to it, bustling off the way they'd come and disappearing from sight. Sighing heavily, Yamato set to it. 'Might as well get on with it,' he thought to himself. He squeezed a generous amount of washing-up liquid into the sink and flicked on the tap, moving the water slightly with his hand to froth up the water. He then grabbed a dirty bowl and began scrubbing it with all his might. At first, Yamato had found the task tediously boring, but after a while he began to enjoy himself, there was something quite relaxing about pretending that the plate was his Father's face and he was scrubbing it raw.

It was when he was just finishing the last porridge-stained bowl it happened. Yamato heard the clatter of a saucepan rattle on the floor behind him. He jerked to a halt in an instant and glanced round. There was no one there.

'Hello?' he called out hesitantly, but he received no reply.

For a moment, his eyes roamed the empty kitchen and then he shrugged to himself, turning back to the sink. 'I must be cracking up or something,' he thought, but suddenly a hand clasped round his mouth from behind and someone seized his arms, pulling them behind his back roughly.

Yamato's heart jerked into his throat in surprise and fear, and he yelped out in surprise as he was spun on his heel and was turned to face his attackers.

It was Ichijouji. Behind him, two butch men Yamato had never seen before were leering at him menacingly.

'Yamato,' Ichijouji purred, 'I think it's time to finish what we started.'

Yamato was confused. 'Wha–?' he began, but Ichijouji suddenly slapped him round the face, cutting him short.

'Don't speak unless you're spoken to, Blondie,' he snarled, 'understand?'

For a moment, Yamato was frozen with fear, his cheek blazing, and then he nodded weakly.

Ichijouji grinned, 'Now then,' he purred, his voice sickly sweet, 'shall we get on with it? I'm dying to feel you.'

A prick of fear unfurled in Yamato's chest as the words sank in: '…I'm dying to feel you…' but before he could protest, Ichijouji ordered:

'Turn him around, boys.'

Yamato began to struggle with all his might, but his attacker's grip was too strong. He was turned around roughly and thrust over the worktop, his head connecting with the hard surface painfully as they did so. He was in a daze for a moment, and then he felt hands grope at his overall, pulling apart the buttons and tearing them off his back, until he was naked, his overall a rumple of material around his ankles.

Yamato eyes widened as he realised what was coming. 'N –no,' he stuttered. 'No – please…!'

Behind him, he heard the ruffle of clothing, and then a voice snarl close to his ear: 'Time to give you your welcome gift, shit head…'


Phew, that was a long hard chapter to write, but I've finally done it. I'm really not happy with it, it's incredibly dull, but I don't think I can do much more with it– it's just one of those setting the scene chapters which I hate writing. Anyway, the next chapter should be more riveting – lots of angst and Taito! Yay!


I was pleasantly surprised by the response to this story – all good, too :o– and I want to thank each and every one of you who took the time to read my story, and then went on to review it. So thank you, it means a lot.

DarkMetalAngelofDestruction: Hey again, thanks for you review!

SomeChick: Thank-you. I glad you liked it so much. :)

Xubose: Hi there! I don't think Yamato's a pussy, either, but I try to make my stories as realistic as possible, and it wouldn't be very realistic if Yamato walked into prison brimming with confidence, would it? Well, I wouldn't have done that anyway :s About Yamato being Ken's bitch – I'm not sure what happened really there. There needed to be something different from the usual 'Yamato being Taichi's bitch', so I thought I'd make him Ken's instead. Lol – I'm not even sure, it just happened. Anyway, thanks for taking the time to review:)

Shadow-Seraph: Thanks for you review, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, too.:)

Pheonix: Thanks for the compliment – I try to put as much effort into my stories as I can, even though it's only fanfiction, and it means a lot to me when someone says I write well. So thanks very much :)

DragonDame57: I love dai/ken pairings, too – they're so cute together. This probably won't be until later chapters, but I'm trying to put subtle hints until then. Anyway, thanks for your kind review:)

Thanks for taking the time to review my story. :)

Yams-41: (blushes) Erm, thanks :P

MinnerMon: I'm glad you liked it, and also that you didn't take Ken being evil the wrong way – I was definitely expecting someone to flame me for it, but everyone's being cool about it. Besides, in later chapters, I'm already thinking that maybe Ken will become less evil, and we'll definitely find out why he's being evil in the first place. :) Thanks for your review!

TakatotheDreamer: Thank-you! We find out a little about Yamato's crime in this chapter, but not much, but don't worry, in the next chapter we'll find out a lot more about it, as well as Daisuke's, Koushirou's and Taichi's crime. It's really fun thinking of crimes for them to commit. :x Anyway, thanks for your review:)

Name: Lol, well, I 'm glad you liked it. I hope this chapter helps to soothe your cravings. :P Thanks for taking the time to review!

Taz-Mania: Well I tried not to rush it, but, it was annoying me – as you already know :P Try and guess which part I hate the most :x

I hope I haven't missed anyone out, but if I have – thank-you!

Sorry about the short delay, btw. Last night, wouldn't let me log on… Oo. The next chapter will also be posted in about a week's time – I'm sorry I can't get it done any quicker. I'm an extraordinarily slow writer, it sucks.