Hikaru: I'm almost done with the synopsis for this story, and I will update on a regular basis (each weekend ... no later than two weeks if I'm having difficulty with the story or real life situations). It should also be noted that this story is not top priority at the time of writing (Innocent Until Proven Guilty is my top priority until I finish it).

Disclaimer: In no way am I associated with Namco Bandai or the Tales Studios that turned out Tales of the Abyss and Tales of Symphonia. I do not make a material profit from this writing; it is purely fan-made fun.

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Luke had read somewhere before (some philosophical jargon back at the manor in Baticul) that hands were often the most expressive and lively part of the human body. There was never a time period of more than a few fleeting seconds wherein a person was not moving his or her hands or doing something with them.

The way people moved their hands was rather akin to how water moved--fluidly and freely without a second thought.

Luke never appreciated the free ranged movement of his hands before now.

He shook his hands now; the rusty shackles binding his wrists to the stone wall jangled audibly. As always, whatever movement allowed was very limited, and his wrists already had deep welts where the heavy, cold metal had pressed painfully into his skin.

Chained above his head and pinned to the stone wall, Luke could not move much at all, propped up against the wall as he was. He was sitting upright against the wall, the uneven brick work digging into parts of his back and shoulders.

His ankles had loose chains about them as well, but they were by no means as restricting as the shackles on his hands were.

Cooped up here in the dark dank cell his captors had provided him with, Luke had plenty of time to dwell on things and thoughts.

In hindsight, it had been obvious.

Luke and his ragtag war band had been in Tataroo Valley, on their way to its Sephiroth to measure the core's vibration frequency to help the Sheridan researchers convert the Tartarus into a device to quell the core's shaking and allow Auldrant's crust to solidify, thus the continents of the Outer Lands would not sink into the mantle.

Tataroo Valley was a confined area, with very poor footing and plenty of places for enemies to hide.

Only Luke and his cohorts had no idea it could successfully hide fully two entire units of Oracle Knights and their commanding God-Generals.

They had also had no idea that their objective had been only one, possibly two, of their number.

Van's main obstacle was Luke's group, and how they'd been commanding the passage rings to slowly lower the land instead of letting them drop outright like Van originally wanted. Sure, he could have mettled with the rings in such a way as to hinder Luke's group, but it proved too much of a hassle for Van if he were going to such lengths to stop his adversaries.

Separately Legretta the Quick and Sync the Tempest would have been containable by Luke's group, but together, they were nigh unstoppable. During the course of the battle of epic proportions that followed their ambush, Luke had wondered why Legretta and Sync had not thought of working together before now.

Sync had dived in on Luke, driving him away from the others--Luke had not noticed, he was too busy fighting to keep his life, perhaps some of his limbs, thank you very much--while Legretta kept the others at bay with her lightning-quick and freakishly precise gunfire and a choice few fonic artes.

All in all, it had not taken very long for Luke to lose consciousness and the battle.

When he had come to, he was disarmed, bound, in a most uncomfortable cell that rested Yulia knew where on Auldrant.

He also had no idea how much time had transpired after the incident in the valley, or where his companions were, what they were doing now--or if they were planning on finding him.

Given the extremity of the situation, Luke doubted his companions would be coming to rescue him anytime soon. Van could start dropping the remainder of the Outer Lands at any given time, and it would be well for his team to be working their fingers to the marrow to make sure the Outer Lands wouldn't fall at least.

They at least should have measured the core's vibration frequency by now, and they were probably in Sheridan handing over the results to Cathy, Hencken, and the rest of the elderly craftsmen.

Luke growled as he jangled his restraints again, wanting nothing more than to at least have his hands free. Even realizing they wouldn't be coming loose anytime soon, Luke shook them harder, ignoring the cuffs biting into his wrists.

Why was he so helpless? Could he do anything right on his own?

Guess it was the consequence of being such a failed replica.

Luke spent quite a chunk of time struggling against his chains, stopping only when he felt thin streams of blood dripping down his arm. Heaving a sigh, Luke leaned back against the wall, head hung low.

He had fallen into an unclear, uneven sleep when a door slammed open.

Luke jolted upright, slamming his head against the wall. Blinking back tears of pain, he had to close his eyes for the oppressively strong light flooding the dungeon.

Footfalls resounded against the flagstone flooring.

"Looks like the little puppet is awake now."

Luke inwardly groaned at the sneery voice. His vision swam, but given time his eyes focused.

Sync the Tempest stood at his door, smirking at him through the bars. Though Luke couldn't see Sync's eyes for the mask, he imagined they were full of delight at his present situation, especially since it was Sync that had brought him in.

"Not much of a puppeteer," Luke muttered venomously, "if he has to go to such extremes to keep the puppet from walking of its own accord."

At this Sync laughed, amused.

"If you'd have just died at Akzeriuth--like you were supposed to--then we could have avoided all this unpleasantness."

The iron bars rattled as Sync opened the door--there was a tray of food and water in his hands. Luke glared as the young God-General approached him. House Fabre had very proud blood, and Luke hated for anyone, let alone an enemy--to see him like this, humbled and defeated.

Sync crouched down before Luke, to better view him at eye level. Plopping the food tray down next to Luke, the God-General grinned maliciously.

"Wow. I can't believe how easy it was to bring you down. And you're the only thing in Van's way? This has to be some bad joke."

"Did you come here just to insult me?" Luke spat.

"Keep that up," Sync snarled, "and you'll go hungry. I can't guarantee regular feeding times."

That shut Luke up.

Sync had on his person a ring of keys--but he never made for them once. Luke had been hoping that the God-General would unlock at least one of his hands so he could eat.

No such luck.

When Luke had first laid eyes on Sync he had no doubt in his mind that Sync had something of a twisted streak in him; he seemed to like seeing others in pain. As if the way he had laughed so delightfully upon activating Guy's curse slot weren't any indication.

During the entire time Luke was hand-fed by Sync, he was ablaze with shame and indignation. Sync had chortled and teased with the sick kind of joy a child would have when he played with a new toy.

If Luke weren't as hungry as he was there was no way he'd put up with it.

As little of the stale, hard bread there was, it seemed to take forever for Sync to finish handing Luke bits and pieces.

But getting the water wasn't any more pleasant; in fact, it was even worse.

Luke had sputtered and coughed up what little water he managed to keep down--Sync had poured the entire flask down his throat with no break in between to allow Luke breath.

"Well, wasn't that fun," Sync snickered, collecting the food tray. "It'll be interesting to see how long you last."

With that Sync was gone, and the light he'd brought with him. Luke was plunged into impeccable darkness once again, whatever pride and dignity he had salvaged from losing the battle and getting captured now utterly and completely destroyed.

In matter of time less than a day or two Luke had been reduced to nothing more than the plaything of a child God-General.

Luke hoped to high heaven and deep sea that the others would think of at least having someone else come out to find him.