Author's Note: I finally fixed the mistakes, so now this story lines up with canon (for the most part). This is sort of my prototype Zoke story, the one I wrote to get a feel for the characters and decide what direction I wanted to go in. At the time I hadn't planned to do anymore Zoke stories than this, so it is loosely connected to my other Zoke fics. It's still part of the Zoke saga, but only loosely.

They say time flies in the blink of an eye, but the last three years had lasted an eternity. Every second was an hour, every day a hundred years.

Zoey studied her reflection in the mirror under a flickering light-bulb. Not too much makeup, only a small squirt of perfume, and her eyes showed no red from where she'd been crying. She was completely professional and business-like; no emotion or expression slipped through the cracks.

"Zoey, Zoey, wherefore art thou Zoey?"

With a deep sigh, she left the dingy bathroom and went back into the motel room she had rented, which had a strange smell that she couldn't quite place. The sun was rising, the light growing brighter behind the window shades.

"Oh goody, I was ever so worried you'd left me for good. It would just break my precious little heart."

On the bed lay the boy she had fallen in love with years ago. His hair was sticking out in every direction, and from the smell of him she could tell it had been several days since he had showered. He was wearing a white shirt and pants which still bore faint red stains from where he had attacked a doctor.

His feet were bare and cuffed to the bed, as were his hands. His head was also tied down to keep him from banging it against the headboard when he got bored. He was already covered in bruises from when he'd started beating his head against the wall just for kicks. As long as it didn't kill him, he'd do anything to cause her pain. The look in his eyes was wild; it sent chills down her spine.

She pulled up a chair and sat down. She met his eyes and summoned up all her strength and courage; she'd need every ounce of it to get through this.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" she asked, quietly and calmly.

"You obviously wanted me all to yourself, you naughty little thing."

"I want to know why you're doing this. I don't have to remind you of everything you've done in the past three years since Total Drama ended. You deserve the death penalty, but really, the punishment you nearly got would have accomplished the same thing."

"I didn't know you cared."

"I want you to let Mike go. And I want you to leave and never come back, or else."

"But Zoey, I thought what we had was special. I swear, I'm feeling sparks."

"Let. Him. Go," she said firmly, forcing away her anger.

"And why would I want to do that?"

"Because I saved your life. That operation would have destroyed you."

"And left Mike a vegetable. Drop the noble façade, nothing you did was selfless."

Zoey took a deep breath and said, "Why do you do these things?"

"Gonna have to be a bit more specific there, doll."

"You hurt everyone. Even people who have shown you kindness, you hurt. If you don't have a weapon in your hand, you say the most terrible things and rip their souls apart. And not even for gain. You destroy any money you steal, you don't keep anything valuable. The world could end in water and flames and you'd dance in it. All you want is to wound and kill people, all for a stupid game."

"Please, Zoey, flattery will get you nowhere. But you know, I wasn't always like this," he said softly. "I used to be Mike's best and only friend. I came before Svetlana, Chester, and the others. I was the very first, and his protector. We all were, but I'm the one who saved him. I was the one who was always there for him, and yet, he never gave me a name. He gave all the others a name, but after all this time, I still don't have a name. I had to give myself a name."

He said all this matter-of-factly, as if she had asked him to describe the stained wallpaper on the walls. This took her aback, but she pressed on.

"And you chose Mal."

"Yes I did. Short for Malevolent One, as you may have guessed."

"What do you mean you were his protector?"

"If you were to ask Mike about his childhood, he'd tell you it was okay. Not perfect, but who's childhood is? He can't remember a thing about his biological parents though, or about his old neighborhood, but strangely that's never bothered him.

"But the truth is, Mike had an appalling childhood. His dad wasn't around most of the time, but whenever he was home, he'd leave him nice big bruises and broken bones to remember him by when he left again. His mom was worse though, complete psycho. She seemed nice enough, but if Mike stepped out of line, even the smallest of offenses earned him hours, sometimes even days in the tiny broom closet. She never laid a finger on him, but all that time alone messed with his head just as much, if not more so, than his dad's beatings ever did. And don't even get me started on the neighborhood bullies. Mike wasn't let outside often, but when he was, it was like an alarm went off and all the bullies would be there, ready to let him have it.

"He used to have two little siblings, you know. He thinks he's an only child, but he once had a little brother and a baby sister. When Mike was five, social services came by one day to take away his brother because a neighbor had called. They didn't know about Mike because he was always in the closet. Rather than let them take him, the night before they were going to come for him, she drowned him in the bathtub and made Mike dig the grave outside. They moved his plastic swimming pool over it to cover it up. The police didn't really do a proper investigation, and so she was never caught. Just a few months before she had poisoned her baby daughter for no reason at all, she just didn't like her anymore. Mike didn't know and thought she was just sick and tried to take care of her, but she died in his arms.

"You can imagine the effect this would have on a kid's psyche. Lucky for him though, he'd already invented me two years before, though back then, I was still just imaginary. I was his imaginary friend, the one he'd talk to when he was alone for days in the dark, starving and sore from being stuffed in such a tiny space for so long. I was his one and only comfort, the only source of hope and happiness that he had."

Zoey had tears in her eyes, and she'd hardly dared to even breathe during his story, for fear that he would stop without finishing. She suspected he might be lying to make her feel sorry for him and let him go, but somehow, she knew he wasn't. She wanted to tell him to stop, that she didn't want to hear anymore, but that was not an option.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. She wanted to ignore them or tell them to go away, but then they might come in and see her hostage and call the police, and that was something she'd like to avoid. She went to answer it and focused on taking deep breaths to keep from breaking down into a sobbing fit.

She opened the door to find the owner of the motel, who was at least a foot shorter than her but twice her weight, standing before her. He was balding and smelled worse than her room did.

"Just wanted to let you know that we'll be making repairs a couple rooms over. Things might get loud, so you might want to go out and I don't know, hit the clubs for a while, or whatever you kids do these days. It should only take a few hours."

"Thanks, but I'll be staying indoors today."

"Suit yourself," he replied with a shrug.

Zoey closed the door and turned back to face "Mal." He was gritting his teeth and sweating; he arched his back in pain.

"Zoey!" he cried, and it was Mike's voice, not Mal's. "Zoey, I've got him, but I can't hold him down for long. You've got to help me!"

Tears ran down her face as Zoey came to stand by him. She ran her fingers through his hair and stroked it gently. Then, without warning, she slapped him, hard.

Mal laughed as though she had told him the funniest joke in the world. "How'd you know it was me, doll? I thought I was doing a pretty good job."

"I could see it in your eyes. And… there was a fifty-fifty chance that I was right."

"So lucky guess, then. Oh well, can't blame a guy for trying."

"Tell me the rest of the story."

"I don't really feel like it."

"Tell me."

"Maybe tomorrow," he said with a yawn.

She grabbed him by the front of his shirt. "Tell me right now or so help me I will lobotomize you myself."

"I get all tingly when you take charge like that," he said with a devilish grin. "All right, all right, just for you, doll-face. Now where was I? Oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. After his brother's death, something happened in his mind that even I never really understood. I went from being just an idea to a real person inside his head. He went from talking to himself to talking to me, and I answered. He would tell me his favorite stories, and I'd make up some of my own for him. In those early days, I was nice and kind, his shoulder to cry on. He wasn't so lonely anymore with me around, and it was an honor to be his friend. There was nothing I wanted more than to be with him and make him happy.

"But being Mike's friend was no easy task. When his dad came home, or when sitting in the dark closet became unbearable, or when the bullies would chase him and beat him up, I would take control of his body and Mike would retreat to the recesses of his mind to escape. It was like taking a nap for him, except that when he woke up, he would have unexplained marks and bruises that he had no memory of getting. I would let his parents hurt me in his place because it was my job and he needed me. I also took his bad memories and carried them myself so he wouldn't be burdened with them anymore, happy to relieve Mike of that pain.

"But then he invited other people to the party, and that's when things started going downhill. First came Chester, who he basically copied off his own grandfather who had died recently. He was every bit as crabby as Chester is. Next came Svetlana, a girl who could run fast and do fancy tricks to escape the bullies, who never cut Mike a break. Not much later, Vito and Manitoba came at about the same time and were exactly who Mike had always wanted to be: cool, tough, brave and strong. Without ever meaning to, he gave them life just as he had me. In the very beginning they were his friends and they made him happy, but admittedly, they made me quite jealous. I was so angry, because I was all Mike needed, he didn't need that freak show. But I kept taking all the abuse anyway, something they never did.

"After a while though, when Mike was eight, I grew tired of all the abuse and so I took full control from Mike. I waited until daddy dearest came home and I set the house on fire. The house was made of wood and there was a drought, his parents didn't stand a chance. I didn't stop there though; I burned down the houses of every other person who had ever bullied Mike. I watched the towering infernos from afar, and then I ran away.

"I had my fun for a while, setting things on fire everywhere I went, until I was finally caught and brought to a juvenile detention center, where I met Duncan, coincidentally. But being locked up all the time was very tedious and boring, and so for fun, I let the other personalities come out whenever they wanted, and they were all too happy to inflict themselves on the world, having been repressed so long. You should have seen the looks on everyone's faces when clumsy little Mike started doing backflips and cartwheels all over the room and calling himself a girl. Or when he'd yell at the guards and call them "young whippersnappers." Or when he'd take his shirt off and throw outrageous parties, or talk like Steve Irwin. At first they thought I was just pranking them, but then they became concerned and shipped me off to a children's psychiatric hospital.

"The hospital indulged in controversial practices, but they reserved them for the most difficult cases. Mike was subjected to shock treatments three times a week, and when I say Mike, I mean yours truly. I wouldn't let Mike come out, and none of the others would take over during a shock treatment, and so I was left to take over, or else the body would go into a coma. But I was used to it by then.

"While under their "care" Mike was put on four different experimental medications. The first just made him violently ill. The second just made us all very high. The third brought us all out at once, overloaded our brain, and gave the body a seizure. The fourth, well, you could say it cured him, though indirectly."

"What do you mean, cured? You're all still here."

"You misunderstand me. You see, the fourth led to suicidal thoughts, though not the kind most people have. I became convinced that I could kill Mike and the others and give myself one hundred percent control of the brain. That night, I opened a window on the top floor-"

"If you jump out a window, you all die. How could you not know that?"

"I do know that, but that was the medication amplifying my own fantasies. Are you going to keep interrupting? Would you rather we paint our nails and braid each other's hair and talk about our feelings?"

"I won't interrupt again."

"Anyway, I was just about to jump, when the other personalities took over. They realized what I was about to do, and after all that I had already done, they decided they'd had enough. In my drug-induced weakness, they took control and sealed me in the back of Mike's mind, where for the longest time I was unable to escape. Svetlana got us out of the building and away from the doctors. Then, still his protectors, they resurrected Mike, who had all but ceased to exist by that point, and gave him back the reins.

"Mike, however, was in no way prepared to take back control. At the ripe old age of ten, he'd spent two entire years asleep, and he had no idea what was going on or where he was, or even that his parents were dead. He wandered for the longest time, walking down roads barefoot, starving and cold, not knowing where he was going. The others tried to tell him where to go, but they all had differing opinions and in the end he just chose a direction and never faltered from it.

"After two days and nights of wandering, a nice family found him and took him to the station. The last time he'd been in control, he'd been too young to know his address or last name, so they had no idea where he had come from. They put him in foster care, and lucky for him, the very first family liked him enough to keep him around, even after the rest of the gang showed up along with him. They were always so sweet and supportive, and they got him a good psychiatrist to help him deal with his other personalities, who before that point he'd had zero control over. That irritated them though, which is why they're always vying for control and couldn't care less about Mike's thoughts or feelings. You wouldn't believe how many friends he's lost to them. Homeschool was literally his only option. That's why he went on Total Drama; he figured that with a cast full of oddballs, he'd be able to blend in and make friends. He's a lucky guy to have you. No one else would willingly go through so much crap for a hopeless case. You must be crazy to stick with such an insane lunatic, who belongs in a straightjacket at the whacky-shack."

Zoey just sat there, stunned. Mal just grinned at her wickedly. She almost wished she'd left him back at the sanitarium, where the doctor's had been about to perform a lobotomy on him to cure him of his dissociative personality disorder. He'd asked to see her first, but rather than stop by for a visit, she'd broken him out and brought him here to this shabby, rundown motel.

"You still haven't explained why you became like this," she said as she heard a roar of constructive equipment from outside. "You said you used to protect Mike. If you were his friend, why would you turn on him like this?"

"Don't you get it? He made us, he created us back when he had some semblance of a normal brain. I'm this way because Mike, knowingly or not, poured every bad thought, every fear, all his hatred, frustration, rage, and pain into me. That was the whole reason for my existence, to take all the pain Mike couldn't handle. Why do you think he can't remember his terrible childhood? Because I hold those scarring memories. I keep them out of his reach, they're my burden to bear. He never brought me out for anything good, like blowing out candles on a birthday cake or opening presents. No, I was brought out whenever his dad needed a target, or whenever the dark became too scary, or whenever the bullies shoved his head into a toilet. Why do you think Mike doesn't have a bad bone in his body? Because I am everything bad about him, and it's given me more power than all the others combined."

The entire time he'd spoken before, he'd spoken with disinterest, as if he were talking about someone else entirely, not himself. Or he'd laugh at Mike's pain. But this time, he actually seemed angry and hurt, finally showing that some part of him was still capable of caring.

"You got all the bad, and nothing good to offset it," Zoey mused. "No wonder you're this way. I always thought you were evil just for the heck of it, but now I know there's a reason. But that doesn't excuse what you've done."

Mal fixed the cruel grin back on his face and said, "It's a good thing you're starting to feel sympathy for me, 'cause I forgot to mention that Mike's dead. They all are. I killed them all, and this body is all mine. I'm the consolation prize. It's just you and me now."

"Not if I have anything to say about it."

Mal watched curiously as Zoey pulled a needle out of the desk drawer by the bed.

"Cameron helped me get my hands on this. This is an experimental drug that's not been approved yet in Canada. Actually, it's not been approved anywhere. But beggars and choosers, you know."

"Drugs never worked before, they're not about to start now."

"Then you have nothing to be afraid of."

She stuck the needle in his neck, and for a moment nothing happened. But then his eyes slowly closed, and his breathing became deep and steady.

Zoey finally let the tears come. A great sob tore through her chest as she called out to him. "Mike! Mike! Please come back to me! Mike!"

Mal awoke in Mike's subconscious, a place he was very familiar with. At first he was alone, but then five figures began to appear all around him until he was surrounded.

"Ah, my old friends," he said with a wicked grin.

They all looked weary and worn, ill and faded from the abuse he'd been putting them through. None of them looked as bad as Mike, though. He looked like a corpse, but he stood firm. They all pounced on Mal and attacked at once, ripping and clawing at him, beating him into the ground.

Zoey watched helplessly as Mike writhed and convulsed on the bed. He gasped and gritted his teeth in obvious pain. Zoey worried that she'd made a mistake, but she couldn't give up now, not with so much at stake. She remembered what Cameron had told her, about how when she called for him, Mike always came back. She just hoped it wasn't already too late.

"Mike, please, I need you," she said as she took his hand in hers and squeezed it tightly. "I know it's hard, baby, but you've gotta fight him! Fight him for me, Mike. Mike, I love you. Please come back to me."

Mike wasn't sure what it was, but something gave him the strength to put his fingers around Mal's throat and squeeze. He had him in his grasp, now he just had to lock him away where he couldn't ever hurt him or Zoey ever again.

"If it's time for my curtain call, then let me at least leave you with a little something first." Mal put a hand to Mike's cheek, and he was suddenly overcome by a raging, burning flood of images full of agony, fear, and loneliness.

"I've been waiting my whole life to do that," said Mal as he laughed maniacally.

He lost his grip on Mal, but the others maintained their hold and chained him up. Mike was overwhelmed by all the horrific memories swarming his mind. Each one would have been awful on its own, but with all of them rushing at him, assaulting him all at once, it was unendurable. He didn't know what to do, it was too much for any one person to bear.

Zoey sobbed as she heard Mike scream, "Kill me, please just kill me! I can't do this, have mercy on me and just end it!" His screams became unintelligible, and he was shaking uncontrollably, probably having a seizure. She knew it, she had made a mistake. Mike was gone forever. What would be left of him once this was all over?

Mike fell to the ground in his mind. As he curled up in a ball in the center of his subconscious, wishing with everything in him that he could just die, he felt four hands touch his head, and most of the pain ebbed away, like salve on a stinging wound. He could breathe again, he could think clearly again. There were still memories lingering in his mind that gnawed at him, but at a level he could manage.

He looked up and saw the others looking down at him and actually smiling at him. That had never happened before.

"What did you guys do?" asked Mike as he got back on his feet.

"What do you think, ya numbskull? We took some of your memories so you'd stop cryin' like a baby."

"Crikey, your childhood was messed up."

"But why would you do that?"

"It's why you made us in the first place, mate."

He heard a sound, and even though he didn't know what it was or where it was coming from, he followed it anyway.

"Five bucks says she dumps him," whispered Vito.

"Ten says she throws something heavy at him," said Manitoba Smith.

"What if Mal killed her?" asked Svetlana.

The others were silent for a moment as they envisioned the possibility and what it would do to Mike.

"Nah, she probably ran for the hills when all this crap started. You dang kids today with your hills. Back in my day, we only had molehills, and we were grateful to have 'em!" said Chester.

Mike felt like a drowning person being pulled out of the water. He gasped and tried to move, but he couldn't.

"Why can't I move?" he asked. He couldn't even turn his head. Oh no, what if the Malevolent One did something to him and paralyzed him?

Out of the corner of his eye, he could just make out something red. Zoey heard his voice and looked up at him. "Mal?"

"Zoey, it's me, Mike."

"Is it really? He tried to trick me earlier."

"I have no evidence to prove that it's really me. I'm sorry."

Zoey looked deeply into his eyes for several seconds. She then nodded to herself, and untied the restraints on his head, hands and feet. Mike flexed his fingers and toes and stretched his limbs, as if just discovering them for the first time.

He sat up and asked quietly, "How long has it been?"

"Three years."

He reached for the window shade and pulled it up and blinked at the bright sun. It occurred to him that this was the first time in three years he had seen sunlight.

"I guess I've missed a lot, huh?"

"Depends on your point of view."

There was a long silence. Mike couldn't fathom why Zoey was here, or why she looked like such a mess. What little makeup she had on had run down her face, and her eyes were red and puffy from crying. Yet she was still as strong and beautiful as ever.

Zoey didn't know what to think. It really seemed like Mike, her Mike, was back. But how long would it last? Was their relationship doomed to end? Or could Mike fight Mal and keep him locked up the rest of his life? That was too much to hope for.

Finally Mike asked, "Why are you here?"

Zoey stiffened as if he'd slapped her. "How could you ask such a thing?"

"It's been three years, have you been trying to cure me this whole time? Why didn't you move on with your life? I'm a hopeless case, and you deserve better."

He could no longer meet her eyes. He looked down at his hands as they tugged at the sheets. Tears stung his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. But then Zoey took his face in her hands and kissed him, gently at first, but then fiercely. He kissed her back hungrily, like a blind man seeing the sun for the first time.

Zoey pulled away but laid her head on his warm chest. "Are you really a hopeless case?"

He put his hands around her back and said, "He's gone for now, but he could come back someday. I'm scared, I'm so scared of what he might do, of all the ways he could hurt you, or worse."

"You did the impossible today, Mike. You beat the unbeatable. I believe you can keep him away for good, because I refuse to accept the alternatives. But whatever happens, I'm not leaving your side. You're stuck with me, mister."

Mike smiled and buried his head in her sweet-smelling hair. "Then what more could I ask for?"

They were silent a moment longer, until Mike asked, "Did you save me, Zoey?"

"You saved yourself. But I might have helped a little bit."

A single tear ran down his cheek as he whispered, "Thank you."

There were still several issues they needed to work out, Mal's extensive criminal record in particular, but they'd think about them tomorrow (and Zoey had it on good authority from Harold that he could pull a few tricks to make his record vanish entirely). For now, they would savor the time they had together and make up for all the time that had been stolen from them.

They laid down on the bed and watched the sunlight through the window. Exhausted, they both fell asleep quickly. Mike slept peacefully, wrapped in Zoey's loving embrace.