PROLOGUE

TRIUMVIRATE STATION, THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod groaned as he slowly returned to consciousness. His throat was raw and dry, and he could still feel the lingering remains of the sedative in his system. He went through a mental check-list of his physical well-being, his mind trying to dance around the one word that was screaming warnings in his brain – Africa.

He was in Africa, the only place on earth he could imagine as being worse than the Centre.

With a grimace, Jarod laboriously pushed himself off the cold floor that he was lying on, studying the small cell.

There was nothing to see. It was empty, save himself.

Glancing at his own body, Jarod was surprised to find that he was bare-chested, his only protection was a thin pair of neutral coloured pants. Looking down to his broken right wrist, Jarod observed that the bulky plaster cast that the Centre’s doctor had hastily made, had now been replaced with a thinner and noticeably lighter fibreglass one. Clenching his fist with resolve, Jarod pushed away the feeling of violation that was developing within. It wasn’t the first time he had suffered the indignity of being stripped of his clothing, or subjected to a medical procedure, while unconscious. He hated the loss of dignity he felt at his lack of control, it never got any easier.

Jarod sank back down to the floor, conscious he needed to give his body more time to rid itself of the sedative. He closed his eyes, hoping that there was enough of the drug left to push him back into oblivion. It was far better than the reality he had woken up too.

However they clearly had other ideas for Jarod, as the second he had lay his head back down on the floor, the door to his small cell was opened, four men entering. Jarod brought his head up to meet their stares, but was kicked squarely in the gut, the air whooshing out of him as he was forced back to the floor. Without given a chance to react, two hands reached down and grabbed his arms, a swift blow landing on Jarod’s head when the pretender resisted their movement.

Jarod sighed in resignation as he felt the cold metal of the handcuffs against his left wrist, then cried out as his broken right wrist was roughly pulled behind him, and restrained. The purpose of his new cast now becoming blatantly obvious, as it ensured they could still use their damn handcuffs on him.

He was pulled to a kneeling position, facing the back wall of his cell. Jarod took a deep breath, desperately trying to calm himself. His head was painfully jerked backwards, and with growing panic, Jarod soon found himself in encased in blackness. They had hooded him. Jarod swallowed, willing himself to fend off the panicked childhood memories that were forcing their way upwards.

As he was encouraged to his feet, Jarod focused on his breathing, trying to push away the fear that was slowly consuming him. He focused on the pain shooting up his right arm, his broken wrist angrily protesting to its abuse; anything to take his mind away from his fear.

By the time they had reached their destination, Jarod had regained control over the emotions and anxiety residing in his mind. He kept his eyes tightly shut, willing himself to forget the black material that kept him at such a disadvantage, trying frantically to imagine he was anywhere but here.

He was pushed forward, crashing into something at waist-level. Jarod then felt pressure on the back of his head, as he was slowly made to bend forwards, resting on a cold metallic surface. His arms were freed from the handcuffs, only to be forced forward and stretched out in front of him. Jarod couldn’t withhold a cry of pain as it shot up his right arm. He tried to pull back, only to find them restraining him to the table with soft hospital restraints. Knowing he was trapped, Jarod ceased all movement, instead return his focus to his breaths. It was the one thing he could still control.

The room was eerily silent, and Jarod’s sense of smell was soon bombarded with a smoke like aroma. He could hear water dripping above him, the ice cold drops landing on his bare back. The coolness was oddly comforting on his hot skin, the temperature in the cell he had woken in had been nothing short of stifling.

What was this? Chinese water torture meets medieval dungeon?

Jarod felt his muscles tense as a lone pair of footsteps entered the room, walking to the back of it. He could tell they belonged to a man, someone with authority given he was wearing dress shoes. He heard a large hissing sound when the steps stopped, similar to that of escaping steam.

Two men move in closely beside the pretender, placing their hands on his upper arms. Jarod could feel his heart racing as the footsteps slowly approached him, stopping directly behind him. Jarod was no longer able to suppress his struggles, he pulled back on his restraints in vain, trying to shake off the additional hold on his biceps. The hood was greatly handicapping him, and it was unnerving to not be able to see what was coming to him but also to be blind to who was doing the antagonizing.

The room erupted with painful screaming as something white hot was pressed into the upper left section of Jarod’s back. He struggled under their tight hold, gasping in relief as the object was pulled back a few excruciating seconds later.

The men stood back, and exited the room, leaving Jarod alone, his muscles quivering due to the residual pain. With his breathing returning back to normal, Jarod focused on the water dripping onto his back, trying to draw comfort from its soothing coolness.

With unwanted revelation Jarod realized that he had just been branded as the sickening odour of burnt flesh infiltrated his nostrils; that of his seared skin. The sounds and smells had triggered a flash back to his pretend at the army POW survival training camp. He had witness a similar ritual then, although in that scenario there was a feeling of pride, of belonging, of strength. It was nothing like that here. This cruel lesson had been done to demonstrate to him that he was theirs, and he would wear whatever mark they had burned into his flesh for the rest of his life.

With a deep breath, Jarod forced himself to retreat into his mind, disconnecting him from the flaming hot pain on his upper back, the feeling of shame and humiliation that was growing within. He found that safe place Sydney had taught him to find when his simulations got too terrifying, when the pain got too bad.

When they came back, a few hours later, Jarod barely flinched as he heard the electric sparking of several cattle prods around him, the purpose of the water that continually dripped down to him finally became clear.

As the prods were brought against his damp flesh, and his screams filled the room, Jarod barely registered his own pain. He didn’t care because mentally, he was not really there.

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For those who haven’t read Conflict Zero, I have prepared a small summary just to get you up to speed! If you are interested, it has been posted here.

Summary of Conflict Zero

1) The Triumvirate was under attack by a company called Corporation Zero. They had organized several murderous raids, and had taken three subjects: two German pretenders, and a predictor (Lysander) into their custody. Their next target: The Centre (and Jarod)

2) Jarod was captured by Miss Parker and Lyle and taken to a secret Centre facility know as Aquastar (it masks as a cleaning service). He, upon seeing the bloodshed, agrees to help the Centre figure out a way to fight the threat.

3) Jarod finds a solution to the problem, but convinces the Triumvirate he needs to rescue Lysander himself. They agree, and Jarod uses this to escape. However unknown to our pretender, another pretender by the name of Henrik has been overseeing his work.

4) Jarod rescues Lysander, and gets away from Sam, only to be picked up later by Lyle as Henrik had predicted Jarod’s actions. The two subjects are returned to the Centre, with transfer orders to Africa looming.

5) Back at the Centre, Lysander, obviously depressed, attempts suicide. Angelo gives Jarod the tools and freedom he needs to go to her. Jarod is forced to call for help, only gaining himself and Angelo Lyle’s wrath. Lyle instantly orders termination for Angelo.

6) When Jarod is told of Angelo’s murder, he overpowers Lyle and makes a dash for freedom, only to have it thwarted by Sam, leaving the pretender with a broken wrist.

7) Sydney and Broots work with Major Charles to attempt to free Jarod. The plan was almost successful, however a tracking device under the van doesn’t give the Major the time he needs to free his son. Miss Parker arrives before the sweeper teams, sending the Major away before he his to be murdered.

8) The story ends with Parker leading Jarod onto the African bound airplane, where he is sedated

Chapter #1 – GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

ONE WEEK LATER …………………

THE CENTRE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Sydney stared at the empty glass before him. It had been one week since Jarod had left for Africa. Every minute had passed in excruciating silence, Sydney swearing he could hear the seconds ticking in his head. As always, he had failed to make a difference, failed to save the young man from whom he cared so deeply about.

He had wronged Jarod in so many ways over the years, and once again any attempt to protect the pretender had been thwarted by the Centre. Jarod was now in the clutches of the Triumvirate, and despite all of the pretender’s inner-strength, Sydney couldn’t help but realize, that if he was ever again to see the Jarod he knew and loved, it would be nothing short of an act of god. The Africans would torture Jarod, emotionally and physically until the pretender submitted to their will.Sydney knew the pretender well enough to know, that doing their simulations, living with the guilt, would cause Jarod to fall into madness. It surprised him that after all he had witnessed in life, that he could still even contemplate the existence of a higher being. It was a wonder anyone could.

Unbeknownst to others, Sydney had spent the better part of the past seven days under the influence of his private scotch reserve, tormenting himself with the memories from nearly four decades of wrong-doings on his part. Four decades of hidden fatherly love, four decades of deception and lies, and for what?

As Sydney poured more of the amber liquid into his glass, he allowed himself to drift back into the past. Another memory of Jarod’s life soon resurfaced in his aging mind, back to a time when the pretender had been somewhere in his mid teens.

“Jarod, I would like you to come with me.” The young psychiatrist informed his protégé. Jarod looked up at him hesitantly, aware of the four sweepers that had now stepped into his room.

“Where?” The pretender questioned suspiciously. The presence of more than one sweeper indicated they were not heading to the Sim Lab.

Sydney looked down into Jarod’s eyes, aware that his protégé was quickly sprouting upwards, and would one day likely stand equal to Sydney’s stature, if not surpassing it. He placed a comforting hand on Jarod’s shoulder, hating himself for what was about to be done.

“Jarod, the Tower believes it is time that we move you to different quarters. This area of the Centre was designed to hold children, and by the number of inches you have added to your height this year, it is clear to us that you are quickly growing up.”

Jarod looked around his small quarters desperately, the pictures on the wall, Kyle’s flying cross that was carefully hidden behind the toilet, the air vent that Angelo used to visit him. This room was all he knew, the small pieces of his life were all in here.

“Why Sydney?” He questioned softly, his eyes conveying the emotions that couldn’t be said.

Sydney squeezed the teen’s shoulder.

“Come along now Jarod.” He ordered, his heart lurching as the pretender’s shoulders slumped forward.

“But Sydney, all my stuff!” Jarod cried, grabbing his beloved sketch pad and pencils – his only real possessions in the world. Sydney had fought Mr. Parker and Dr. Raines to get permission to give the child the sketch book, knowing the therapeutic benefit it could have, allowing Jarod to release his demons on paper. As of today, it was a battle he had lost, the others arguing Jarod spent too much of his time dwelling upon his past, questioning his origin, and dredging up painful emotions. Jarod’s sketchbook was filled with the empty faces of his family, crashing airplanes, given that the boy’s parents had been killed in such an accident. Such thoughts would no longer be tolerated, given Jarod had now spent more than 10 years at the Centre. According to Raines it was time he simply learnt to accept his fate, and look only toward his future. Any childhood habits, including Jarod’s sketches, would be forbidden, as of today.

Hating himself even more than he thought possible, Sydney motioned to the sweepers, taking his eyes away from Jarod as they grabbed the pretender’s arms, propelling him forward, stopping him at the doorway. Sydney walked up, and gently removed the sketchbook from the boy’s grip. “Jarod you are growing up, it’s time we stopped these childish habits. Now please go with the gentlemen. I’ll be by before I head home for the evening.”

“Sydney! No! No! ” Jarod cried, as the sweepers had pushed him down the hallway. Sydney flinched as the sound of flesh hitting flesh silenced the pretender. The sweepers were becoming increasingly physical with Jarod, to the point that Sydney had taken it up with the Tower, specifically Mr. Parker. He had only been informed that it was imperative that Jarod learn to respect the sweepers, to submit to their will without question. A lesson that would need to be complete before the boy finished his metamorphosis into a young man, and would have the physical stature to seriously defy those around him.

Several hours later, the tired psychiatrist had travelled down to SL-21 to visit his protégé for the evening, only to find the wing had been placed under lockdown for the night. There would be no more late night visits to check on Jarod, as he had often indulged in during the past. SL-21 was maximum security, designed to keep their most prized possessions from ever stepping foot outside the building. The next morning, a sullen Jarod had been waiting in the SIM lab for the psychiatrist. Sydney had known instantly that just one night on SL-21, had done more to illustrate to Jarod that he truly was considered their property, than the last ten years all put together. The pretender had been dressed in the grey, institutional smock like clothing he would wear until the day he escaped, escorted everywhere by no less than two sweepers, on the wrong-side of the lock-down procedure that was executed nightly. Sydney did not have to imagine the despair that Jarod had felt, being trapped in that small room after hearing the electronic hiss of the lock. The shutting off of the lights at 10 pm sharp, the strobe like-light that was turned on in the hallway for the benefit of the security cameras, it was all orchestrated to remind those on the other side of the door of their place in the organization hierarchy and that they were powerless – that there truly was no hope.

Present Day

Sydney couldn’t fool himself, he knew the Triumvirate would throw more at the pretender than a small dark cell, electronic locks, and jumper cables. They would try and take his mind, try to destroy the very core that made him Jarod, that made him compassionate, that gave him the will and the strength to fight them. It would be a battle for control of Jarod’s soul, the essence of his character, that indefinable je ne sais quoi which made him so charismatic, so loved to virtually everyone he had met in the outside world. For the first time in his life, Sydney found himself questioning the boundaries of his protégé’s ability to thwart their relentless attempts to break him. The pretender had spent three decades under lock and key in the Centre, another six years on the run from them and his inner demons. The pretender had waged a good battle, and the fact he hadn’t slipped into psychotic-like behaviour was a miracle. Sydney couldn’t help but fear that Jarod’s nine lives were up, that after nearly forty years of Centre influence, perhaps the pretender’s fight to hang on to reality, was finally coming to an end.

In the end, the Centre destroyed everyone who has the misfortune to cross its’ path. It was just a question of to what degree you fought them on your way down. Glancing at a framed photo of himself and Jacob, Sydney downed the shot. He had just sat by silently acting as clueless as Angelo appeared, while the Centre insidiously destroyed Timmy, and any other he truly cared about. He’d chosen the easy path, and left the ones he cared about to wrestle with their Centre induced demons alone.

Sydney had energy for only one more battle. In truth, he didn’t even know where to start, who to turn to, but he would give it his all, and only pray it would be enough to bring Jarod safely back. If not, as he had said to Miss Parker years ago, you can’t kill a man who was already dead.

THE CENTRE, GERMAN DIVISION – HAMBURG, GERMANY

Henrik looked up from his work as Dr. Klaus entered the room. He had been returned to Germany two weeks prior, and was comfortably living out the same routine he had for his twenty year existence. No more Aquastar, no more Jarod, no more Mr. Lyle. The past weeks had made his life here seem like heaven compared to the treatment he had been subjected to in. Despite his own genius and intelligence, it never occurred to Henrik that his belief system was a result of early on successful brainwashing. It didn’t matter how he had ended up here, he was who they wanted to be, and as long as he stayed that way, he would be safe. The past two months had only strengthened Henrik’s resolve to be the well-behaved subject he had always been. Henrik had longed ago embraced his fate, and as a result, had managed to accept the restrictions that had been placed on his life. Witnessing the abuse Jarod had and would continue to be subjected too, had only reaffirmed his willingness to obey. He promised himself that he would never become a rebellious project – not ever.

The older doctor sat down across from the young pretender. “Henrik – the Triumvirate was very impressed with your work regarding Jarod, so impressed that they have asked for your presence as a special consultant.”

Henrik sat straight up in his chair, he knew he should be feeling pride from the rare praise from the doctor, but anything regarding the Triumvirate had to be bad. He swallowed nervously.

“Special consultant?” He questioned weakly.

The doctor nodded curtly. “In fact, they are so impressed in fact my boy, that they have requested your presence.”

Henrik eyes widened in fear. “Africa?” He questioned meekly.

“Where else?” Dr. Klaus responded dryly.

The young pretender shot up from his seat. “But doctor, I’ve done every thing you’ve asked of me. Please don’t send me there. Please!!”

“Enough.” Klaus yelled, glaring at his young charge as Henrik shrunk back into his seat, his eyes cast downwards.

“You have nothing to fear Henrik. This is your opportunity to shine, to show the Triumvirate what you are capable of. Succeed, and you might just get what you never dared to even dream you could have.”

Henrik hesitantly brought his eyes upwards, meeting those of Dr. Klaus. “My freedom?” He questioned so quietly, it was barely a whisper. Despite the comfort of his routine here in Germany, there was only one thing in the world Henrik could admit to dreaming of obtaining: his freedom.

The doctor laughed cruelly. “We always will own you Henrik, freedom is not an option your kind will ever have the opportunity to experience. However we can change the rules of your tenure. I have big plans for you Henrik, much bigger than the pretender wing at this small complex will ever be able to offer. Do what they ask of you, and I promise you, your world will change in ways you can’t possibly imagine.”

Henrik fearfully stared at the doctor. He didn’t want his life to change, he was back where he belonged, where he felt comfortable. He wanted to stay here, or be given his freedom, nothing else. But by the hunger he saw in the doctor’s eyes, he had a feeling that whatever changes the older man prophesized for him would not spell good news for Henrik.

But as was his life, he knew he would have no choice in the matter.

TRIUMVIRATE STATION –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod lay huddled in a miserable heap, his face pressed against one of the walls that made up his prison. The unblinking red light was always trained on him, so he kept his face hidden from its prying view. He would not let him see the agony that his face so clairvoyantly portrayed, nor the tears that would fall as he dreamed of his family.

Jarod cringed at every breath, as the foul odour of his own sweat and blood entered his nostrils, a constant reminder of where he was and what he had been subjected to him thus far.

Time had lost all meaning for Jarod the instant the sedative had claimed him on the airplane, dragging him into its dark prison. He had awoken here, in this hole. It was a small cell, completely barren. He was surrounded by concrete, in stifling heat to which he could find no relief. He concluded he was likely above ground, as even being one floor down would offer some relief from the near equatorial temperatures. He wasn’t sure if that fact should give him hope to a potential escape, or ignite fear at the fact they were so sure he couldn’t get out, they didn’t even bother to lock him up as far below the surface as possible.

This cell was the only part of the Triumvirate complex he had been allowed to see. When they came for him at irregular intervals, he was always hooded by the muscled goons, before being dragged out and taken to some delightful torture wing. It had taken a few times, but he had managed to suppress the childhood memories that escaped when the black cloth was pulled over his head. In some twisted way, he now drew comfort from the darkness. Behind the cloth he didn’t have to suppress his emotions, deny the tears of pain and desperation that fell during their torture sessions.

Jarod hadn’t worked up the courage to feel the brand that had been seared on to his back. He would leave that twisted revelation to some other time. He already had enough material with which to torture his mind. He did not need to add the image of what he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

Reason told him he hadn’t been here for long, a few days, a week perhaps? But to his soul, it already felt like an eternity. Not a word had been spoken to him, no demands had been placed upon him. The lack of social stimulation was tearing into him more than he wanted to admit. He would give almost anything to have a normal human conversation, even if it was just trading barbs with Lyle, or be on the receiving end of Raines’ threats.

It hadn’t taken Jarod long to come to the conclusion he should have made months ago. He had always wondered, how after what had happened in Carthis, that Lyle and Raines had managed to stay in the good graces of the Triumvirate, given that they had murdered Adama and his men simply to keep the power they enjoyed running the Centre. Jarod had always assumed that they had placed blame on Mr. Parker, but he now realized he had been used as their scapegoat.

What would have been a death sentence for Lyle and Raines, was now a living nightmare for Jarod. But he wouldn’t beg, he refused to plead his innocence, not that they would listen to his pleas. They would likely never believe him anyway. He could withstand the physical torture, as Sydney had given him the gift of being able to retreat into the depths of his powerful mind; the ability to separate himself from the pain and suffering that was being inflicted upon him. He was almost grateful for the physical abuse, as it was delaying the inevitable psychological warfare he knew was coming while they tried to turn him into their obedient little pretender once again.

He could handle the beatings, the aftermath of the intravenous hallucinogenic drugs, the fear brought on by being bound and helpless. All he had to do was close his eyes, and his family would come to him in flashes. He would remember the concern he saw in Sydney’s eyes in the infirmary, the comforting squeeze Parker had placed on his shoulder as the sedatives had claimed him on the plane. It was a loving and supportive slideshow he played over and over again in his psyche as he retreated into his own pretender, a place where his pain was not real.

It was the fight for his mind that scared him most. When Jarod was returned to this pitiful cell, he would curl up into himself, despite the oppressive heat, the ache that was now always present in his joints, the pins and needles numbing pain that shot through his broken wrist was relentless. He ignored the blood that slowly dripped from his wounds and allowed his ego to release itself from its disassociated state. He would not continue to repress the agony, as the true nature of the physical pain he felt surfaced, but enjoyed the relief at allowing his mind to be free again even if only temporarily.

Jarod had started out six years ago naive and confused, but free from the Centre. Now, the puzzle that explained his existence was almost filled, with just a few missing pieces remaining, the most notable his Mom. It was the memories of his family, his dreams of one day meeting his mother that truly comforted him as he lay in miserable and isolated in the dark, that and the last words he had heard before he had woken up here.

“This isn’t how our story ends rat, don’t you forget it.”

Miss Parker, despite all of her harsh words and icy-ness, still cared. He still had a chance to make things right between them, to convince her that he really cared more than she ever had realized, or would let herself believe.

The blood, the sweat, the pain, he could handle it all.He could withstand anything to meet his mother, anything to make it right with Parker. Together they were the two missing pieces in his life. He wouldn’t give up until his puzzle was filled.

PARKER SUMMER HOME – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

It was only in the confines of her house that Parker finally let herself fall apart. She was exhausted from trying to keep it all together, from pretending that she really didn’t care - when in fact she did – too much so to safely confide in anyone, including herself.

She had called in sick today, citing a migraine. Hangover was more like it, but in reality she simply didn’t have the energy to keep up pretending today. The Centre was filled with reminders of Jarod, and a week of pretending that delivering the genius to the eager Africans was something she had enjoyed, was taking its toll.

Every time Parker closed her eyes, she was haunted by visions of Jarod. The desperation in his eyes when he realized his father would not be able to rescue him, the pain that had been etched on his face as he had been forced to watch his father retreat, the fear he had shown as he had stood shackled outside the airplane. She could still hear the panic in the pretender’s voice as he begged not to be hooded, not to be sedated. His desperate thrashing as the sedative had slowly claimed him, rendering him unable to speak, unable to do much more but moan as he was forced into the darkness, knowing he would awaken in a place worse than hell.

Parker couldn’t pinpoint exactly when her resolve had changed. The lab rat had an ability to stir up her emotions like a blended fruit smoothie. She had been so ready to forget him, take the easy path out and erase the errant pretender from her life. She had suffered so much loss in her life, her mother, Thomas, her ‘Daddy’, she simply couldn’t have taken anymore.

Maybe it was seeing Jarod, his eyes alight with hope as his father had bravely tried to rescue him that had changed her, or his reaction to the cold-hearted way that Lyle had informed the pretender of Angelo’s execution. She had realized in those instances that unlike the others who were cruelly taken from her by the twisted will of the Centre, that Jarod still had a chance. The pretender contained inner strength that only could have been developed by over three decades of captivity, a will to survive that she had seen in no other. He had one card to play, one that none of the others she cared about could have used – he was a Centre commodity, their very valuable property. They would never do away with him, instead they’d try to torment his mind until he once again submitted to their will. Parker knew that the Triumvirate would not be able to snap his soul in two like a twig, but rather, it would be a long hard fought battle. The fine line between genius and insanity was very precious, and the Africans would be willing to do almost anything to ensure that Jarod crossed that line.

However this time she wasn’t a helpless child, a naïve lover, or the sad daughter standing on the wrong side of an airplane. No, this time she was in a position to do something, to save Jarod. She was a key player in Centre politics, far from the inner circles of Raines and her demented twin brother, but still important with her own set of contacts and resources. Her successful transfer of Jarod into Triumvirate custody and bought her a lot of clout. The Centre was all about power, and while she didn’t have it all, she certainly had enough to make her worth something to someone.

It was time to play a little political game with Captain Wheezy and brother dearest.

She would battle with everything she had at her disposal to get Jarod transferred back, and pray that he had managed to preserve enough of his soul to be worth saving. She owed him this at least. Once he was back in the relative safety of Blue Cove, it would be back to the status quo; whatever that meant in the Centre.

Parker studied the remains of the scotch in the bottle that lay before her. Seeing it was still well over half full she grabbed her keys, hedging a bet that she was still sober enough to drive. She realized as she left the safe confines of her home, that it was perhaps the first time she’d anything as half full rather than half empty in many years. She could only imagine what Sydney would say about that. Time for that later – right now she needed to see a man about a rat.

Chapter # 2 – Even in my Memories

SYDNEY’S RESIDENCE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE, Present Day

Sydney sat in his leather recliner, unable to keep memory lane from reclaiming him once again. If he had bothered to calculate the hours, he would be alarmed to find exactly how much time he had spent reliving the past.. He found himself recalling a particular memory from when Jarod had been in his late teens.

“Jarod, are you ready to begin the simulation?” Sydney questioned impatiently. The young man had been uncharacteristically unfocused as of late, to the point where his decreased productivity had been noticed by the Tower. Raines was due at any moment, and Sydney was anxious to get going. “Sydney, I’ve already told you. I’m not comfortable with this simulation. The results can be easily be manipulated to do harm.” The pretender responded with emphasis, standing up from the small simulation table and beginning his familiar pattern of pacing. Sydney took a moment to observe his protégé. Jarod had sprouted up in the past year, and had now surpassed six feet. His voice now had the beginning of the deep tones that would carry him into his adult life.

Sydney sighed impatiently, raising his voice as he spoke, something he rarely needed to do with Jarod.

“This is not open for discussion Jarod. Our clients’ building was bombed! They only wish to find out how it happened.”

Instead of flinching, as the pretender used to do as a child when Sydney had vocally expressed anger towards him, Jarod approached his mentor.

“As I have said many times before Sydney, the design of the building is too common, too generic. Finding the solution is like giving future bombers an instruction kit of how to blow up similar buildings across the country. Picking up the file and tossing it down in front of Sydney, Jarod protested adamantly. “ I won’t do it.” .

Sydney remembered how Jarod had held such narrow-minded views of the world at that stage in his life, not unlike most young adults. Everything to him was black or white. Every problem had one definite solution. Every action was either right or wrong, people were good or bad, no middle ground. Sydney could hardly fault him. It had taken Jarod nearly three years of freedom before the psychiatrist had been able to conclude that the pretender was finally beginning to grasp the concept of shades of grey instead of his stark view of black or white.

It had been the beginning of difficult times for Jarod, and Sydney for that matter. As the pretender’s black and white view of the world had hardened, the stronger his sense of morality became. Sydney had spent months trying to figure out exactly where he had gone wrong with regard to Centre values. He had tried so hard to teach Jarod about the world he was not allowed to experience, but had seemingly failed. It had only recently occurred to him that Jarod’s metamorphosis had begun the day he had been informed his parents had died in an airplane crash. Given he no longer had any true hope of meeting them, Jarod had desperately clung onto the last positive thing he had left in his life, using his mind to help others. It had taken several years, but eventually Jarod had started to refuse some of the simulations he was required to do. His humanity and conscience had taken a firm hold in his ego development.

Sydney tried again “Jarod, I have people to answer to. The Tower expects results. What will you have me do?” The psychiatrist begged. The pretender’s resolve was strong, and he knew he would only gain Jarod’s concession by playing into his desire to help others.

“I won’t do it Sydney. They can’t make me.” The pretender responded, crossing his arms across his chest in defiance so that his body language matched his words.

As the twisted will of the Centre would have things, Raines had chosen that exact moment to make his entrance in the room.

“Jarod, you do not have a voice in this matter.” The man wheezed, pausing slightly to take a deep breath from the oxygen tank he had carried around for the last two years.

Sydney watched mutely as the pretender shrank slightly, as he became aware of Raines’ presence in the room. A quick glance at the simulation material on the desk seemed to strengthen his resolve.

“No.” Jarod responded, his voice wavering slightly, betraying the fear the young man had towards the former doctor.

“Jarod… ” Sydney began to argue, only to be silenced by Raines.

“I’m sorry to hear that Jarod. I think it’s time for a lesson in Centre hierarchy, don’t you Sydney?”

Sydney stood open-mouth, at a lost for words, as both Jarod and Raines focused their stares on the psychiatrist. He was struggling internally, knowing Raines had him cornered. He could not let Jarod believe he was agreeing with the former doctor, but no matter what was about to happen, Sydney had failed to protect his younger charge. Finding his words, he continued on, praying that he might be able to at least temper Jarod from Raines’ wrath.

“Mr. Raines, I was just trying to explain to Jarod the benefit his work could do for our clients. Perhaps if you would aid me in allaying his fear about possible exploitation of this project, we could proceed with the simulation as planned.”

Raines chuckled as four sweepers entered the room, closing in on Jarod.

“Jarod will be returned to you in a week. Until then, I suggest you find other methods of keeping your projects under control. The Tower is not happy with the lack of progress Sydney.” Raines warned, watching in satisfaction as Jarod’s arms were grabbed by the sweepers.

“Sydney?” Jarod pleaded, his eyes wide open in fear, “Help me, please.”

Sydney could only silently shake his head, as the pretender was escorted out of the SIM lab, grateful that Jarod did not put up much resistance. He had tried to prevent this from happening, but he knew that in Jarod’s eyes whatever would happen to the pretender in the next week, would be Sydney’s fault.

Minutes later Sydney had been called to the Tower, and had spent a few hours convincing Mr. Parker that he was still fit to be Jarod’s mentor. He had pleaded to be allowed to go to the pretender, only to be denied. Jarod had remained with Raines for that week, on the belief that he would never again refuse his work once he became aware of the painful consequences of defiance.

When the young man had been returned to the SIM lab after his seven day absence, Sydney would never forget the change in Jarod. The pretender had tried to cover his limp, hide the cigarette burns on his body, never mind the bruises. Sydney had questioned him only once about what had happened, only to be silenced by the haunted look in Jarod’s eyes. The pretender had been so withdrawn, unwilling to engage in conversation, it was as if he was lost. That day, Sydney had realized the ramifications of all the mental tools he had taught Jarod over the years to cope with the psychological stress he encountered as a pretender, the exercises to clear his mind before simulations. Jarod had used these skills in order to survive Raines’ torture, forcing his mind inwards to separate himself from the pain. It had taken weeks for Sydney to pry Jarod out of the sanctuary he had created for himself.

It was not unlike how Jarod had responded to Lyle’s treatment, when he had been returned to the Centre last time, after Miss Parker had been shot. When Angelo had led Sydney to where Jarod was held, it had taken only one look into Jarod’s eyes to realize the pretender had applied the same technique he used to survive Raines’ mistreatment. On the outside, he had appeared broken, and defeated, but in reality Jarod had simply retreated into his mind, his soul carefully buried under the many layers that was his genius, his gift, his curse. Sydney had been greatly concerned, until Jarod had magically slipped him the sedatives that he had somehow managed not to swallow. In that moment Sydney had realized Jarod was still there, not lost.

This time the situation was gravely different. Three weeks under Lyle’s taunting hand would be much different than anything the Africans would likely dream up for Jarod. How long could that precious mind be suppressed before it was lost for good, shattered by its unrelenting mistreatment?

It was that question that concerned Sydney the most.

TRIUMVIRATE STATION –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Lysander groaned as she slowly slipped out of her dreamland. The first few moments of consciousness were such bliss. She could make-believe anything; that she was at home with her mother, still the carefree sixteen year old. She would relish in the warmth and comfort she felt, until she opened her eyes, her ever present headache ripping into her psyche, reality reminding her that she was neither happy nor safe.

The cell Lys was being kept in was small, so tiny that she could barely stretch out, let alone spread eagle. It was also completely barren. She was dependant on them for everything, food, water, bathroom breaks, even her hygiene. Everything was bland, even her uniform was blah, describable as a colour that best resembled vomit. She could almost picture her teen-aged self-consciousness in the mirror, knowing her pale complexion did her no favours. How she would give anything to be able to obsess over such trivial matters as her appearance once again.

Lys didn’t know exactly what she had expected to experience, when she had arrived here, but her worst fears had yet to come to fruition. She had envisioned evil Zulu contraptions, torture, drug binges, but no one had yet to lay a hand on her, save the first time she had woken up in here. They had dragged her, hooded and shackled to some fun little corner in their maze. She had been strapped, face down, bending over a table, until some red hot poker stick had been painfully pressed onto the top left of her back.

It had taken a few days, but eventually the skin had healed enough to allow her to tenderly trace her fingers over the shape that had been permanently burned into her skin. It was a constant reminder that in their eyes, she was no better than livestock. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, as her fingers had found the pattern, the three interconnected triangles seared onto her flesh. It was the mark of the triumvirate that would stay with her until death. Even if by some grace of god, she managed to escape from here, the marks of her time in Africa would always be with her, a constant reminder. Despite her hopeless situation, Lysander had to smile at the thought of trying to explain the brand on her back to her old high school crush. Lys often spent many hours trying to recall her most missed luxuries of freedom. If she had been asked to trade anything for one moment of bliss, she would ask for a hug. Nothing was more comforting than the sensation of being surrounded by warm, loving arms. In here, the only time she was touched brought about pain and restriction.

Lys had made only one snide remark about her accommodations to the man who was her new handler, only to be informed that as long as she behaved like an animal, she would be treated as such; the reference obviously correlating with her desire to flee.

They were trying to dehumanise her, remind Lys that her position on the totem pole was hugging the ground. Lysander was never referred to by name, never spoken to unless absolutely necessary. The man who led her through the predictions had not told her his own name. The guards pulled and shoved her along, never making eye contact, let alone instigating conversation. She was desperately craving human interaction but was far from her breaking point. Although Lysander’s back screamed for the creature comfort of even a pitiful old lumpy cot, the dignity of being able to relive her screaming bladder when she needed to, or a tap to quench her ever present thirst, it didn’t matter. The hours were long, and empty. She would do almost anything to relieve herself from the boredom.

She had performed three stock market predictions to date, as a follow up to the demise of Corporation Zero. The underground corporation that had stolen her was days away from ruin. The Triumvirate was now focusing their efforts on the main financial supporters of the company. Lysander wasn’t sure if it was actually to ensure there would be no retaliation, or just the underlying theme of power that existed in their ranks. It was a message to those who would dare to dream to take on the Triumvirate and its twisted holdings. Mess with them, and you’ll lose everything.

Lysander wasn’t naïve any more. She had made one escape too many, enough that the powers that be in Africa had called in her number. She was here for one reason and one reason only, to have her spirit broken. She would stay here indefinitely, only hoping to return to New Zealand, when they’re certain she wouldn’t have the will to try and leave again. In all likelihood they would just leave her here to rot, stewing in the madness she had no doubt they would create for her. They would torture her eventually; the question was whether it would be emotional or physical? She could sense that something big was brewing. Lys could almost imagine the powers that controlled her life plotting her destruction behind closed doors, dreaming up the itemized list that would cause her to fall to her knees. She could only hope her madness wouldn’t leave her the bitter murderous being that Alex had become.

Lys knew that the despair she had felt at the Centre was slowly returning. She had been so close to ending her life on her terms. On some twisted level she was grateful at Jarod’s selfishness in refusing to allow her suicide attempt to be a successful one. However, when Lysander returned to reality from the comforts of dreamland, she could feel nothing but anger towards Jarod. The pretender had bought her nothing but a few extra weeks, maybe months of misery and pain. Lysander truly believed, that when the Africans found the key to unlocking her soul, that she would be dead, at least on the inside. There was no way she would submit to their will without losing herself in the process, unless by some miracle she could act her way through their dance. Jarod had fought hard for her life, and Lys drew comfort from the fact that the pretender was nearby, experiencing the same anguish she was. She could draw strength from him, knowing for once in her life she wasn’t totally alone. However Lys knew she was fragile, and her lifeline was much shorter than the battle she was embarking on would call for. Pills or insanity, either way she was on death’s door. Jarod had taken away option A, and now she would die by their terms - not hers, unless by some miracle she could escape the hopeless situation she was in.

She couldn’t help but wonder what was happening to the pretender. She had such mixed feelings about Jarod. Every minute of existence in this pitiful African prison was due to him. Every bruise, every humiliating taunt by her keepers, the brand of the triumvirate she would carry to her grave. But there was still some small part of her that was hoping for a different outcome, one that would make all of this pain and suffering worthwhile.

But for all of her hoping, Lys could see no way out of this hole she had been pushed into. She was freefalling without a parachute. Whatever they had planned for her, she could only hope that she would find peace from insanity before she crashed into the ground. She didn’t want to be aware, when they turned her into a monster. She could only take comfort in the fact that she would fight them until she was destroyed. She would give it her all, and only hope that it would score her points, when she finally met her maker.

God.

If only she had the luxury in believing in his existence. She had long given up on the concept of a higher being. How could she believe, in a world where she had been ripped from her home, and held captive for two decades with the worst kind of monsters imaginable?

But for this journey she would pretend. It was a nice thought to think that when her soul was finally shattered, that she would finally be able to find peace.

SYDNEY’S RESIDENCE – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE , Present Time

Sydney was once again lost in the thralls of his memories. As a young boy, Jarod had held on so dearly to the hope that one day he would once again be reunited with his parents. The pretender had been so devastated to learn of their apparent crash. The day they had ‘died’, had been the day that Jarod’s innocence had slowly begun to slip away. Little by little, the pretender found the will to defy a little more, to question, and to resist. The light at the end of the tunnel had been cruelly blackened out, and Jarod had been forced to finally accept the fact that he would likely remain at the Centre indefinitely. He had never given up hope of being granted his freedom, but Sydney suspected that deep-down Jarod knew it would never be that simple.

Sydney had to remind himself that there had once been another shining light in Jarod’s life; Miss Parker. The moment the young girl had entered the lonely pretender’s life. Jarod had become consumed with the beautiful girl, likely the one positive thing in the boy’s troubled life. As soon as the young woman had come of age, Mr. Parker had sent her to Europe to complete her secondary education. Jarod had asked about her once, and Sydney had given the pretender the reply his superiors had ordered.

“She’s gone away Jarod. She’s growing up. You won’t see her again. Best just to forget. You will not speak of Miss Parker again, am I clear?”

With that, Jarod had lost the one person who treated him as an equal. The girl who allowed him to forget about being property of the Centre, even if just for a few short minutes a day. Sydney sighed as the guilt he carried regarding his role in destroying Parker’s and Jarod’s friendship surfaced. At the time, he had been just following orders, but as the hunt for Jarod had played out over the past six years, he realized just how deep their bond had been, and that it wasn’t just Jarod who had benefited. Jarod’s humanity had rubbed off on Parker, kept her deceased mother close to the girl’s heart, but most importantly her gentle, loving side. The pretender’s gentle demeanour kept Miss Parker grounded. The instant Jarod had been removed from young Miss Parker’s life, her father had been free to fully manipulate the woman, resulting in the hardened Ice Queen facade that had joined the Jarod pursuit six years ago. Sydney wasn’t quite sure where she stood now. Miss Parker had exhibited such kindness, but also such coldness towards Jarod in the past weeks. Sydney wasn’t even sure if Parker knew where she stood anymore in regards to Jarod.

Sydney truly believed Miss Parker was at a crossroad, stuck somewhere in the middle, a dangerous place to be at the Centre. The younger woman was forced to be so strong and callous by the nature of her work. However at the same time she had become increasingly aware, mostly due to Jarod’s interference, of the evil work that was supported in the many sublevels of the complex; projects that her mother would never have allowed to have continued. He had invested much energy trying to lend support to Parker over the past six years, whether it was wanted or not.

It was now time to shift his focus back to the horrid reality of Jarod’s current situation. The pretender needed him now more than ever. It frustrated Sydney to no end that here he was, with his eyes wide open, only to now be an entire ocean away from his beloved protégé.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, the psychiatrist slowly rose to his feet. He had wasted enough time reliving the past. There was only one person he could possibly trust to help him get Jarod back. She obviously had the skills required. He could only hope she would find the inner strength and compassion necessary to make this journey with him. Miss Parker had suffered so much, almost as much as Jarod had, and he hated himself for even considering asking her to join him on this plight. Yet, Jarod had done so much for them, and Sydney knew that Jarod still had a chance, that his life was still worth fighting for, no matter what sacrifices he needed to make personally.

Grabbing the keys to his Buick, Sydney purposefully opened his door, jumping back in shock as his eyes focused on a small, dark figure waiting on his porch, lit cigarette sending tendrils of smoke into a grey sky. She wasn’t facing him, but the psychiatrist didn’t fail to notice that her back tensed, as his presence was felt.

“Miss Parker.” He exclaimed, trying to suppress the surprise in his voice. “What can I do for you?”

“I …” The young woman started, struggling to find the words as she turned to face him.

Smiling knowingly, Sydney led the younger woman into his house, graciously pulling her leather coat from her slender frame, giving her the time and space she needed to settle in. Parker was always so tough, she needed time to allow her softer side to shine through. Sydney could wait, he relished moments like this, when Parker was much closer to Catherine than the façade Mr. Parker and the Centre had forced her to create in order to survive in their environment.

“I’ve never heard such desperation in his voice Sydney.” Miss Parker finally admitted forlornly. “I can’t get his pleading out of my head. He was so scared, so alone, and I just allowed them to sedate him without a word.” She continued, her voice wavering slightly.

“Parker…” Sydney began patiently, not wanting to imagine the fear Jarod would have experienced as he had felt the needle prick, knowing he would regain consciousness in the one place on earth that could claim to have more demons than the Centre.

“No Sydney. I’m not here to play what would Freud think. Jarod’s been a real pain in the ass the last six years, his games, his whining, his bad childhood theatrics. But at the end of the day, as hard as it is to admit, he’s the only one around here who has never lied to me. I just let the Africans take him like a flock of hungry vultures. I did nothing to fight for him. You know if the situation was reversed, he would have done whatever it took. He always does.”

“What could you have done Parker? We were just as powerless as he was to stop the transfer. ” Sydney argued.

Miss Parker snorted. “Please Sydney. I don’t see anyone dragging your shackled ass across the Atlantic.”

“There is nothing more we could have done Miss Parker at the time. You have to realize that. Anything we might have tried would have been a death sentence for any one of us.”

“Like what you did for the Major?” Parker asked knowingly.

Sydney shrugged slightly. “It was the only direction I could pursue without my hands being tied Miss Parker. I’m only sorry that it didn’t work out for the best, as I suspect so are you?”

The young woman smiled bitterly. “Daddy – or whoever he was, once told me that it was time for his treasure to shine. He taught me well Syd. I’m the epitome of Corporate.”

“You are in everyway Miss Parker, except for the most important one.” Syd countered. “You still care.”

Parker sighed heavily. “My mother’s legacy, or is it curse? Feelings get you killed around here, whether murder or self-inflicted suicide. My life would be a hell of a lot easier without them.”

Sydney stood back as Miss Parker began pacing in his front entranceway, ignoring her bitter remarks. It was Parker’s way of dealing with pain, he had long ago given up trying to rid her of that habit. “Jarod’s given me every important discovery in my life for the past six years, anything positive in my life is because of him. Pain in the ass or not, I owe him.” She continued. “Bringing home his genius ass is the only way I can repay him.”

Sydney nodded in agreement, watching as Parker sighed heavily, bringing strength to her posture, before bringing her eyes to meet Sydney’s gaze.

“Let’s get him back Sydney. Whatever it takes.”

Chapter 3 – My Brother

LA PLAYA DE CIELO RESORT - MAZATLAN, MEXICO

Jay shot Emily a worried glance, as the two siblings became aware of the Major’s cries from the nearby bedroom.

The Major’s nightmares had been constant since he had failed to free Jarod from the Centre’s clutches. Jay shuddered as his thoughts turned to his brother. He didn’t know much about the Africans, but the further he plunged into the Centre mainframe, the more alarmed he was becoming. Raines had kept him purposely sheltered from the true political nature of the Centre and the Triumvirate. Jay, as Gemini, had been brainwashed to be compliant, thus there was no need to threaten him with transfer to Africa, or infiltrate the boy’s nightmares with hellish tales of what the Africans were capable of doing.

The Major had given very few details about what had happened the day Jarod was carted across the Atlantic. He had managed only to say that there had been a tracking device on the transport vehicle, and fortunately Miss Parker had shown up just ahead of the sweeper teams, allowing the Major to escape.

Jay felt immeasurable guilt at this, he had overlooked something. He’d failed to provide a contingency plan. What had he been thinking? He should have anticipated the Centre’s paranoia, known that they would have gone to any length to keep their grimy grip on Jarod. It was his failure, and Jarod’s fate was on his head. He had been trained his entire childhood to consider every possibility, and in overlooking one simple variable, he had cost his older brother his freedom. The more he watched his father suffer, the deeper the guilt became encrusted in his soul. Carrying the undeserved load of guilt, Jay was more like his brother he realized, as his spoken mantra became, ‘it’s all my fault.’

With Jarod out of the way, the Centre pursuit efforts were now focused on returning Gemini back to the Centre, and silencing the remaining three members of Jarod’s family. Mr. Broots had forwarded a memo to Jay that had been sent only hours after Jarod’s plane had left for Africa. Mr. Lyle was in charge of the pursuit. The family had decided to leave the US and lay low, while they regrouped and plotted a way to free Jarod. Emily had suggested the west coast of Mexico. They could easily blend in amongst the mass of tourists, and enjoy the warmth and sunshine while those north of the equator suffered through the remains of winter. They were living the highlife, penthouse suite at a top resort in the Mexican city of Mazatlan. Although Emily forced them to get out and try to enjoy the sunshine on regular intervals, the condo showed the truth behind their intentions. Expensive electronic equipment, piles of printouts, all with the purpose of finding out every possible detail about the Triumvirate, and where Jarod was being held.

“Hey.” Emily’s soft voice cut into Jay’s thoughts, as her natural empathetic talents surfaced in times of need. “We’ve been through this. Don’t. It’s not your fault.”

Jay looked up and offered his sister a sad smile but continued to pace. She had been his saving grace as he had struggled to define exactly what his role was in this life and in particular with this family. He and the Major had tiptoed around the topic for the year that the two had been living underground. The older man had easily slid into the role of a father, but the two had never dared to use the proper pronouns that described the bond that developed between them for fear of rejection. Deep down, Jay knew he was loved, almost unconditionally, but there were always those hairs that stood up on his neck, reminding him that in a normal world he would not exist, that he owed every breath to a technology unwillingly created by his ‘brother’ that had been exploited by the worst of players. He knew the Major and Jarod cared deeply for him, but at the end of the day he was nothing but a replica of the man, a second-hand replacement, a reminder of the abuse the Centre had inflicted on all of them. He had felt tremendous guilt as he was living the life that had long ago been denied to Jarod, and he sometimes wondered if the Major was using him only as a replacement in attempt to gain back some of what was taken the day Jarod had been stolen.

It was Emily that had finally freed him from the emotional stigma of being a clone. It hadn’t been through some deep-hearted conversation done by firelight, or some intense psychological babble. No, she had just one day turned to him, a big smile lighting up her features and called him her little brother. At first this had stopped him straight in his tracks, but slowly over time, with endless resolve, Emily had convinced Jay that she meant it. Before long she had added ‘our father’ into to her repertoire. His older sister had made a point of using these titles in front of the Major, and especially in front of Jarod. It hadn’t taken long before the titles easily rolled off each of their tongues. It wasn’t therapy Freud would have developed, but in assigning Jay a title, she had given him the gift of being able to close the door on his past role as a lab experiment. He would always be Jarod’s clone, and would never be able to completely forget his painful upbringing. His nightmares would never completely be erased, but slowly, step by step, they were being replaced by new memories and real dreams, the kind that left you smiling and relaxed in the morning. Emily had found him a place in this world, an identity where his role were redefined. He was something else other than a pretender. He was Jay. A brother, a son, and he was loved. He had a dad, a sister, an older brother, and a mother he had could only hope to one day meet. These facts were enough for a positive beginning to release him from the residual psychological baggage left over from fifteen years at the Centre.

“Little brother, let me in.” Emily’s voice once again pulled Jay out of his thoughts, making him realize he had once again drifted off.

“I’m sorry Em. It’s his nightmares. The more we are learning about the Triumvirate, the worse they seem to be getting.” Jay responded honestly.

Emily ran a frustrated hand through her long auburn hair. “I honestly thought that being here, in the warmth, by the ocean, would help him. But he’s getting more distant every day. I don’t know what else to do Jay.” She whispered in defeat.

The young pretender walked over to his sister, giving her a comforting squeeze. “I managed to hack into their level one system in the Congo. I’m downloading a satellite map of their location as we speak. As soon as we have it, we can start plotting our rescue plan. I’m sure that will help Dad. Once we have something concrete, his despondency should start to lift.” Jay shifted his eyes as he unwillingly allowed his mind to return to the pain of his childhood. “Nothing is worse than the absence of hope. As soon as Dad is working actively on a plan to free Jarod, I know sure he’ll get better.”

Emily squeezed his hand. “I hope so bro. How much longer for the download?”

Jay sighed, signalling his impatience. “I’m rerouting the information through several hundred data banks. I don’t want them to catch on to where the information is being headed if they notice the security breach. Several hours at least.”

Emily nodded. “More than enough time to watch the Rock! I’ll go track it down at the front desk. You head down and talk the bar out of parting with some of their ice cream. Deal?”

“The Rock?” Jay asked curiously.

Emily’s smile was contagious. “Escape from Alcatraz. It’s that high security prison on its own island on the San Francisco bay in California. Maybe we’ll pick up a few pointers. But honestly I just think Sean Connery is sexy. When you hear his accent, you’ll understand.”

“What’s in it for me?” Jay asked playfully as he enthusiastically followed his sister towards the elevator. He lingered for a moment at the Major’s closed door. He could hear the older man tossing and turning, still a victim of his nightmares. He could pretend for a few moments that everything was okay, but despite Emily’s contagious spirit, Jay knew his family was in grave danger. The Centre was after them in full force, Jarod was in the hands of what had to be the most dangerous and ruthless inhumane people on the planet, and everyday his brother was trapped in Africa, was another day the Major slipped further away. Jay knew all to well from his studies in psychology that all this time his Dad spent sleeping was due to the worsening depression that had settled around him. Despite what he’d said to Emily, the more withdrawn their father became, the more concerned Jay felt that they needed to keep a 24/7 watch on him just to keep him safe from himself. All too often people could become self-destructive, without consciously even meaning to do so.

Things were about as far from okay as they could be. Jay was aware of the fire that was burning within, he imagined it to be similar to the flame that lit Jarod’s desire to help people. He was beginning to realize it was about time that he take control and seize destiny into his own hands. Jarod had done the same the day he had summoned the courage to leave the Centre. It was Jay’s turn to make a difference.

He had been created with a gift, a curse, and it was about time he put his talents to a use of his own choosing. They had used his mind for most of his life, now it was time to use it against his makers.

THE COVE STEAKHOUSE & GRILL – BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

“You’re late.” Miss Parker stated icily as Broots slid into the booth that she and Sydney currently occupied. They were well into their second round, having impatiently been awaiting the arrival of the third member of their squad.

“I’m sorry Miss Parker, but Debbie called just as I was leaving. I didn’t have the heart to tell her to call back later. She’s barely calls as it is.” Broots offered lamely.

“How is she enjoying Paris, Broots?” Sydney questioned, knowing Debbie was about seven weeks into a semester exchange in Paris. Broots’ daughter was quickly growing up, and was now in her second year of high school.

Miss Parker watched from a distance as Broots and Sydney casually conversed about Debbie’s well being. The girl’s safety had been one of Parker’s main concerns as the Corporation Zero threat had presented itself. Fortunately the girl was far away from any potential danger, giving Parker both peace of mind and guilt-free reign to put her dad’s computer skills to work, around the clock.

With another sip of scotch, Miss Parker couldn’t help to notice the feelings of admiration and respect for the two men that sat before her. Six years ago, Jarod’s escape had caused their worlds to collide together. None of them would have anticipated that they would be sitting here together, all of these years later, admitted friends. Jarod had brought them together, whether intentionally or not he had a hand in every significant event in Parker’s life since the pursuit had begun. For the first time in years her life was admittedly Jarod free, and the former huntress was beginning to realize how large a void he had left behind.

“The wonderful thing about life Miss Parker, is if you change the story, the ending is up to you.”

Every hero needs a catch phrase. The pretender had developed an increasingly annoying habit of speaking in metaphors, especially in matters concerning Parker. She supposed being raised by a shrink was at least partially to blame, nothing could be literal. She would never forget the look in Jarod’s eyes that day in Scotland, after he had uttered those famous last words. She had never seen such disappointment, misery, or hardness on her former friend's features until she had rejected him. Jarod had taken such a risk, reaching over to her despite the handcuffs on his wrists. She’d put on her ice queen persona and jerked her hands away, reacting with only coldness.

Parker and Jarod had done nothing but bicker while the Centre was holed up at the Aquastar complex, exploiting Jarod’s genius and abusing him to save their asses from Corporation Zero. Both had been forced into roles that neither was completely comfortable, not unlike their past lives. He was the slave and she the abusive master. Parker thrived on being the one in control, but she was still troubled by the depths to which she had sunk to exploit Jarod’s mind in order to survive. She had teamed up willingly with Lyle, plotted against Jarod with the Triumvirate, and forced Jarod to exist under more restraint, more security, than even the most despicable criminal deserved. It had been a necessity, but she traded the well-being of those who sat before her for Jarod. Parker couldn’t help but wonder if there had been another way to handle the situation, but it was much too late for wishful thinking. Jarod was gone but far from forgotten. She couldn’t deny the starring role she had played in ensuring his capture and subsequent delivery to the Africans.

Call it a cliché, but it was time to change the story. Jarod would not be living life on the safari indefinitely if she had anything to say about. She had no fantasies about herself and Jarod running off into the sunset together, but she would do whatever needed to be done to get him back in North America. When Jarod was once again at the Centre, the pretender would be on his own. He would sink or swim on his own abilities, and Parker would finally embrace the destiny her mother had dreamed for her, she would leave the Centre – for good. Blue Cove was their level playing field, and she was confident Jarod could handle the situation on his own, once brought back here. Assuming of course, Jarod was Jarod anymore, and that he would even have the will to try and leave.

With another sip, Parker put her glass down with a little more force than was necessary. She was rewarded as Sydney and Broots snapped out of their friendly conversation, focusing intently on her.

“Let’s make this short.” Parker started, looking deeply into Broots eyes, trying to determine if the tech had what it was going to take to get through this. “I didn’t chase boy wonder around the country for six years just to watch him be shipped across the Atlantic like yesterday’s news. We are going to get him back, whatever it takes. Jarod belongs at the Centre, not brown nosing some wannabe Zulu.”

The two men remained silent, but attentive. As she spoke so bluntly of Jarod, Parker did not fail to notice as Sydney’s face tightened briefly.

“They way I see it, there are two obstacles that stand between me and Africa.”

“Lyle and Raines.” Sydney offered knowingly.

Parker nodded, an evil smile on her face. “Genetics aside, it’s time for Dr. Wheezy to go. He murdered my Mother in cold blood. He whisked Lyle off to be turned into Mr. Rogers meets Hannibal Lecter. Ethan, Kyle, everything that man has touched has resulted in disaster.”

“What are you planning on doing Parker?” Sydney asked with concern, his mind obviously concluding that she was planning to kill Raines. She couldn’t blame the shrink for jumping to that conclusion, she’d been blowing smoke in that regards for years.

“Relax Freud, I’m not going to jump on the assassin Ferris wheel quite yet. What I have in mind is best described as puppetry.” Parker replied gently, turning to the cowering technician. Broots had worked with her long enough to know when she was about to make his life a lot more difficult. Parker had a habit of sending him into suicidal missions, but never without reason. He wasn’t sure if he was stupidly loyal, or loyally stupid. Probably both.

“Broots, I want you find out everything you can about Raines and Lyle. If they buy a new toothbrush, I want to know how many bristles and what kind of toothpaste. Nothing is unimportant. Meetings, schedules, properties, stocks, bonds, associates, I want to know all about it. And put a tail on Willie. That sweeper has changed loyalties more times than Jarod can count. If one of them is plotting something, then he’s got to be pushing papers for one of them.”

“I don’t understand Miss Parker?” Broots replied meekly, the magnitude of the task Parker had assigned him starting to sink in.

Parker ignored Sydney’s concerned gaze as she continued on. “It’s simple. I don’t know exactly what goes on in the demented brains of the members of my family tree, but one thing is for certain, they will stop at nothing to achieve power. Raines may be in charge, but you can bet your next week’s pay that he isn’t taking Lyle’s loyalty for granted, and vice-versa. One, if not the two of them, have some sort of plan to off the other. Our job is simply to figure out who is planning to do what to whom at the next company picnic.”

Parker turned to Sydney, seeing the psychiatrist was still not in agreement with her.

“What is it Syd?” She sighed impatiently.

“Then what will you do Miss Parker? This is a dangerous game you are proposing we play. Raines and Lyle have secrets, have connections to the Triumvirate that we cannot begin to fathom. If either one of them gets suspicious, we’re gone, and so is our last chance at helping Jarod.”

“Do you have a better plan Syd?” She replied snidely. “When we find what I’m pretty damn sure we are going to find, I’m just going to accidentally allow the right information to fall into the wrong hands. Raines and Lyle will take care of each other, and whoever is left, will be the one we need to worry about.”

“How Miss Parker?” Broots stammered. He had heard a lot of crazy things, but this was nuts. They might as well be engaging in a game of Russian roulette.

Miss Parker rubbed her face tiredly. “Does it matter? I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be.”

“There has to be another way.” Sydney insisted.

“I’ve tried Syd. I’ve looked at it from every angle, every possibility. The path to and from Africa is connected to the Centre, only by Lyle and Raines. They are two loose cannons, we need one of them out of the way, leaving us to pull the necessary strings we need to bring Jarod home. What else can we do?”

Sydney reached over, blocking Parker as she attempted to refill her glass. “I know you are trying Parker, but this way is simply too dangerous and it will take too long. We don’t even know what state Jarod’s in by now. I know you want to bring Jarod home as much as I do, but not like this. This will mean nothing if you get hurt in the process. You are playing with fire.”

Parker shrugged his arm away. “It has to be this way Sydney. You can either go back home and continue your pathetic little journey down memory lane, or stand up and fight with Broots and I.”

The shrink sighed, covering his face with his hands tiredly.

Parker looked over him knowingly at him. “Just say it Sydney.”

“Say what Miss Parker?” He grumbled.

“The only one who could think a way out of this mess is Jarod. You miss your beloved prodigal son.”

The psychiatrist huffed slightly, but made no attempt to respond to Parker’s remark.

“Too bad Gemini has flown the coop. I wonder where Major Charles has our little Jarod Jr. stashed away.” She questioned, almost wistfully, the younger pretender would have added a much more threatening and convincing element to the game.

Broots and Sydney exchanged a knowing look. The tech hesitantly cleared his throat. “I, uh, I may be able to help with that.”

TRIUMVIRATE STATION –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod winced as he rolled over, trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position amongst the cuts and bruises that dominated his slender frame. He closed his eyes, reminding his ailing muscles what it might feel like to be lying on a soft mattress right now. He could almost make believe – almost; the plush material under his back, the comfort of a soft pillow supporting his head, the hum of an air conditioner that would bring relief from the oppressive heat.

With a slight groan, Jarod returned to reality, swallowing painfully against his dry throat. He ran his tongue over his chapped and split lips, knowing it was a futile effort. He was being given water and some bland tasting gruel once a day, just enough to keep his organs functioning, but far below what his body required to stay properly nourished. His thirst was constant, along with the dull headache and light-headedness that indicated just how dehydrated he was. There was no relief from the discomfort.

Jarod couldn’t ignore the fatigue in his body, the endless mistreatment taking its toll physically and mentally. He was increasingly concerned at the effort he needed to pull himself out of the space he created in his mind to disconnect from their torture. He had lost himself once before, the first time he had outright refused a simulation which had bought him one week of quality one on one with Raines. It had taken weeks before Sydney had been able to pull Jarod out of mental hiding. He had never made that mistake again, and every time Jarod was returned to this cell he forced himself to return to reality, despite the pain and discomfort that existed. Sydney wasn’t here to save him, not this time. He had to make sure that he maintained the ability to pull himself back to reality at will, that it was still within his control.

Jarod allowed a small moan to escape as he became aware of a presence outside his cell. With whatever strength he could gather, he pushed himself off the floor, and into a seated position.

He couldn’t help but wonder how much longer he would be atoning for Lyle and Raines’ sins. Eventually they would tire of this dance, and he would go back to being the defiant pretender, refusing their simulations. He wasn’t here so they could avenge the murder of Adama and his men on the way back from Scotland. They wanted one thing, and one thing only – the profit from his simulations. Money paid in exchange for innocent lives.

Jarod didn’t bother looking up as the guards entered his cell, nor did he fight as they dropped a black hood over his head, before pulling him painfully to a standing position. It had been the same routine, which was quickly becoming mundane. No words were exchanged, they didn’t even bother to give simple commands or terse threats, as the Centre sweepers seem to thrive on. Not one word had been said to him since he had arrived.

Jarod winced as the handcuffs were placed on his wrists before he was propelled forward. The last four times they had come for him, he had lacked the physical stamina to keep up with their walk, and now he was basically dragged along. Jarod had no concept of time, no idea how much time had passed since he had been here, but despite the hood he had been escorted along this route to his little torture chamber enough times to have it memorized, if only mentally, beginning with a left turn twenty paces away from his cell.

But today they didn’t turn left.

In that instant Jarod realized with trepidation that his penance in the eyes of the Africans was now officially over. He was back to being their rebellious pretender, and today they would begin the war for control of his mind.

TRIUMVIRATE AIR STRIP –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik shook himself awake, as he became aware the airplane was no longer in motion. He glanced over at the guard to his right, whose gesture implied he was to remain seated. The young pretender tapped his hand on the seat nervously. He had never predicted that he would end up here, shipped over to Africa, a punishment usually reserved for the disobedient. But no, Henrik’s skills had been requested for a special project, for which he knew nothing about. All that the young man knew is that his world had been turned upside down the second he had arrived at the Aquastar complex in the United States. Here he was now in Africa, a voiceless pawn in whatever project they would make him complete. He didn’t have to be a pretender to suspect this had something to do with Jarod yet again. Henrik had really hoped he was done with the older pretender once and for all. However, it was not mean to be, and here he was in Africa, the last place on earth he wanted to be.

Henrik sighed heavily as his thoughts turned to Jarod. At Aquastar, he had been forced to ‘keep the older pretender honest’ so to speak; he knew the name for someone who did that job: snitch. Henrik was terribly confused at the turmoil he felt within, torn between being the good little project who faithfully served his masters, and a traitor betraying a man who was a prisoner just as he was. Change the continent; add a few years and the keepers around him, how different was he from Jarod really?

Henrik was far from a gifted pretender. He had heard Dr. Klaus refer to him as mediocre at best. However, in his defence, his abilities also closely overlapped with that of an empath. This combined with his high intellect gave him the unique capability to be able to see through the most guarded of minds such as Jarod’s.

Jarod had been so angry, so defiant, and Henrik knew the pretender was now likely here at the Triumvirate headquarters. He had never seen Dr. Klaus as delighted as the day that he had informed Henrik that they had successfully retrieved all missing subjects from Corporation Zero, and that Jarod, despite a desperate attempt to escape with one of them, had been returned to custody. Henrik acted like he didn’t know what they wanted him to do in Africa, but he knew it likely had to do with Jarod. Was he here again, to act as the unseen hand that would verify that Jarod wasn’t being deceiving? Or did they have something grander in mind? His life had spiralled into disarray the second Jarod had been brought into it. He felt nothing but anger and resentment towards the disobedient pretender. Henrik had been just fine until Jarod had come along. Here he was sitting on some dusty airfield in Africa, far away from everything familiar and comforting.

Henrik really didn’t care about what they wanted him to do. He just wanted to get his job done, and return to the comfort of the complex in Hamburg. He had been born there, raised there; it was all he knew.

If only it was that simple. Henrik was terrified that if he did his job too well, that his destiny would be rewritten, landing him here permanently. Nothing scared him more than the thought of being a Triumvirate project. A lifetime of this; he couldn’t imagine anything more terrifying.

LA PLAYA DE CIELO RESORT - MAZATLAN, MEXICO

“Dad!” Jay announced excitedly. “I’ve finally got the satellite images!”

Jay gave Emily an eager smile as she got up from the table across from him. She stood to his left, as the Major moved across the room. The two siblings didn’t fail to notice the newfound energy that appeared in the Major’s steps, something that had been lacking in the last week. This was their first real breakthrough in what would hopefully form their eventual escape plan to rescue Jarod. Hope was something that had been greatly lacking amongst them, until now.

Jay felt a swelling of pride, as his dad squeezed his shoulder. “Nice work son, let’s open them up.”

Expertly manipulating the keyboard, Jay called up the first of the images. “My god.” Major Charles whispered, sinking into the seat beside Jay. “It’s massive.”

Jay instantly stopped his typing. He was stunned by the acres of land the Triumvirate complex took up. Massive was an understatement. Zooming out, he was disheartened to find absolutely nothing existed within miles of the complex. It was surrounded by nothing but arid land, with minimal vegetation. A few villages existed on the outskirts, likely only there to provide housing for Triumvirate employees. How would they ever be able to penetrate let alone approach the complex without detection?

“There must be over fifty buildings.” Emily whispered. “But how?”

“Corruption.” The Major informed his daughter. “The Centre is at least bound by the unofficial requirements of trying to blend into American Society. The government would never support the true nature of its existence, at least officially, although we all know the real truth. It doesn’t work that way in Africa. If the right people wave the green, anything is possible. Corruption rules the roost. They don’t have to hide their dirty work underground, so why should they?”

Emily looked between Jay and her father. “That should make it easier to get to Jarod, no? Once we find out what building he is in?”

Jay and the Major shared a desperate look, as the realization of the actuality of the situation slowly came into focus.

“We can’t get to Jarod, Emily.” Major Charles stated. Jay had never heard such desolation in his father’s tone.

“I don’t understand? There are a lot of buildings, but -”

“It’s not what’s inside the fence that is the problem Em.” Jay started. “It’s what’s on the outside, or lack there of. It’s practically a desert! There will be some vegetation, but nothing that could give us any kind of cover. Just a few small villages exist around the perimeter. There is nowhere to hide, nowhere for us to blend in. The villages likely exist just to provide housing to those who work inside their fences, any newcomers would be much too obvious.”

The major knocked his chair over in frustration. “Damn it! I promised him we would come for him. How can I leave Jarod behind, after all of this? I’ve failed my family, and once again I can nothing but sit on the sidelines and wait.” The Major growled, his voice projecting nothing but anger and defeat.

Jay slowly stood up from his laptop, and walked over to his father. “Dad, there is always a way. Nothing is impossible. I can find a way.”

The Major let out a sigh as Emily moved in beside Jay. He pulled his two children into his arms. “We will never give up for Jarod’s sake, but we will not be going to Africa. We will just have to wait patiently, and pray that he is returned to the Centre. Until then, we need to focus on being a family. It’s what Jarod would have wanted.”

“But Dad, I’ll think of something, I promise!” Jay protested, refusing to accept the reality of the situation. He had spent his entire childhood finding possibility in the impossible.

Releasing Jay and Emily, the Major stepped back, giving his younger son a small, sad smile. “You are just like your brother Jay, your determination is unimaginable. But please, look at those maps. There is simply nothing we can do. We couldn’t dream of doing anything without inside help, and while we may have a few unspoiled allies in the sublevels of the Centre, there is no one we can rely on in Africa.”

“But Dad…” Jay once again objected, stopping his pleas, as Emily placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. He turned and faced his sister, his chest tightening, as he saw the tears running down her face.

“One of the hardest things we have to learn in life Jay is when to accept our limitations. I want to believe as much as you do that there is a way to rescue Jarod, but this time, we are simply out of trump cards.”

“You are asking me to give up?” He whispered.

“No little brother, far from it.” Emily told the young pretender, pulling him into a full hug. “I’m asking you not to torture yourself by trying to find an answer where one may not exist. I know what you are feeling Jay, I used to lay awake at night when I was kid, pretending that Jarod and Kyle would magically reappear, so I could take Mom’s pain away, and help us find our way back to Dad. We have to be strong, it’s what Jarod would want.”

“You are talking about him as if he were dead - What Jarod would want for us. Well I can tell you what he wants, and that is to be here with us! I can’t give up, he saved me from them, and it’s my fault he’s not here with us right now. I should have known about the tracking devices!” Jay cried out desperately. “I have to do something to fix this. There has to be something we can do, you can’t ask me to give up. How can I? How can you?”

“We’re not giving up Jay, I promise you.” Emily stated sadly.

Major Charles interjected before Jay could continue his protest.

“No son. It was my fault. We were so close to getting away, your plan was flawless. I pulled the van into the small clearing off the service road. Jarod was in the back, but there was a row of bars separating us. I tried frantically to get the lock open, but I couldn’t, I kept fumbling it! Miss Parker showed up only minutes ahead of the sweepers. Jarod begged me to leave, and I did just that, I fled to save myself, once again failing my eldest son. Hell of a father I turned out to be.”

“Dad…” Emily started, as the Major dejectedly stood up.

“I can still see his face and the tracks of his tears. He was so scared, but trying so hard to be strong. But none of that matters now, I was given a second chance to rewrite history, and once again they have total control over my son because I fumbled the hand I was dealt. Only now it’s even worse with him in Africa. Who knows what they’ll do to him there.” Major Charles concluded bitterly, moving back towards his bedroom. Whatever hope they had all felt minutes before was gone.

Emily and Jay remained standing, arm in arm, as they watched their father retreat into his room. Emily gave her younger brother’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll go talk to him.” She whispered into his ear, before following in her father’s footsteps.

Watching her go, Jay frantically searched his brain. There had to be a way, he refused to give up on Jarod. Limits were not something he was accustomed too, not for someone who had been raised to believe he could become anything he wanted to be, do anything he set his mind to.

Mentally, Jay broke down the problem, attempting to analyse it from the most basic of levels as he had been taught many years ago. If they couldn’t go to Africa to rescue Jarod, then the only other option was to get Africa to bring Jarod to them. A rescue would be much easier to execute from Blue Cove.

Jay’s concentrated features broke into a small grin, as he began to grasp a potential solution to their problem.

He had made a great effort of learning everything he could about the Centre since gaining his freedom, a lesson he had learned from Jarod. Better the devil you know, than the devil you don’t; a tired cliché but one that should be taken to heart whilst dealing with the Centre. The older pretender had made a point of learning as much as he possibly could about his pursuit team, and had consequently overturned many buried secrets. It had allowed Jarod to better predict the path his pursuers would choose, and give him better accuracy in determining their timing, movements and reactions in certain situations. Jarod had told Jay that if he had not made these efforts, especially as they brought in the new players to his pursuit, that he would have been returned to the Centre years ago. It was advice Jay had taken very seriously, and he now could be considered quite the expert on Centre related business.

He was confident that he could simulate a series of manipulations that would cause the key players in Blue Cove to get Jarod back from the Africans.

With a quick glance at the Major’s closed door, Jay could hear the murmured voices. Emily was a godsend, and she was keeping their broken family together by the thinnest of threads. With a guilty revelation, Jay realized that he would have to do this alone. He needed to be close to the Centre in order to do this, and it was simply too dangerous, given the increased search efforts for their family to send anymore than one person to Blue Cove. If Jay were to do this, he would need inside help, in the form of Sydney and Mr. Broots.

His eyes still focused on his father’s closed door, Jay could already hear the argument that would occur if he were to present this idea to his father and his sister. His family would not allow him to go, it was that simple.

But in his heart, Jay knew he had to do this. Life was filled with difficult choices. After spending his entire childhood simulating reality, he had dealt with so few real consequences. He would have to hedge a bet that the bond that existed in his family was strong enough to allow him to do what he knew needed to be done. Jarod’s life depended on it, on him.

Another lesson he quickly learned about life was that a sea of difficult decisions surrounded anything truly worth having and fighting for.

His choice was made.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod swallowed nervously, as his escorts pulled him to a stop. He listened intently through the hood, trying to gauge where he might be, and how many people were around him. The room was eerily silent, only the low hum of what he assumed to be an air-conditioner sounded in the background. Jarod shivered as goose bumps formed on his exposed chest, his only clothing a flimsy pair of scrub like pants. However the cool air was a blessed relief from the overbearing heat in his cell, and for that he could at least be partially grateful.

Jarod grunted as a booted foot struck his legs from behind, causing him to tumble forwards. Knowing hands caught Jarod before his head made painful contact with the ground. He was quickly pulled back until he was stabilized in a kneeling position. Jarod was acutely aware of feet shuffling on either side of him, and two large hands soon pressed down on his shoulders.

Jarod was so tempted to bite out a sarcastic remark, but remained silent. His lip was barely tolerated by those in Blue Cove, and given that Jarod hadn’t been allowed so much as a glimpse of his torturers, he figured now wasn’t the best opportunity to rid himself of some of his pent up anger. He had no concept of where he was, or who was around him. Jarod would not risk taunting those around him, until he could better gauge what he was up against. He shuffled his limbs slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position, but stopped his movement as he heard a lone pair of footsteps slowly approaching from across the room. The hands on his shoulder tightened their pressure, indicating to Jarod that something was about to happen. He braced himself, the hood greatly handicapping him as he could not predict what was to come. If his past days, week or whatever time had passed indicated anything, it was going to hurt.

Jarod flinched as the hood was suddenly ripped from his head. He blinked quickly in surprise, trying to allow his eyes an opportunity to focus in the dimly lit room. It was the first time the hood had been removed while he was outside of his miserable little cell. He wasn’t sure if he should be grateful, or utterly terrified. Curious, he turned his head to the left, only to be rewarded with a fist slamming into his head. Jarod fell to his right until the grip on his shoulders steadied him. Jarod brought his head up in confusion, his blurred eyes finally finding focus on a pair of well-polished dress shoes directly in front of him.

Apprehensively, Jarod brought his head up slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of the man who stood before him. However the instant the two men at his sides became aware of the pretender’s intention, Jarod was painfully thumped from behind. The grips on his shoulders conveniently let go, and he fell the remaining distance to the ground, his cheekbone making contact with the hard floor.

With a heavy sigh, Jarod made a conscious decision to remain where he had fallen. They clearly were trying to prove a point. What their ulterior motives were, he had no idea.

“Shall we try this again?” The man with the shoes questioned lightly, his voice heavily accented with what Jarod assumed to be South African. Jarod tensed, as they were the first words that had been spoken directly to him, since he had woken up in this hell hole.

Jarod swallowed as an attempt to try to lubricate his dry throat. Other than his grunts, groans and at times unwilling screams, he had barely spoken a word since he arrived here. He had sung his nursery rhyme as an attempt to retain his sanity, but after a few days of constant dehydration, even that had become too painful. “Try what?” He croaked, wincing at the weakness that his voice portrayed.

The man chuckled. “Lesson One.”

“And what might that be? How the mighty have fallen?” Jarod questioned sarcastically.

A booted foot instantly landed on Jarod’s ribs with a sharp kick. The pretender winced, but managed to suppress any verbal vocalization of his mistreatment other than a quick intake of breath. He knew there would soon be a nasty bruise forming on his side.

“I don’t know what they allowed back at the stables in Blue Cove, but your lip will not be tolerated here.” The South-African informed. “I suggest you lose it.” The mysterious man threatened.

Jarod smirked. “I’ll take that under advisement.” He braced himself as another kick landed in his ribs. Make that two bruises.

“Let me explain something to you. Back at the Centre, you may have been the prince of the palace, the grand pretender. Here, you are nothing but another disobedient project, a caged monkey. Back home, everyone knew who you were, their cash cow, but here, you are just another faceless man being led around in shackles. No one cares about ‘Jarod’, and with time your faithful followers in Blue Cove will forget. We only want what’s in your head, as of this moment you don’t exist as a person, you will forget any rights you thought you had, the luxuries of your former life are gone. Monkeys don’t have beds, toilets or clothing. They don’t have feelings, and they most certainly do not talk back.”

Jarod snorted. “We’ll then I suppose I should be grateful for the small piece of modesty you have allowed me thus far.” He stated, making a show of tugging on the thin pair of pants he wore.

“That was your last sarcastic remark – I’ll give you that one for free. You are now mine. You may not do a simulation today, you might not even do one this week, but you will eventually do what I command. That my monkey – I can guarantee.”

Jarod clenched his handcuffed hands in anger, raising his head off the ground, defiance glaring in his eyes. He growled in frustration as a foot came over, and roughly slammed his head back to the ground.

“And this brings us back to Lesson number one. Take a long hard look at the floor. Think of it as a metaphor for your life: unimportant, walked over, contaminated. You do not have the right to look me in the eye. You will never again look up unless I instruct you otherwise.”

Jarod found his limbs quivering in anger. He knew the man was needlessly provoking him, and he refused to respond to his taunts. The concept of being their property was not new to him, but something inside, whether his self-respect, or just too much damn testosterone, refused to allow him to submit. With an angry growl, Jarod suddenly rolled over while ignoring the protest his body made, and surprised the man to his right. He lashed out with his feet, easily knocking the guard away before he turned over. He quickly propped himself upwards and met the glare of a tall dark man, with hard features and a greying goatee. The man’s eyes were dark and angry. Conscious of movement on his left side, Jarod smirked and gave the man an exaggerated wink just as he was knocked back to the ground. A foot was planted in the small of his back, rendering him motionless.

“So this monkey has a bit of spunk.” The dark man stated. He walked the short distance over to Jarod’s restrained form. Jarod flinched as he heard a sparking sound. All guards here seemed to the carry the short batons, similar to the cattle prod he had once tormented Lyle with. Clenching his teeth, Jarod cried out as the rod was brought down to the base of his neck, he squirmed involuntary as the rod remained pressed against his skin for several agonizing seconds. When it was removed from his neck, Jarod was left panting, pain rippling through his body.

“Would you like to try that little act of defiance again?”

Jarod’s muscles quivered as he remained motionless on the floor. He had reached the end of his physical endurance, and he doubted he could push himself off the floor, let alone topple over of his lumbering guards again.

“They never do.” The dark man remarked to the guards, amusement obvious in his tone.

Jarod again cried out as he was pulled upwards by his hair, then dragged across the room towards the back wall. He was forced to awkwardly shuffle along as he was bent forward nearly ninety degrees in order to avoid being pulled by only the strands of his hair.

“Sit.” The guard commanded as Jarod was pushed into the wall. Jarod hesitated and was pulled down roughly, ending up sitting cross-legged on the floor. The two guards then moved in to undo the handcuffs behind the pretender’s back. Jarod breathed in relief as his shoulders were allowed to relax, only to find them attaching a longer set of restraints, connecting his left arm to his right leg and vice versa, trapping him in a cross-legged position.

“Welcome to your new life. I’m not going to try and beat you into submission, you showed great mental strength over the past two weeks while you were atoning for some past sins, enough that I know I won’t find the way into your head in that way. I’m going to destroy your hold on your mind. It’s going to be a slow journey, probably at least slightly painful, and it starts today.”

“By making me sit on the floor?” Jarod inquired bitterly, resisting his suicidal urge to turn and face the three men behind him. What could they possibly be trying to prove by doing this?

“This is just the beginning Jarod. You are to remain still, if you flinch so much as one muscle, if I detect one rattle on your chains, you will be punished. Am I understood?”

Jarod remained silent, determined to remain defiant.

The dark man behind him chuckled. “Always the same. They speak when commanded to stay silent and when finally given the opportunity to let their sad little voice be heard, we get nothing but stone cold silence.” Jarod heard the man retreat several steps. “Do it.” He ordered authoritatively.

Jarod gasped as a bucket of cold water was dumped over his head, he shot forwards, only to be pulled back in place by his hair. He heard two men move behind him, turning on their popular cattle prods.

“Do you want to make me ask again?”

“No.” Jarod muttered, barely audible.

“Didn’t catch that monkey.” The African taunted.

Jarod swallowed his pride, squeezing his eyes closed he gave the man a more assertive response. “You are understood.”

He could almost imagine the gleeful smile on the dark man’s face. It made him feel nauseous. Jarod took a deep breath, he was better than this; their stupid minds games were not going to make him unravel. Over thirty years at the Centre, this was child’s play to him, although admittedly unpleasant.

“This is how it will be, until you inform me you are ready to return to your work. I’ll find other ways to encourage you along the way, but in between all of the fun and games, I want to ensure you are kept in the most uncomfortable position as possible. Eventually you’ll be dying for a visit to the facilities, a drink of water perhaps, and I can hedge a bet that those legs of yours are going to get pretty numb, pretty fast.”

Jarod yanked on his chains in frustration and was instantly rewarded with another painful shock at the base of his neck. His back arched unwillingly, crying for relief from the abuse.

“Surely someone with an IQ as high as yours is able to grasp the concept of staying motionless?” The dark man taunted, pausing until he was sure Jarod would not take the verbal bait. “I’ll leave you boys to it then.”

With a deep sigh, Jarod closed his eyes once again, wiling himself to retreat to that place in his mind where his discomfort was insignificant.

He would take Lyle, his damn jumper cables and his cage back at the Centre in a heartbeat over this.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Lysander sighed, as she dropped her pencil. She was working virtually non-stop, and her mind was screaming for a break.

“Problem?” A menacing voice questioned from behind her. It was that of her British handler.

“I just need a moment to clear my head.” She informed her keeper curtly.

A hand cuffed her harshly upside her head. “You have a moment only when I allow you to take one. Get back to it.” The man snarled, as if speaking to a disobedient animal. It was unnecessary as she already felt like one, branded like a prized racehorse.

“Yes sir.” Lys muttered sarcastically under her breath, careful to keep her tone and head low enough as to avoid detection or eye contact. Everything was cause and effect, rules and orders, disobedience and punishment. No talking. No breaks. No sarcasm. No control. No decisions for herself: when to eat, when to sleep, when to shower, when to use the facilities, no sunlight, no real food. No freedom.

No living.

She had been assigned the monstrous task of analyzing the Triumvirate’s international stock portfolio, for it along with its’ many tentacles across the world, which counted the Conglomerate and the Centre among them. New investments, potential hostile take-overs, whatever would make them more money to support the real-time version of hell they ran under the noses of governments across the planet. The only moral or ethical concerns were the almighty bottom line. To hell with anything else that got in the way like inconsequential people.

It would take weeks, possibly even months to achieve their goals. Lys knew she should be relieved that she was just working and not being tortured relentlessly. The alternatives she had dreamed up in her head before arriving here had been nothing like this. It was almost business as usual, a lifestyle not unlike that which she had put up with at the Conglomerate; except for all of their damn imposed rules to enforce control and lack of humanity.

She knew the silent treatment wouldn’t be the key to destroying her soul, so how were they going to do that? The endless hours of forced silence, and painful physical punishment if she dared to raise her head were difficult to endure, let alone degrading. But it would not be what destroyed her. The fact of the matter was she was cooperating for the most part; still they wanted to break her, destroy her will to resist and find the freedom they had cruelly stolen from her.

Every time a door opened or a new voice was heard, Lysander’s heart would clench in fear. She didn’t know what exactly she was expecting, but she knew that eventually someone would come for her. That they would drag her somewhere, make her do something, have something done to her, and after that the real Lysander would be gone for good, leaving her no better off than Alex.

All that would be left would be their trained monkey, happily predicting away, but not all alive.

The fear of that was slowly eating her away. Perhaps that was the point.

SYDNEY’S RESIDENCE –BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Sydney slowly made his way up the small porch, sighing heavily. Sydney, Parker and Broots had been working non-stop, trying to find a way to break into Raines and Lyle’s upper echelon. Broots was practically chained to his computer, while Sydney had been given the task of tailing Willy. They had been at it a week, and nothing had been uncovered; hell Sydney wasn’t even sure if there was anything to find. Patience and tempers were wearing thin for all of them, but Parker was insistent that they continue with their desperate searching. Sydney suspected it was simply because there were no other alternatives and it would help to ease her overwhelming guilt. It was easier to hide one’s emotions behind a pile of endless work, than to stare at an empty desk and openly declare defeat. They were working against a time bomb whose countdown they couldn’t see, but all three knew what was at stake. If they didn’t discover a solution soon, Jarod would likely be lost to them forever, at least in an emotional sense.

Sydney fumbled with his keys, finally entering his home. It was well past midnight. He had followed Willie around Blue Cove for nearly six hours, and besides discovering what fitness centre the sweeper frequented and that he seemed rather keen on a particular gentleman’s establishment, Sydney had found no evidence of any evildoings for either Raines or Lyle. Tomorrow Sydney was going to speak to Parker about getting Sam in on the team. The sweeper was mostly loyal to Miss Parker, and would not question her if she asked him to keep an eye on Willie. Sydney suspected that all Centre employees, sweepers included were extremely nervous now that both Raines and Lyle filled the upper ranks. Either man was powerful and feared as individuals, but together they were nothing short of frightening. Sam wouldn’t need to know the real intention behind Parker’s request; he was a damn good sweeper. He would do what was asked of him, without question or hesitation.

Throwing his coat on the tree stand, Sydney slowly moved towards the staircase, halting only as he noted a dark silhouette staring at him from a nearby easy chair. His heart clenched in fear.

“It’s okay, it’s just me.” A youthful voice with slightly deep tones stated quietly.

“Gemini! What on god’s green earth are you doing here?” Sydney questioned, visibly shocked. The younger boy flinched, and Sydney realized his error. The clone would obviously not have kept such a hideous name in the outside world. With a sigh, Sydney moved into the room, until he was standing in front of the chair the younger version of Jarod occupied.

“What should I call you?” He asked kindly. The younger boy smiled slightly at this.

“Jay.” He said proudly. Sydney smiled back, but remained silent, giving the clone a chance to answer his previous question.

“You know why I am here.” The young man stated, responding to the psychiatrist’s earlier question.

“Jarod.” Sydney stated knowingly. “I assume the rest of your family is nearby? I must admit, considering the risks that your father allowed you to come here. He was very adamant about keeping you away from Blue Cove when we last spoke.” He gently prodded.

“I-uh….” The boy looked downwards, causing Sydney to yet again sigh.

“They don’t know you are here.” The shrink stated in realization, his stomach tightening as Jay nodded slightly.

“My dad is…” Jay started sadly, but seemed unable to find the words. Sydney knelt down so he was at eye-level with the young pretender. He felt like he was looking backwards a good twenty-five years. The forlorn eyes, the taut jaw, it was like working with Jarod all over again.

“Why did you come here Jay? Why here, why me? Jarod has fought so hard to try and piece together his family, your family. I know he would want nothing else but to have you safely with them, especially under the current circumstances. These are dangerous times, and now that Jarod is gone, your family is the Centre’s top priority.”

“I know.” Jay whispered. Sydney could see he was visibly trying to suppress tears from falling. He placed a comforting hand on the boy’s knee before the younger man continued.

“It’s my fault that Jarod didn’t get away. I should have known about the tracking device under the van. If I had incorporated it into the rescue plan, Jarod would be here, not suffering halfway across the world. He saved me from that same fate. I failed him, and now my entire family is at risk.” The boy ranted, his eyes averting from Sydney’s prying graze.

Sydney squeezed the young pretender’s knee. The burden of genius was a hard one to bear. Jarod had always been extremely hard on himself, when he struggled through simulations, or couldn’t account for certain variables in his solutions, and he could see that Jay possessed that same trait. To those who were used to being right all the time, failure or uncertainty where not familiar concepts. Humility is a lesson normally learned at an early age, but Sydney still wondered if Jarod had managed to fully grasp that concept yet himself. He could see that Jay also shared this similar demon. With a deep breath, he offered a comforting phrase to the young pretender; identical to one he had given to Jarod many times over the years.

“You did your best Jay. No one can fault you for the outcome, more than you can fault yourself. You’re human, nothing more, and nothing less. You can’t be right all the time. No one can.” Sydney said gently, refusing to break eye contact with the boy.

“How can I not? My entire childhood I was trained to look at every angle, every possibility. I missed something blatantly obvious. I was trained to be right, and I was nothing but wrong.” Jay responded, his tone portraying the obvious guilt he felt.

“Life is unpredictable Jay; to attempt to search for predictability in its twists and turns is the path to madness. It’s not the consequences to our failings that determine the final outcome, but rather how we face those consequences, how we respond to them.” Sydney counselled, desperately trying to reach out to the boy.

“The only way I can make this right is to get Jarod back. My family won’t survive this.” Jay said hesitantly, shaking Sydney’s comforting hand from his knee, before standing up from the chair, turning his back on the shrink.

“We’ll get him back. I have every confidence we will find a way out of this mess.” Sydney stated weakly. He didn’t think the clone bought it anymore than he did, but false words of comfort were the best he could do. Jay shook his head sadly letting out a deep sigh.

“I hacked into to the server at Africa and downloaded their satellite and topographical maps. The complex is too big, too isolated; we can’t get to Jarod there, no more than he could ever hope of escaping them.” Jay informed Sydney despondently.

“Miss Parker believes we can use the Centre as a means of bringing him back.” Sydney offered, not surprised as the young pretender nodded his agreement. Somehow he didn’t doubt that Jay had already reached that conclusion.

“My Dad won’t stop blaming himself for what has happened to Jarod. Every day he falls further away from us. Emily is trying so hard to keep it together, to keep us together. At the end of the day, the only thing that will save us is Jarod. I’m so scared that if we lose him that I’ll lose my Dad as well.” The clone admitted, nothing but desperation in his voice.

“Just tell me what I can do Jay. Anything. I owe Jarod more than I can ever hope to repay.” Sydney offered sincerely. Jay turned around and stared Sydney in his eyes, as if trying to judge the validity of the psychiatrist’s words. The clone’s emotions were blatantly obvious, and he could see that the several years of freedom, under the Major’s loving watch had done wonders for the boy. Sydney had always encouraged Jarod to release his emotions whenever possible, but the stark reality of life at the Centre required the pretender to keep most of what he felt repressed, buried deep under layers of anger and resentment. Jay had endured a much stricter upbringing under Raines, and Sydney didn’t doubt that the clone had been subjected to physical punishment for displaying his emotions. It was clear that Jay had managed to shed whatever mental hold Raines had placed him under. Sydney could only hope that one day Jarod would also be able to free himself from his similar mental bondage.

Jay finally stepped forward. “I need your help so I can bring my brother home.” He stated strongly.

Sydney smiled, realizing for the first time the word’s that flew freely from Jay’s tongue. Brother, Father. Jarod’s family had done the seemingly impossible, giving a person who was created by deceitful scientists in a test tube, a true place in the world. But it was the glimmer in Jay’s eyes that caught his attention. Jarod’s eyes had held the same youthful excitement when he was spiralling towards developing a solution to a particularly complex problem.

Sydney knew he should be screaming at the clone to run away, to flee Delaware and never look back, to find his family and refuse to let go. That he, Parker and Broots would find a way to save Jarod. However deep down inside, he was already contemplating the possibilities of what could be if Jay was to be involved in their rescue operation.

It was fitting, as he should have known the only person in the world who could even hope to save Jarod, would be another Jarod.

And for the first time in weeks, Sydney began to feel a glimmer of hope.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik gave an impatient sigh as he looked around the room he had been brought to. It was an average office size, with a large boardroom table occupying most of the space, two doors on the outer perimeter.

There were also two large windows, which were both currently blocked by bland coloured blinds. Henrik suspected that both of these apparent windows were actually two-way mirrors, he only hoped he would be on the prying side, instead of being the one under observation. It unnerved him greatly, knowing eyes he couldn’t see were watching him from behind the mirror, much like the security cameras that constantly had him under surveillance. He hated the vulnerability, but such was his life. He was at the mercy of his keepers. He wasn’t one to dwell on what he could not have or could not change.

Henrik looked up gratefully, as two men entered the room. One was Caucasian, the other tall and dark, clearly of African descent.

“Sir.” He addressed each one curtly, standing up in a show of respect.

“Sit.” The dark man commanded lightly but authoritatively. Henrik immediately obliged his request. He glanced fearfully at the two men before him, his eyes mostly focused on the table. “You may address me as Dr. Masoud and this is my colleague, Dr. Stone.” He informed the young German pretender.

“Henrik, we’ve requested your presence, because we have a very special and very important project. You did some great work for us while you were over in America.” Dr. Stone praised.

“Thank you sir.” Henrik replied, although his voice fell flat. He kept his gaze focused on the table.

“Do you know exactly why you were brought here?” The dark doctor questioned.

“Not precisely, sir, no.” Henrik responded truthfully.

“So you have some idea than?” The doctor replied.

“I believe it might have to do something with the other pretender, the focus of my work in America.” Henrik replied.

“Your assumption is partially correct Henrik.” Dr. Oliver informed him. “Jarod is working solely under Dr. Masoud. I also have a subject under my tutelage; you may remember a bit about her as she was the one who tried to escape with Jarod.”

Henrik nodded. He had been required to learn a small amount of information about Lysander as part of his work in overseeing Jarod’s work in America.

“Good. Now we need you to learn everything you can about what drives both of them. What gives them their moral compass, what they fear, what they desire. Anything Henrik.”

“May I ask why Dr. Stone?” Henrik asked, his assignment anything but clear.

“Both Jarod and Lysander have exhibited high levels of disobedience, and as you know have attempted escape on several occasions. You know about Jarod’s history from your time in the States, Lysander’s is similar in nature.”

“Yes sir. Do you want me to oversee their work, like I did in America with Jarod?” Henrik questioned curiously.

“I’m afraid it’s a bit more challenging than that Henrik. At this point, Jarod is refusing to perform his simulations. Lysander on the other hand is being cooperative, but that is only half way towards what we want from her, and from Jarod for that matter.” Dr. Stone responded vaguely.

“What exactly is that?” Henrik questioned, the confusion evident in his voice.

“We want what is demanded from every one of our subjects Henrik. Complete obedience. We need you to figure out a way to penetrate their resolves. When this is done, we want Jarod completing his work as is demanded of him, and both of them are to not have the will or desire to think about escaping our control, ever again. Am I being clear?” Dr. Masoud said forcefully. Henrik flinched slightly at his harsh tone; he almost felt a small pang of remorse towards Jarod, knowing the pretender would be subjected to this man’s cruel demeanour on a daily basis and on much harsher terms.

Henrik looked between the two doctors, unsure of what to say. Dr. Stone caught onto his hesitation.

“What we are saying Henrik is that we want them broken, defeated. You need to come up with a way for us to destroy the blocks they have placed in their minds, the blocks that keep them strong, that give them the will and ability to fight. It’s what keeps us from getting what we want.”

“You want me to destroy their minds?” Henrik questioned weakly the weight of the task he was being asked to complete, nearly suffocating him. It was so horribly distasteful.

“No Henrik, we want their minds; it’s their personalities we want destroyed. The point is that they still need to be able to use their brilliance to do the work.” Dr. Masoud stated firmly, the hollowness in his voice was chilling to the bone.

Henrik just stared sadly at the table. He remembered the time he had seen one of Dr. Klaus projects that had been returned from Africa. The man’s eyes had been empty; it was as if every last trace of his soul had been sucked out of his body. It was absolutely heart breaking.

Could he really do that to another man? As much as he hated Jarod for pulling him into his mess, for getting Henrik transferred away from his comfortable existence in Germany, could he really pull the strings to the pretender’s destruction? No one should have to live with that kind of emptiness.

“Are our wishes understood Henrik?” Dr. Stone questioned, his tone chiding as if he sensed that the younger man was deep into his own thoughts.

Henrik glanced briefly at the two doctors before him. He had to obey them he had no choice. If he refused, they would just drag another pretender in here, and request the same heinous task of him. Henrik thought once again of that poor man he had seen as a boy. He would never let them take away his soul. No matter what the price. Jarod and Lysander had used up their chance. It was their defiance that was causing this, and he was just a pawn in the operation. Whatever happened to them would not be his fault. It was just his job.

Henrik straightened his shoulders, his resolve clear to those in the room.

“I’m ready to begin sir.”

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

The days were long for Jarod, played out in the same torturous routine. He had been shackled, hooded and then dragged to what he assumed was the African version of a SIM lab where he was forced to sit down cross-legged, promptly restrained in this uncomfortable position, wrists and opposite ankles chained together, and left to stare at the wall. Jarod had quickly learned that any movement brought swift and painful attention from his guards. The length of the chains prevented him from the making the smallest of movements without notifying his keepers. His back showed the ramifications of the abuse he had been subjected to in a way that words could never truly describe.

His life had become a painfully mundane routine, admittedly much more so than his entire three decades as the Centre’s prisoner. At least the days were predictable which lessened the stress in a small but significant way. In a twisted sense, he missed the mental stimulus of the simulations, although he would willingly die before he would ever complete another one for them. It was a matter of pure mathematics; his life was insignificant to the masses of those who had been slaughtered because of what came out of his brain. He would never allow them to add to the total.

Jarod realized it had only been five days, but it was one hundred and twenty hours filled with nothing but silence and endless reflection. Other than the few times he had been placed in complete isolation at the Centre as a form of punishment, Jarod could not remember a time that he had felt so utterly alone. Thoughts of his family could only take him so far. He could escape his lonely prison in his mind, but he always had to return to this reality and his painful existence at the Triumvirate’s newest pet monkey.

The man who was obviously his new ‘handler’ here seemed in no hurry to coerce Jarod into becoming an obedient pretender. After the second day of Jarod’s presence in this lab, the African hadn’t even bothered to ask Jarod if he would be willing to perform a simulation. Jarod was simply escorted into this room and secured in the agonizing position he sat in now. Only the shuffle of the feet behind him, the odd phone call or visitor, the sounds of a computer keyboard; gave indication to Jarod that the dark man was even in the room with him.

Inside he was starving for attention, craving social stimulation, conversation. He would take even Sam’s monotonic threats, Lyle’s barbs, and even Raines’ wheezing nonsense in a second. The silence was getting painful. The Centre may have kept him isolated from society, locked up alone in between the endless stream of simulations he was forced to complete, but he had never been completed ignored. In their eyes he was special; property yes, but still human, albeit, subhuman.

The Africans were much more calculating, much more aware of the true power they held in their hands. They controlled countless organizations around the world. Jarod was just another project whose defiance was nothing but an inconvenience, one of many.

He wondered how much longer they would keep up this act. They certainly weren’t going to keep him chained and staring at a blank wall until he truly did go insane – that would never happen. He would be first to admit it was a humiliating experience, but one he could fight, albeit with great discomfort. His entire life had been filled with degrading experiences, as the Centre fought to keep him under their control. His discipline regime in Blue Cove had obviously been more extreme than anything a normal childhood would ever have dictated. Three decades of oppression, it would have been impossible to escape without at least a little bit of defiance.

Oddly enough it was the handful of times that Sydney had dictated Jarod’s punishment that stood out the clearest in Jarod’s mind. He wasn’t sure if that was wilful repression of his traumatic memories, or simply that the psychiatrist had only disciplined the pretender on the handful of occasions, when Jarod had probably actually deserved it – and he would be the first to admit it.

The day that Jarod had played with the newly installed security system out of sheer boredom had been one of those days where Sydney had stepped in with what one could describe as parental authority. He could still remember the brief conversation.

“Did you think you’d get away with it Jarod?”

“I just get so bored sometimes Sydney.”

“A sharp mind left idle can become a very sharp weapon indeed.”

Jarod had thought that he had gotten away with just that, but Sydney had simply moved into his office, and pulled a chair that was tucked in the corner away from the wall.

“In here Jarod.”

Jarod had walked over to his mentor curiously, only to have the man gently guide him to the corner, turning him to face it.

“Sydney?”

“Face the corner Jarod.”

“I don’t understand…”

“You are being punished. You will not look away from this corner, am I understood?”

“But Sydney…”

“No Jarod, You will remain silent. I’ve set the timer on my desk for one hour. Every time I catch your eyes wandering, I will add fifteen minutes. Am I clear?”

All in all Jarod had stood in the corner for three hours, his over active brain had not responded well to the forced boredom. He had never again complained about his math problems, as even they held a degree of intellectual stimulation that staring at Sydney’s office wall, listening to the shrink type on his typewriter and shuffle through papers never could.

After that day, Sydney had made a noticeable effort to bring more mental stimulation into Jarod’s world. The pretender had been given an endless supply of books, taught how to play chess, but eventually a restlessness had settled into Jarod’s being, one that couldn’t be cured while in captivity.

He was older now, and contrary to when his brain had been his vice, he had learned how to use it to its full potential. He could imagine himself almost anywhere, replay the happy moments from his freedom, create differential equations in his head and solve them, anything. But at the end of the day, here he was still chained, made to stare at the wall like a small petulant child. It was humiliating, and Jarod, despite all his bravado, had to admit that they were slowly starting to tear a small piece from his core. They were far from breaking him, but he couldn’t deny that voice inside that urged him to fight was starting to wane ever so slightly. He didn’t know if he should draw comfort from the fact that he was still fighting a strong battle, or tremor in fear knowing they were slowly and painfully tunnelling a way in.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik brought his head up from his mountain of notes, as Dr. Masoud entered the room. He was admittedly fearful of the tall, dark man, but he needed information that only Jarod’s new handler could provide him with.

“You require more information?” Masoud questioned tersely, sitting down across from the pretender.

Henrik nodded, tugging nervously on his neutral coloured scrubs, as he stood up hesitantly, turning towards the two-way mirror on his right. It was easier to look at Jarod than the angry man who sat before him.

“I’m having some trouble piecing together Jarod’s motivation.” Henrik stated, staring at the pretender who was sitting, cross-legged and restrained across the lab. He could help but cringe, as his eyes took in the deep bruising, the gashes and the welts that were on the pretender’s body. Sometimes Henrik would feel slightly empathetic towards Jarod and his motivation would wane; However, as soon as he began to question the work he had been assigned, he would only need to glance at Jarod’s bare back. The sight of that alone was enough to strengthen his resolve, to remind him of the looming consequences if he dared not obey. His assignment was to best Jarod. He could not fail, for his own sake.

“Sir, I need to know exactly why Jarod ran away from the Centre. I’ve been told he simply grew to no longer accept his captivity and rebelled in the most despicable of ways. But I can tell, just by watching him, that is not the case. No one would fight this hard, would subject themselves to that level of abuse for something so trivial. There has to be more, the puzzle pieces don’t fit.”

 “Jarod’s will is strong.” Dr. Masoud countered.

“I understand that.” Henrik replied before continuing with a submissive tone. “Sir, please, I need to know why. It’s the key to what made Jarod leave, the key to his rebellion, the key to why he helped all of those people during his freedom, and what I think will be the answer to his undoing.”

Dr. Masoud narrowed his eyes, striding over to the younger pretender until the young man shrank away. “Sit down.” He ordered, Henrik noticing the small smile of approval that was present on the man’s features, as he scurried over to his seat obediently.

“Jarod was raised by very different principles than you were Henrik. Your handlers were always very forthcoming about any potential applications of your work. You understand that the world is far from equitable and occasionally people have to do bad things to be effective, to bring voices to those who cannot protect themselves. Much of this continent is in turmoil because of this lack of equality. Conflicts with government, wars against corruption; Good men forced into doing bad things for a greater good. You understand this right?”

Henrik nodded intently.

Jarod was raised on the belief that the applications of his simulations had only the purest of intentions. Somehow, the actual purpose of some of his worked was leaked to Jarod. Take an outbreak scenario for example. A small terrorist group in Western Africa infects a small village with the Ebola Virus. Jarod only sees death and destruction, not the ultimate goal. He sees the 40 deaths that were caused by the SIM, but not why it was done. He doesn’t see the oppression that the insurgents are forced to live with, how the government refuses to listen. The outbreak shows the government that the group has strength, that they will fight until they are heard, until they are respected. You and I understand this concept Henrik, but Jarod he does not. He is stuck counting-bodies. It was for this reason that Jarod ran away.” Masoud informed the younger pretender. “It was his misguided belief that we were abusing the results of his simulations to do harm, not good.”

 “So your goal is to get Jarod to see the big picture?” Henrik asked the doctor curiously. It seemed like such a simple thing to comprehend.

The dark skinned doctor laughed. “Jarod is far beyond the point of return. He is harbouring anger and resentment towards the Centre. I highly doubt that his outlook on life can be changed this late in the game – and that is why you are here. You need to get into his head, and take away that piece that makes him care about what we do with his work, or at best destroy what gives him the strength to resist our demands.”

“Understood sir.” Henrik replied, shrinking into his seat slightly as Dr. Masoud’s eyes bore into him.

“What have you concluded about Jarod so far?” The doctor pried.

“Honestly Sir, he has strength I have seen in no other before. As I watch him in this lab, his despair and frustration grows with every hour. However, in the morning when he is brought here, his determination is renewed. He believes he is fighting for something greater than himself. His mind is a very powerful weapon, and he is using it to battle against the will of the Triumvirate.” Henrik answered truthfully, the confidence in his voice surprising even himself.

“Do you feel his resolve dimensioning at all?” The doctor asked hopefully.

“Slightly, but nothing that will give you what you want. As I said, when he leaves the lab in the evening, he emanates feelings of humiliation and hopelessness. However in the mornings, although he is tiring of the routine, he has new strength.”

“Why do you think that is?” The African asked impassively.

“Because he is fighting for something. His file says he has been in contact with some family members? Perhaps it is for them, or even as simple as saving the lives he believes are destroyed by his simulations. He uses his time alone to remember.”     

 “Do you think different accommodations might help our situation Henrik?” Dr. Masoud proposed bluntly.    

“How could you possibly make them worse?” Henrik questioned suspiciously. He knew Jarod was being kept in a small and barren cell, with the air-conditioning purposely turned off. The pretender was already denied free access to any bathroom facilities or water. Henrik could simply not fathom how they could possibly make the conditions of Jarod’s accommodations any less pleasant than they were currently. Stealing a glance over at Dr. Masoud, Henrik could see the smile of satisfaction on the dark man’s features.

Of course there was something worse. 

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA – SIM LAB B

Lysander shook her head as the black hood was pulled off, settling her focus on the floor. The Africans sure knew how to play the game. She had been here for weeks, and had seen nothing but the inside of her cell and this laboratory. Everywhere in between she was shackled and hooded, paraded around like an international terrorist. In a twisted way, she was; by their design of course. The act of just looking up resulted in instantaneous punishment.

Last night Lys had come to an important decision. She was tired of jumping out of her skin every time a door opened, whenever she heard a new voice. She knew it was only a matter of time before they made an attempt to destroy her will. The little dance of being sheparded between her cell and an endless stream of work wasn’t going to last forever, not that she wanted it to.

Enough was enough. Her mother had always told her if she didn’t want to sit around and wait for things to come to her, that she needed to be active rather than reactive. Lys was tired of waiting, tired of the fear. The solution had come to her with a stroke of clarity last night, as she had lain on the hard concrete floor.

She and Jarod only had a few precious moments to speak before they were recaptured by the Centre. The pain the pretender felt over the exploitation of his work was obvious. She knew there was no way that he’d be doing what they asked of him, and now she would join him. Call it courage, call it stupidity, or call it suicide. Whatever it was, she didn’t care. The waiting was done.

“Sit.” Her British handler commanded, obviously annoyed that Lys hadn’t yet taken her seat at her large worktable. The Triumvirate clearly recruited the best and brightest from around the globe.

Lysander fought hard to suppress the smile, as she brought her eyes up to meet his face. “No.” She said with resolve, enjoying the look of surprise that became plastered on his face. She didn’t care as one of the guards behind her roughly smacked the back of her head.

“What do you mean, no?” Her handler asked with irritation clear in his tone.

Lys shrugged her shoulders after shaking off the residual pain from the painful blow she had just received.

“Simply put, I think I’d have to say at this point; make me.” She flashed him a daring look. Inside she was trembling, but her expression and posture demonstrated nothing but determination and strength.   

Her stomach knotted as the man smiled. “That’s a challenge I’m thrilled to take on.”

Lys wasn’t given a chance to respond, instead she found herself encased in the familiar darkness of the hood and restrained. She was petrified of the pain she knew was about to come, but it was time to face her demons.

She had it coming either way, at least this way, it was on her terms.

LA PLAYA RESORT - MAZATLAN, MEXICO

“Jay!” Emily cried frantically throughout their rented penthouse suite. She and her younger brother had gotten in the habit of taking early morning walks along the beach.  They enjoyed watching the day come to life with the beautiful sunrise. It was their private time, where they could take a few minutes just to savour the colours and the sound of waves gently crashing onto the sandy shore. Relish in the few peaceful moments in which Jarod, and their father’s anguish, could be put aside, almost forgotten. This morning however, she had poked her head into Jay’s bed, only the find the bed unused, their suite filled with an eerie silence, a familiar feeling of dread consuming her instantly.  

“Jay where are you?” She called out frantically. Her little brother was nowhere to be found. Her heart stopped as she caught sight of a piece of paper carefully placed on their small bistro table.

She squeezed her eyes shut as her brain registered the words she was reading.

“Em?” The gentle voice of her father sounded from across the suite. She brought her head up, clutching the note to her chest.

“He’s gone.” The Major stated knowingly. Emily shook her head sadly.

They stood like that for several minutes; a father and daughter struggling to keep their precious family together. It was beginning to seem that no matter what they did, the Centre always managed to rip them apart.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod remained curled up on the ground with disinterest as the door to his cell was opened. He had only just been returned here after another fun day in the SIM lab. He was exhausted, his legs were only just beginning to regain their feeling. His stomach was rumbling with hunger, and despite the blandness, he was eager to eat.

“Get up.” Was the terse command, Jarod looked up only enough to recognize the form of his African torturer, not some faceless guard bringing his nightly tray of gourmet goods. Whatever this was, it was not good. The break in routine was sending off alarm bells in his head.

Whatever was about to happen was important; the African would not be personally present for something as trivial as escort duty.

With an apprehensive sigh, Jarod pushed himself upwards, keeping his back to them, as he knew was required. Although defiance was tempting, he simply did not wish to add a pounding migraine to his physical ailments.  He was truly afraid.

“Someone’s learning.” The African praised, in an attempt to further antagonize Jarod.

“Don’t count on it.” Jarod replied grumpily, not caring as he was smacked on the head. Begrudgingly, he placed his hands behind his back, feigning indifference as the cold metal of the handcuffs bit into his skin and the hood was placed over his head. It was the same dance, day in and day out.

Jarod curiously counted the steps, as they led him down the corridor. He noted that they were neither heading in the direction of their torture chamber, nor the SIM lab. At least it was a change from the monotonous routine he was forced to follow, although he had no doubt he would be regretting his thoughts.  

Three right turns later, Jarod was pulled to a stop. He heard the unmistakable buzz of an electronic lock disengaging before he was pushed forward. Jarod sighed heavily, the increased security making him wary. Two left turns later, Jarod was pushed through yet another electronically controlled door.

He bit back the questions that were circling his brain, knowing that the answers would be denied to him and he would only be punished for speaking. Jarod had a sickening feeling that he was being moved to new accommodations. The increased security and the presence of his handler were leading him to that conclusion.  He had a small glimmer of hope that they might be an improvement to his current conditions, but things in Africa never got better – they only got worse.  Deep down, Jarod knew it was just wishful thinking, but he allowed himself to relish in the optimism for a few short moments. It was nice, having something positive to hold on to, even if just for a few short seconds.

Jarod was pulled to a stop, and his hood was quickly yanked off his head. Jarod looked around curiously, but was hit on the back of his legs with a large baton, causing him to fall forward onto his already lacerated knees with a grunt.

“Rules.” His African handler warned.

Jarod sighed, successfully suppressing his urge to fight. It was hard to give in and obey the dehumanizing rules they had dictated to him. He had to remind himself that as long as he was not doing their Sims, he was still the one in control. Their cruelty was nothing more than a ploy to give them access to his genius. He instead sank back into a kneeling position as a midsized African man emerged from what looked like an office. 

“What’s this?” The man questioned gruffly.

“New monkey for the zoo.” Jarod’s torturer replied.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Jarod look upwards, meeting the glare of the new player in his life. The man’s eyes flashed in anger, and he lashed out with his foot, giving the pretender a hard kick, straight into the gut.

“It’s not often we see one with some fight left in him.” He commented dryly as Jarod struggled to find his breath.

Jarod grimaced as he felt a foot tap his back from behind, pushing him forward slightly. “Don’t worry, it won’t last for long, will it now?” His African handler taunted.

Jarod remained silent, keeping his eyes downcast, ignoring the humiliation that washed through him as the two man shared a chuckle at his expense.

“Alright, I’ve got it from here.”

Jarod flinched as his head was pulled sideways from behind. “Behave yourself monkey.” His handler warned before painfully pushing Jarod away.

As the footsteps behind him retreated, Jarod was yanked upwards by his hair. He let out grunt of pain, struggling to gain his footing as he was pushed forwards, and into a small room on the left.

The man behind him undid the handcuffs. “Strip.” He ordered gruffly, before exiting the room.

Giving his shoulders a roll, his muscles painfully tight due to the abuse they had been subjected to in the past weeks, Jarod looked around the room. It was disconcerting how little of the Triumvirate complex he had seen, only his cell and the SIM lab. They were doing it on purpose and he knew it. Knowledge was power, and power was something they did not want Jarod to have. Every act in here was constructed as to remind him that he was powerless. Jarod knew enough about the Triumvirate complex that a dash and sprint escape was likely not going to work here. Still, there was a small part of him that clung onto the hope that one day, he might be able to find his way out. The longer they kept him hooded and unaware, the more that part of him died each day. Of course that was the point. 

Looking down at his pants, Jarod debated internally, deciding if he would obey their command or not. With disgust at himself, he quickly yanked the material from his slender frame, he would not give them reason to punish him tonight. He needed to know that he could swallow his pride, to submit, that his ego would let him survive.

Almost after Jarod had removed his clothing, three men entered the room, including the dark man who had dragged the pretender in here.

“Center of the room. Spread your legs and lace your fingers on your head.” The familiar voice commanded.

Jarod sighed as he moved in front of the trio, doing as they instructed. He wondered if the strip search had any purpose other than to yet again attempt to humiliate him. He had been restrained his entire time here, except for when he was left alone in a barren cell, hardly conducive to harbouring contraband. 

The other man stood directly in front of Jarod, the pretender knowing the man was daring him to make contact.

“Rule number one, no talking. Rule number two, no eye contact. Break either of these, you will be punished.”

Jarod exhaled heavily as he felt the unwanted touch of hands exploring virtually every crevice of his body. Different people, same damn rules. He was getting tired of the same routine, the same threats; he knew they were slowly trying to dehumanize him. The jury was out on to whether it was beginning to work or not, and to what effect.

“You may or may not have a name, I don’t care. To me, you are nothing but a number. From now on, if you hear 1283, you will stand up and do as you are told, without hesitation. Remember that number, burn it into that dense brain of yours. It’s the only thing that differentiates you from my other animals in my zoo.”

Jarod clenched his jaw, biting back the numerous sarcastic remarks that were threatening to escape. He was trying hard, if only for one night, to not instigate their abuse. But it was getting increasingly more difficult.

The man in front of him stepped forward, bending down and locking a small metal bracelet just above Jarod’s right ankle. It was a tracking device, like those criminals under house arrest would wear.

“Don’t let me catch you trying to figure out a way to get this off. It’s not worth it. Few things are.” The man continued, as if lecturing a schoolboy.

Jarod fought hard to ignore the humiliation and rage that was slowly coursing through him. He let out a sigh of relief as the men exploring his body stepped back. He looked over at his discarded pants, and was grateful, when he was commanded to put them back on.

“Are we understood?” The man in front of Jarod questioned authoritatively, a reply clearly expected and required.

Jarod couldn’t suppress his pride any longer.

“Perfectly clear sir, but I have one question; do I need your permission to blink?” He questioned sarcastically.

The man let out a huff of amusement. Without exhibiting any anger, he roughly back handed the pretender, Jarod instantly feeling blood dripping down from his cheek. He didn’t care, it was so damn satisfying.

“Put him in his cage.” The man ordered the two guards that stood at Jarod’s side.

Jarod rolled his eyes as he was instructed to once again lace his fingers behind his head, before he was pushed out of the room. They walked a short distance, passing through yet another electronically controlled door. He grimaced as he heard a small beep emanating from the metal bracelet around his ankle. As if their damn cameras weren’t enough, they now had him electronically tagged like he was some Fed-Ex package. Jarod could feel whatever little hope of escape that he still managed to cling onto slowly shrinking, yet again.

Allowing his eyes to adjust to the dimly lit room, Jarod became aware of the dramatic temperature increase between this and the relative comfort of the air-conditioned hallway he had just been escorted from. Breathing in, he was overpowered by the scent of human sweat.

“Move.” One of the guards snarled from behind him as he gave Jarod a not so gentle push forward in encouragement.

Jarod’s eyes widened, as his eyes finally focused on his new accommodations. There were four barred off cages in the badly lit room. Each of the cells contained approximately eight men.

Unable to contain his shock, Jarod stopped moving. It had never once crossed his mind that he would be removed from isolation, as to him social segregation was the ultimate punishment. However as his eyes scanned the eyes of the individuals behind the bars, at least those of the ones that dared to look up, he quickly began to realize that perhaps there was something worse than being locked up alone. Their eyes told stories of pain, of repression, but mostly of emptiness. He realized that most of the people behind these bars, weren’t really there, and the parts that still were, were terrifying. He would much rather be alone, than to have to live in this environment.

To his right a man sat huddled in a small ball, rocking back in forth, his eyes not leaving the floor. Jarod could swear he saw a small pool of drool running down the man’s cheek. Another sat uncaringly, supported by the bars of his cage, his index finger tapping in a rhythmic fashion. Others were nervously shuffling, but all had two things in common: they were silent and refused to make eye contact with the guards who held the pretender tightly in their grips.

Jarod stumbled as the guard behind him pushed him towards the left, the man’s partner opening the door to the first cage. As Jarod was shoved into his new prison, he counted seven other occupants in the cell that was roughly 12x10 feet. Only one seemed to register Jarod’s presence, the rest continued with their restless fidgeting, rocking, drooling and tapping, whatever fed the fantasy world they were living in. It was a scene out right out of a nut house – and he was their newest inmate.  

Despondently Jarod moved to a small unoccupied space along the barred perimeter of the cage, sinking down until he was hugging his knees. A fresh wave of emptiness washed through him as he found himself experiencing a much different kind of loneliness. He was surrounded by nothing but madness and despair, forbidden to exchange freely with the men held prisoner around him. Not that most of them seemed to be capable of conversation in the first place.

It was isolation in the most painful of ways.

Jarod was struggling to stay awake, trying to avoid falling asleep. In a normal situation, Jarod was fearful of what nightmares his sleep would bring him. But here, in this cell, it was infinitely worse. He was terrified to sleep in front of all of these men and the guards who never seemed to be far away.

The heat in the room was unbearable, and he longed for water more than he ever thought would have been possible. He was so hot, so thirsty, and he wanted nothing more than to be able to stretch out on the concrete floor, anything to find relief from the inferno. There wasn’t any room for that, not the way that they had crammed eight men into a cage that wasn’t much bigger than his old room at the Centre. He wasn’t sure what was more intolerable, the stench that filled the room or the overwhelming heat.

Jarod had spent the last few hours discreetly studying the other men in the cell with him. They all wore the same bland coloured pants that he did, no shirts. Clearly none had seen daylight for many weeks or months. They were the personification of the expression “skin and bones.” He had cringed at the sight of the bare backs of some of the poor men, the scars of abuse that no person should have to suffer through. Most were just sitting or rocking with blank stares on their faces. An older man with dark pepper hair who sat huddled in the opposite corner had been the only one to make eye contact with Jarod, but only for a few brief seconds.

Jarod knew that his own body was likely betraying the amount of abuse he had been subjected to since arriving in Africa. He could not bring himself to inspect it, just as he had yet to explore the brand he knew was scarred into his back. As long as Jarod didn’t acknowledge it, he could believe that it wasn’t really there. It was what he did best, pretend. It was his way to survive.

Suspiciously, not one of the men in the cell with him bore the brand on their left shoulder blade. Jarod wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but he knew it was significant and wondered if Lys had suffered the same fate. They were trying to enforce the concept that he was theirs, a faceless animal amongst the many projects the Triumvirate controlled. The permanency of what was seared into his skin made him different, worthy of no more respect than a lowly zoo animal, if even that.

Jarod was desperately fighting against the exhaustion that was trying to pull him into unconsciousness. As long as he was awake, he was in control. His nightmares were becoming progressively worse as his stay in Africa lengthened, and Jarod was apprehensive about exposing his vulnerability. As each new horrid day came to a close, it added a different and vivid chapter to the ever present nightmares his life had become once again. He couldn’t do it, not in this cell, not in front of all these men and the two guards that paced up and down between the four cages in the room. It would be an almost unbearable humiliation.

However, his body was terribly undernourished as well as dangerously dehydrated; Jarod was mentally exhausted from combating their head games. With a tired sigh, he finally submitted and allowed himself to fall into oblivion, not able to prevent himself from falling asleep any longer. He fell almost instantly into a dream, reliving a past memory from his early twenties.

“Jarod, you need to complete the simulation.” Sydney informed the young man in his best exasperated tone.

Jarod sighed heavily. It was obvious that the psychiatrist was reaching the end of his patience, as was he. Next would come Sydney’s lecture about why he had to complete this SIM, followed by a weak attempt to guilt Jarod into completing his work. It had been the same dance for as long as Jarod could remember.

“Sydney, please don’t make me.” Jarod pleaded, although he didn’t know why he bothered anymore. He had finally worked up the courage to outright refuse a simulation a few months back, only to be dragged off to some dark corner of the Centre for a week of personal time with Mr. Raines. No matter what he said, how much he pleaded, they always found a way to coerce him. Jarod shuddered as the memories of those long seven days resurfaced, as he absentmindedly traced the faint marks on his arms, the only remaining physical evidence of his time with Raines.

“Jarod.” Sydney warned.

“Please Sydney. The children were terrified; I don’t want to feel that. It’s too much. Please don’t make me go there, please!” Jarod begged. In reality he knew he was just stalling, but the pain from what little he had completed of this SIM was already tearing him into two. Jarod didn’t know why he bothered; Sydney never seemed to protect him anyway.

“Jarod, please our client needs to know why this school was targeted, who did the shooting. The parents deserve answers.”

“Do you think my parents got answers Sydney?” Jarod demanded. “Did they even want them?”

“This is not the time Jarod.” Sydney chided. “Focus on the simulation.”

“It never seems to be the time.” Jarod muttered. He knew full well that Sydney could hear him, but the psychiatrist ignored him.

Jarod looked at the mass of photos before him, shuddering as unwanted snippets of what had occurred slammed into his mind. An affluent children’s private school in Washington D.C. had been the target of a hostage situation, followed by a violent bombing that had allowed the culprits to escape. The children had been held hostage for over twelve hours, before the criminals had escaped through the sewer system. The children and teachers had been locked into the school gymnasium, located strategically in the middle of the school. All had been killed in the subsequent explosion, at least those who hadn’t already been murdered, as the men took possession of the school.

Jarod had been asked to perform a simulation to try and find reason behind this seemingly fruitless attack, and if possible, to identify who was responsible. However, every time he began the simulation from the eyes of the young victims, he was bombarded with the emotions of fear and desperation from the small children that were held in the gymnasium. He couldn’t separate himself away from them, whether it was simply to similar to the emotions his own childhood brought up, or if he simply was also unwilling to get inside the heads of the men who could brutally murder such young and innocent children. Jarod just could not comprehend how any human being could so callously dispose of the lives of young children as they did, let alone SIM it.

“Jarod, you have to do this.” Sydney scolded harshly. “You have no choice.”

Jarod clenched his fists in frustration, taking a deep breath, trying to cleanse his mind of the fear that was overwhelming him.

“Ok.” He stated softly, as his mind began to travel back into the school. Jarod let out a gasp, as he was once again inundated by the terror and the desperation the children had felt.

Jarod could feel his eyes start to burn and grow misty, as tears slowly began to escape. He couldn’t get past the children, there were too many, their emotions were overwhelming.

Shaking himself back to the here and now, Jarod looked up to Sydney. “Refuge.” He whispered desperately.

Sydney gave the pretender a concerned look, clearly taken aback by his use of the safe-word; something the pretender had not used for some time. “Jarod you cannot focus on the children, they are not the target here. Focus on the men with the guns. You can do this. I know you can. Do you need a few minutes to gather your thoughts once more? Perhaps go through a relaxation exercise?”

“Sydney, please. It hurts too much. Please do not ask me to do this.” Jarod begged, wiping away the tears that were forming in his eyes and giving them that glassy look just before spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry Jarod, but, as I’ve said already, I have no choice. The Tower is impatiently waiting for the results. The parents of these children are relying on us to give them closure. I know you can find the answers if you really want to. Focus on the perpetrators, the hostage takers in this case. These types of events we need to prevent from happening again. Surely you can understand this. Ignore the children as they are not important to the answers you are trying to find.”

Jarod clenched his fists, as utter helplessness coursed through him. He simply could not do this, his despair increasing at Sydney’s apparent disregard at his use of safe word. He felt emotionally backed into a corner. With a quick glance at the distracted sweeper who never was far from the pretender’s side, Jarod decided to do the only thing he had left to do. He ran. He didn’t know where he was going, but he couldn’t stay in there anymore. He just had to get away; he couldn’t face those terrifying and painful emotions.

“Jarod!” He heard the angry cry of the sweeper that had followed him out of the lab. He headed towards an air vent that he and Miss Parker used to hide in, when he was much younger. Jarod desperately turned the corner, conscious that his guard was quickly gaining on him.

Jarod urged himself to go faster, he needed to get away. The thoughts of the poor children that had their lives cruelly stolen from them were consuming him.

Steps away from the vent, Jarod was tackled from behind. The pretender groaned, as he came crashing down, but he refused to submit. He angrily clawed at the floor, trying to get the sweeper off his back. He just wanted to disappear and be left alone.

“That’s enough!” The sweeper yelled, smacking the pretender on the back of his head. But Jarod was long past the point of no return. He continued struggling, violently elbowing the sweeper in the face, as he fought to get out from under the sweeper’s grip.

“Jarod, please stop.” He heard Sydney’s pleading from behind him. “You’ll only hurt yourself.”

Jarod ignored him. That was Sydney’s way of saying stop before the sweepers force you to. The only way he was ever harmed was if someone else did it to him. He threw another elbow at the sweeper, as he pushed himself upwards. The sweeper fell back and Jarod propelled himself forward, finally free.

He took two desperate steps forward, only to be stopped by two new sweepers who were approaching from the opposite end of the hallway. The two men took no chances, instantly knocking Jarod back down to the ground.

Jarod flinched, as he felt cold metal around his wrists. He shot up his head, as he heard Sydney protesting behind him.

“Those are not necessary!” He heard the angry voice of his mentor behind him.

Jarod realized he had been handcuffed. He gave an angry tug on his wrists - which were now secured behind his back. He had never felt so helpless and vulnerable. He had been restrained occasionally in the past, but only as props for his simulations. As far as discipline, he had been isolated in the dark, slapped around, dragged unwilling, but never before had he been chained up like a common criminal. Humiliation washed through him, as he was pulled to his feet.

“Tell it to him.” The one sweeper replied to Sydney, gesturing at the other guard who was nursing a bloody nose, likely from one of Jarod’s elbows.

Jarod let out a cry, as his arms were grabbed and he was pulled down the hallway. He grimaced, not wanting to hear the lecture from Sydney he knew he was about to get. He knew the routine so pathetically well that Jarod was sure he could recite the words himself.

“Jarod, you are getting too old for these childish theatrics.” Sydney started, as the pretender was returned to the SIM lab and forced to sit down at his workspace by his escorts. Jarod refused to look up, his eyes trained on the floor. “You cannot run away from your problems.” The psychiatrist continued on gently.

Jarod trembled, as he heard the squeaking wheels of Raines’ oxygen tank enter the room. It was like a Pavlov response at this point.

“Problems Sydney?” The man wheezed.

Jarod heard his mentor sigh in frustration. “Jarod’s having trouble getting into this SIM Mr. Raines. It has been dealt with.”

“Only because my sweepers saw fit to reign in your project. The Tower wishes me to supervise you on this one.” Raines replied with a little too much satisfaction. Jarod didn’t know how the former doctor seemed to magically appear every time he showed a little backbone

Sydney flashed Jarod an apologetic look, “Are you ready to begin Jarod?” He asked, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Jarod nervously glanced over at Mr. Raines, remembering what had transpired last time he had refused to complete his work. Nothing was worth experiencing that again.

His gaze back on the floor, Jarod nodded his head in defeat. He wished, just for once, he could win one small battle.

“Alright Jarod. Stand up and we’ll get you out of those things.” Sydney stated, motioning to a nearby sweeper.

“The restraints stay on.” Raines wheezed, as Jarod has started to rise from his seat.

“They will distract Jarod. This SIM is difficult enough without unnecessarily adding physical discomfort.” Sydney replied, clearly upset, despite his tendency to not reveal his emotions in front of Jarod.

Jarod was intently aware of Raines’ eyes on him. The man closed in around the pretender, the wheels of the tank squealing, as it lurched along behind him.

“Jarod needs to be aware of the consequences of his actions.” Raines retorted. “He will remain restrained until I am certain he won’t try to bolt out of here again.”

Sydney threw his pencil on the table. Jarod could see the psychiatrist was furious, but trying hard to hide it from him.

“Start the simulation now Jarod.” Raines threatened.

Closing his eyes, Jarod forced himself to relax. He shook away Sydney’s offer to run through a relaxation exercise. Nothing his mentor could do would spare him from the emotions this SIM would bombard him with.

As he drifted back into the simulation, he was overwhelmed by the onslaught of the screaming of children, as the hostage takers randomly fired, wounding teachers, while children were falling dead. Jarod was so immersed; he didn’t even realize his own screams were now mixing with those of the children.

“NOooo… Nooo… NOooo...” He shouted, as his brain was overwhelmed with the emotions from a roomful of terrified children.

“Jarod get into the minds of the men. Ignore the children.”

As he was suddenly overwhelmed with intense pain, Jarod murmured out loud, “I can’t Sydney. Please I can’t. It hurts,” as if his back was on fire.

He was starting to stir from the state of sleep to consciousness. He was oddly disoriented; the nightmare seemed so real.

“Quiet monkey.” An angry voice from nowhere screamed at him as he dreams slowly began to mix with present day reality.

“Please don’t make me.” Jarod gasped for air, still caught in the throes of the nightmare.

“Silence.” The voice yelled.

“Refuge.” Jarod instinctively pleaded in pure desperation.

“I said enough!” The angry voice finally was successful at pulling Jarod out of his nightmare.

Jarod frantically opened his eyes crying out, as he was cruelly shocked from behind. The sensation of burning back pain in his nightmare was actually the real-time sting of their electric prod. “Silence.” The unseen voice commanded.

Jarod shut his eyes tightly, trying to regain control of his ragged breathing. It had just been a dream. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes moist. Wiping away the unshed tears, Jarod was conscious of how badly he was trembling. It had just been a nightmare, a terrible past memory, but still just a dream. Reality was so much worse by comparison.

With a grimace, Jarod pushed himself to a sitting position. “I was dreaming.” He said dryly, looking upwards to face the guard who had entered the cell. The dark man still held the small prod he had used to cruelly pull Jarod from his nightmares.

The guard slapped the pretender hard in the face, causing Jarod’s head to hit the bars behind him heavily. Jarod scoffed realizing he had broken both of their precious rules.

As the guard knelt down in front of him, hands reached in from the other side of the bars, holding Jarod tightly. He gasped, as the man cruelly grabbed his hair and forced a piece of black cloth into his mouth, effectively gagging the pretender. Jarod struggled frantically, but the hands behind him, obviously that of another guard, kept him in place. Jarod weakly lashed out with his foot, as his wrists were handcuffed, chaining the pretender to the bar pressed into his already aching back.

“Problem solved.” The voice behind him mocked, as the other guard left the cell. Jarod pulled on his cuffs in frustration, as he found the seven other men in his cell all staring forlornly at him.

He closed his eyes, willing himself to forget the humiliation and shame that washed through him. The lingering effects of his nightmare were still with him, that sim being one of the most traumatic in Jarod’s life at the Centre. It was the first time he had been restrained at the Centre as punishment for disobedience, but certainly not the last.

That SIM was one of the most emotionally challenging and devastating ones that Jarod had been forced to complete. It had taken nearly three hours for him to complete it, as Sydney had desperately guided Jarod’s thoughts and emotions away from the children, as best could be done and into the mind of the killers.

When Jarod had finally finished, he was nothing but a crumpled depleted mess on the floor, his face stained with tears, covered in perspiration. When he had been taken to the shower the next morning, he had found bloody lacerations around his wrists, indicating he had violently been pulling on the cuffs during the entire simulation.

It had been several days before Jarod was able to close his eyes without being overcome by what had happened to the poor children in that school. Sydney had finally clued in to his exhausted state, and ordered Jarod sedated in the evenings allowing the pretender some rest. It had been humiliating, degrading but ironically entirely necessary.

It had taken weeks and a lot of counselling from Sydney before Jarod had been able to shake off his daily nightmares of that terribly disturbing SIM.

Jarod knew sleep would not be coming to him tonight. His darkest of memories seemed to torture him at his weakest moments. He could not trust himself once asleep and vulnerable, as he knew his damaged psyche could not be controlled, never mind the fear of choking due to the gag that had been forced into his mouth.

It was beyond cruel, punishing him for crying out, when consumed by the nightmares they had created for him. With a disheartened glance around his cell, Jarod saw that the occupants had all retreated back into their own worlds, except the one elderly gentleman with the salt and pepper grey hair. He gave Jarod a sad smile of sympathy before curling down onto the floor, his back to the pretender.

Fighting against his exhaustion, Jarod squeezed his eyes shut tightly, finding that safe place in his mind. Tonight he would play in the snow with his younger brother, hear his sister’s contagious laughter and his dad’s enthusiastic stories from the past.

The Jarod of five years ago wouldn’t have been able to survive this, but he could. Jarod had risked everything to find his family, and nothing was going to keep him from seeing them again.

Survival was his only option.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA – SIM LAB B

This was not what Lysander had in mind, when refusing to complete any work. She had pictured them dragging her off to some dark cell and beginning the legendary Zulu torture she had created images of in her mind.

It’s what the Conglomerate would have done. Disobedience equalled pain, the greater the degree of obstinacy, the larger the bruises. It was a simple equation, one she understood from the most basic of principles of physics.

She knew by reputation the Africans were dreadfully different. So far though, she didn’t know what this punishment meant. It was simple, it was nothing, but was painful in ways she couldn’t begin to describe.

They had dragged her out of the lab the second she had uttered the word ‘no.’ It had been so relieving to say it, her defiant nature released from its oppressive prison. She had physically fought against them, as they had carried her away, mostly because they expected it. But she had to admit she enjoyed it slightly, being the well-behaved project didn’t suit her – it never had.

Lysander squirmed slightly, wincing as the bruises that now covered her slender frame were aggravated. Bound and hooded, she had been defenceless against their abuse, it hurt badly just as it always had, but the physical abuse was something she could fight mentally.

But their little smack and bash hadn’t lasted long, it was almost as if they had been looking for an excuse to throw around a few punches and she had handed them one gift-wrapped.

Lys had lain curled up for what seemed like hours, until they had come for her once again, and dragged her back to the SIM lab. She had been surprised to find herself back in that room, figuring they would have been a bit more extreme if that was their only method of trying to coerce her.

Her handler had been there. The good doctor didn’t even ask her if she had reconsidered her defiance, Lys suspected her body language, although still hooded would had given her away anyways.

They had pushed her to the wall, and ripped off the hood before releasing from her handcuffs. Lys had been allowed one grateful shoulder roll before her hands were pulled out in front of her, and attached to a chain that was bolted to the floor as she was pushed back against the wall. They had attached two small chains around her lower legs, ensuring she stayed attached to the wall behind her.

“What’s this?” She had asked before she could prevent the words from leaving her mouth, a sharp smack to her head had instantly ensued.

“I believe you called it a game of ‘make me,’ did you not?” Her handler had responded cruelly.

Lys had remained silent, not quite sure what they were trying to prove.

“Here’s how this is going to work. Rule # 1 – no moving, rule # 2 no twitching. Think you can handle that luv?” The Brit had asked coolly.

“I think you are missing the ‘or else’ part Mate.” Lys responded thickly, not that she could move much if she so desired to. The chains on her legs prevented her from moving more than a few mere centimetres in either direction.

He had chuckled. Her newfound rebellion was probably making his day. A place like the Triumvirate could only employ the most twisted of minds. “A demonstration perhaps then.” He offered with a little too much sincerity in his voice.

Lys had watched as the guard had moved in from behind and had undone the chain attached to her hands that was bolted to the floor nearly a meter away, he had tugged down not so gently, shortening it by one quick link. Lys was still able to stand up fully, but there was a definite tension slowly pulling her forwards.

“Everytime you move, your chain will be shortened. Questions?”

Lys had bitten back anything that had threatened to escape.

He had laughed again. “Good night.”

To further antagonize the situation, her handler had found a piano timer. Its constant tick-tock back and forth was driving her insane.

It also gave her means by which to count the passing seconds. She figured worst case scenario, they would be back for her in twelve hours.

Tick-tock. The seconds passed by at a tantalizingly slow pace. She had tried so hard to stand still, knowing her comfort would decrease with every movement they caught her making.

But she had only made it for ninety minutes before her body had been screaming for relief.

She was now nearly hunched over at ninety degrees; the chain was slowly being shortened, as she could no longer fight her body pleading for release. She wanted nothing more but to be able to fall down, but the shackles around her lower legs kept her pinned upward.

Tick-tock. She wanted to scream. By her counting only six hours had passed. She was barely half way there.

Tick-tock. Why did she bother?

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Morning had finally come. Jarod took a deep breath in relief, as he felt the presence of a guard behind him, knowing he was about to be released from the uncomfortable position he had been restrained in since waking up from his nightmare. The guard grabbed the pretender’s hair and pulled him back against the bars of his cell with a bit more force than was necessary.

“Time to go.” He uttered cruelly, tugging the gag out of Jarod’s mouth and releasing him from the handcuffs.

Jarod gratefully ran his tongue over his dry and cracked lips, as he awkwardly pushed himself to his feet. His back, having spent the whole night uncomfortably pressed against the metal bars of the cage was painfully stiff.

The cage door was deactivated and pulled open indicating to Jarod he was to move out. With a few awkward steps he manoeuvred around the seven men held prisoner with him before tentatively stepping outside.

“Hands on your head.” The guard barked, as if it was the most obvious of actions, with a heavy sigh Jarod complied. It had been at least twenty four hours since he had been offered any source of nourishment or water. The dehydration, coupled with his exhaustion had left him with a lingering headache, and a feeling of light headedness he knew would make his already excruciating day that much more unbearable.

Jarod didn’t flinch as he was handcuffed and hooded and two strong hands grabbed both of his biceps. He focused on counting steps, ignoring the small beeps that emitted from the electronic device on his leg, as they passed through various electronically controlled doors.

When he was finally pulled to a stop and guided into a room and the hood removed, Jarod was surprised to find himself not in the SIM lab, but rather a small infirmary. Apparently it was time for a little check up to see how much more of their abuse he could withstand before there might be serious medical repercussions.

Jarod kept his eyes trained on the floor as the handcuffs were removed. It had been at least a few weeks since had had been allowed any free movement outside of their cages. He would not do anything to instigate the guards, no matter what the effect on his ego was.

It wasn’t long until a young African nurse entered the room. “Strip.” She ordered sternly, and Jarod complied, wishing that for once someone might allow him a bit of humanity.

He kept his eyes on the ground as he was weighed, poked and prodded. A stinging disinfectant was applied to the many contusions on his back, yielding a painful burning sensation.

“Sit.” The nurse ordered, Jarod sighed as he moved over to the exam table, hopping up onto it. The nurse checked his ears, his throat and mouth before attaching a tourniquet around his arm.

Jarod stared forlornly at his fore arm, given his bad level of dehydration he knew that finding a vein from which to draw blood would be extremely difficult. It took a few minutes of prodding before the nurse reached the same obvious conclusion.

Jarod grunted and squirmed slightly until she instead chose a vein on his hand, jabbing the needle into him. “Sit still.” She barked uncaringly as he watched his blood flow very slowly into the small tubes. Just once it would be nice to have a nurse treat him as a human being, rather than a prize cow in for its annual vitamin injections.

Jarod remained seated on the exam table and the nurse left the room wordlessly, returning a few minutes later with a Doctor and his favourite African handler in tow.

“How’s the wrist?” The doctor asked neutrally, taking Jarod’s broken and plastered wrist in his hand. Jarod shook his head slightly. It was obviously healing badly as even the strong fibreglass cast couldn’t prevent the pain and discomfort brought forward by weeks of being restrained.

“Wonderful, the past few weeks have been exactly what the doctor ordered.” Jarod replied sarcastically, flinching as his dark African handler moved towards him. He wished he knew the man’s name, even just for the benefit of developing twisted nicknames for him mentally.

The doctor scoffed, but remained silent. He obviously knew there was no point as much as Jarod did. “Another four weeks or so, and the cast should be ready to come off.”

Jarod shut his eyes. Another four weeks, he couldn’t imagine the repercussions if he was still here four weeks down the road. Not that any escape opportunities seemed to be presenting themselves. He couldn’t think about it. One day at a time, it was all he could handle.

The doctor handed him two cups and motioned in the direction of a small bathroom just off the wall. Urine sample time.

Jarod froze. Two cups.

He was overwhelmed with the rage and humiliation he had felt, when he lain eyes on Gemini, remembering the exact process they had used to secure his DNA. He’d never felt more violated in his entire life.

“Get moving.” His handler barked, pulling the pretender down from the exam table. Jarod remained frozen. There was absolutely no way he could participate in this, especially given that he knew exactly what lengths they would stoop to exploit his genetic material. He couldn’t believe it was happening again.

He shivered at the thought of another genetic copy of himself entering the world, another victim of their twisted mercenary cruelty.

His handler had obviously had enough of the pretender’s stalling and unwillingness to comply with his command.

Jarod backed against the wall as the guards moved in around him as the stark reality of his situation collapsed upon him.

He could refuse their simulations, but there was absolutely nothing he could do to prevent what was about to happen. He found that out the hard way at the Centre.

His mind may still be his, but his genetics clearly belonged to them.

MP will be back in the next chappie, I promise!!

Chapter # 8 – Gathering Strength

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Lysander groaned as the hood was yanked off her head, revealing that she was back in the SIM Lab. She didn’t know how, but somehow she had survived what was officially the worst night of her life. She would take all the beatings and psychotropic drugs in the world over what she had been subjected to last evening.

The metronome was still reverberating in her head, so much so she was almost drawn to moving her body side to side to the rhythm still pounding in her skull.  The steady click, click, click in her mind was driving her insane. It was so simple, and yet so insidious.

By the time morning had come, despite her best efforts, Lys had been folded over, her hands only a few inches off the ground. They had dragged her to the shower blocks where she had been able to clean up and most importantly relieve her screaming bladder. When the guards had seen her tilt her head back to attempt to satisfy her thirst, they came at her menacingly, rewarding her with a violent thump to back of her head. 

Lys had half-hoped that she would then be returned to her cell for at least a few hours of sleep, or at the very least given a glass of water let alone something solid to eat. Her mouth was painfully raw, and her already dry lips were beginning to crack. She very much doubted she could speak much above a halting whisper at this point.

“Alright Pet, what’s it going to be today?” The taunting voice of her so-called master questioned her from behind. Lys looked over to her work space, her unfinished prediction from yesterday sitting at the ready.

Why had she bothered to resist in the first damn place? What had that accomplished?  It was clear the Africans weren’t quite ready to destroy her yet, although she didn’t doubt they had the ability when it became prudent to do so. Or maybe this was the grand scheme, slow destruction from within. Tearing her core away piece by piece until what was left was too broken to pick up the scattered pieces.

Welcome to life in Africa.

Lys’ attempt to catalyze the process had resulted in nothing but a painfully sore back and further deflated ego strength.  But she couldn’t give in. Something, whatever it was, just wouldn’t let her.

And then there was Jarod. How was he faring? She still had much residual anger about what had transpired back in Delaware. She was far beyond that level of hopelessness, almost a twisted sense of acceptance that this was simply where her life at taken her. Being locked up for two decades had taught her a lot about acceptance. Every time an electronic lock had sounded, it had taken a small piece of her soul with it. What had transpired after her attempt at escape from Corporation Zero and subsequent entrapment in Blue Cove had taken whatever small fragments still remained.

Lys knew she was no longer living, just existing.

Her back was aching; her throat was raw, her head pounding with a borderline migraine. Although being their puppet hurt in a much deeper and more fundamental way, she could control only one thing in the twisted web of the Africans, and that was her cooperation, or complete lack thereof.

Lys brought her gaze down to the floor, her heart and soul screaming rebellion, her mind and body crying for relief. She stood frozen; half hoping the man behind her would make the next move.

“You have found yourself to be in quite the quandary.” Her handler antagonized her further. He grabbed her arm and propelled her forward, handcuffed as she was, Lys could do little to protest. She stared spitefully at her workspace, as he pushed Lys towards it; releasing her from the handcuffs. 

“Sit.” He ordered, pulling her head backwards by her hair.  She grimaced slightly before noticeably hesitating, causing the man behind her to chuckle.

“Rule number three is complete and utter obedience, no hesitation.” The man informed her neutrally.

Lys remained standing, staring thoughtfully at the small piles of paper that lay on the table in front of her. For the smallest of instances she contemplated sitting down and going back to being their well-behaved monkey once again.

But she didn’t have it in her. She had to keep on fighting; it was the only way.

“Heard the expression a picture is worth a thousand words?” Her handler asked sharply, bending slightly so he was speaking directly into her ear.

Lys flinched away from him. “I think even that one was used before I was locked away from the world.” She replied bitterly.

“Then picture this. Your exaggerated negative mannerisms: the scowl on your face and sarcasm indicate a poor attitude. What image does this paint in your mind?” He pressed on.

Lysander shrugged. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” She asked with forced disinterest.

Her handler stood back for a moment, before reaching down and grabbing a large handful of Lys’s long blond hair. She cried out in pain, as she was pulled from behind and dragged backwards.

“It’s blatantly obvious to me and everyone around you that you require more time to contemplate your exact position in life. The attitude, you will lose it now.” The British man threatened, before pushing Lys in the direction of the guards, as if she were a wilful child.

She didn’t bother struggling, as she was dragged across the lab, back to the same spot she had had occupied just a few short hours ago. Lys squeezed her eyes shut tightly as the chains were attached around her wrists.  Her already aching muscles tightened involuntarily at the thought of being held in the same dreadful position without the possibility of respite.

“See you tomorrow.” Her handler taunted, as he started the metronome. Lys fought the urge to scream, as the antagonizing tick-tock filled the room.

But in a small way, she had to admit, her rebellion felt kind of good.

Lys thought of her mum, closing her eyes as the images danced in her mind. The imagery always brought her strength. She hadn’t forgotten that warm and happy face, but the details had slowly been erased as the years had passed. Lys would give almost anything to know what had happened to her mother after the Conglomerate had stolen her. 

Whatever had happened, she’d like to think her mum would be proud; Twenty years and still going strong.

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Parker guided her Porsche into Broots’ driveway. Sydney had been insistent that they meet at the tech’s house tonight. The psychiatrist had been a no show at the Centre today, some excuse about a terrible migraine. She hadn’t bought it.

She was curious as to why Sydney was so adamant about where they meet.  She could sense there was something big going on and she was rarely wrong.  Something was up, every fibre in her being screamed towards that conclusion.

Throwing the car into park, and shutting off the ignition, Parker quickly exited her Porsche Boxter. Here she was, at the house of Broots of all places.  It had to be only one step up from all the lairs Jarod had dragged her to over the years. Whether he was just a Centre prisoner, Africa’s newest acquisition or just the tormenting genius she had chased for six years, she was beginning to believe that her life was never going to be Jarod free. She would never escape his tangled web.

Parker knocked impatiently at Broots’ front door, grimacing at the wicker furniture placed carefully on the front porch. It was all suburbia was meant to be; a pathetic attempt to project normalcy when all that was hidden in the cookie-cutter tract homes was a regular freak show, at times one that could rival even that of the Centre.

“Miss Parker,” Broots greeted formally. She could tell the tech was nervous. Whatever Sydney had to reveal, it must be good. Even she hadn’t had the ability lately to cause that amount of anxiousness in the tech, and that was saying something.

“Relax Broots. I’m sure whatever Freud has to divulge, it’s not worth using up the entire stick of deodorant.” She commented dryly, obviously remarking at his uneasy demeanour.

Broots shrugged, ignoring her remark. Instead he stepped into the kitchen, taking his seat at the large kitchen table.

“Miss Parker,” Sydney acknowledged from his chair.

“So what do I owe the pleasure of my own little personal trip to Pleasantville boys?” Parker questioned, joining the two men at the table.

“What’s Pleasantville?” an adolescent voice questioned curiously from behind her.

Parker spun around, her mouth gaping slightly. “Gemini,” she stated, her surprise evident in her tone. When she had expressed her earlier desire to touch base with Jarod’s clone, it had been wishful thinking. Never in her life had she actually expected to see him here. It wasn’t right; in fact it was nothing but extremely wrong.

“Jay,” he corrected her quickly. “It’s nice to see you again Miss Parker,” the teen added with a soft smile.

“What are you doing here?”  Parker asked suspiciously, but knowing it had everything to do with Jarod. Few things in her life didn’t, and she suspected that same could be said for Gemini.

“I came to rescue my brother,” Jay responded confidently.

Parker rolled her eyes. Only Jarod and his family would be able to turn something as immoral and unspeakable as a clone, into the long lost son they never had. It was pathetic, yet touching.

“I need a drink,” Parker muttered, as she turned around and faced Sydney, surprised by the guilt that was quickly overwhelming her. She knew better.  Gemini shouldn’t be here, as it was beyond wrong. How could Sydney be so blind as to not see that? 

“You miss your original lab-rat that much Sydney that you need to endanger the life of his copy? Gemini shouldn’t be here, and we should most definitely not be here with him,” she stated, a noticeable edge to her tone.

“It was my idea,” Jay’s hesitant voice shot back, his earlier confidence obviously faltering.  

Parker kept her eyes on Sydney. “And I’m sure that you found your way to Broots’ humble abode all by yourself,” she asked the teen knowingly.

Sydney’s eyes narrowed slightly, “Parker, you said it yourself. We need help to bring Jarod home.”

Parker wordlessly accepted the shot of whatever Broots had managed to dig up in his liquor cabinet without breaking eye contact with Sydney. She wouldn’t involve Gemini in this charade. With Jarod safely back in their custody, every sweeper in Blue Cove was now gunning for the evasive carbon copy. The state of Delaware was the last place the teen should be. Jarod’s quest for freedom may be a lost cause, but Gemini had been saved. She would be damned if she would participate in anything that could lead to his recapture.

She turned back to Gemini. “I can’t believe the Major let you come here – knowing the risks. We might as well call Raines right now and tell him his little pet project is ready for a little school reunion.” she stated neutrally, her eyes boring into the teen’s. Gemini flinched at the mention of Raines, his gaze immediately falling to the floor as he tugged nervously at his sweater.

It was obvious that the Major didn’t know. With an impatient sigh, Parker turned back, prepared to throw her wrath completely at Sydney.

“Miss Parker …” the psychiatrist started.

“No Sydney. It isn’t enough that we have all committed Jarod to a lifetime of hell in Africa, now you want to involve Gemini as well?” She demanded angrily.

“Uhh it’s Jay, Miss Parker,” Broots interjected, only to be immediately silenced as Parker glared in his direction.

“Jay, Gemini whatever. I cannot believe you Sydney. What about the Major? Are you planning on hiding yet another one of his family members from him for god knows how long? This is our mess to clean up, not theirs. If Jarod ever were to find out about this, he’d…”

“He’d what Miss Parker?” Sydney questioned her angrily. “Jay volunteered his help to us. Face it, we are beaten. We need help. Our answers won’t be found behind Centre walls, not this time. He is here because he wants to be, and under the circumstances who are any of us to deny him that chance?”  

“This isn’t about saving Jarod, Sydney. If it were you’d have the balls necessary to do it yourself. Do not turn this into something it’s clearly not. It’s not about Jarod; it’s about you and satisfying whatever issues you still have with your twisted life. You can’t find absolution with your original science experiment so why not turn back the clock and using the newer and improved version,” Parker accused, her tone dripping with venom.

“You don’t understand Parker. I make no excuses for my past, but I promised Jarod I would come for him, that I would find a way to save him. I’ve looked the other way too many times. It’s far time I did something about it.” Sydney growled back. It wasn’t often the psychiatrist got this riled up over something. 

“Yes Sydney. It’s time you did something. I’m done trying to find method in your madness. You have an excuse for every action or decision.  If this is how you are going to save your precious golden boy, by exploiting his carbon copy, then so be it. Is this the path to get you what you really want, having both Jarod and Jarod 2.0 under your precious guidance? You are dearly mistaken if you think for one moment that I’ll be a participant in this twisted game. I’m out.” She sneered.

 “Miss Parker.” Broots gasped. Parker swung her head towards the tech where he was hesitantly pointing in Jay’s direction.

Parker turned around to see the teen fleeing from the room, as the true gravity of the words she had just said hit her straight on.

With a groan of frustration, Parker turned back to face the two men before her.

“Tell me Broots you don’t agree with this. Jay shouldn’t be here. Jarod has wanted only two things from his freedom: answers and family. How can you allow his family to be broken up even more than it already is? This is the last thing Jarod would want.”

“Jay came on his own Miss Parker.” Broots reminded her. “Sydney had taken every precaution to make sure he is safe. Not one of us wants the Centre to find out he’s around. I don’t think you are being fair to him.”

“Jay doesn’t know any better. Hell I remember Jarod at that age, he believed he could do anything and everything, without the reality of consequences.”

“He still does Miss Parker.” Sydney stated irately.

She shot the shrink a glare. “He believes, but he knows there are consequences to his actions. What about Jay? Well I don’t deny that he lived a less than pleasant life under Raines, do you want to enlighten him as to the welcome home party that will be waiting him? What about the grim details of exactly what is likely being done to Jarod in Africa? And what about Jarod, what are you going to tell him if by some miracle he’s still kicking and screaming if we manage to get him transferred back here? How are you going to explain why the little family he gave everything to find is nothing but a bunch of scattered pieces for him to put back together again?”

“I don’t know Miss Parker.” Sydney said with obvious frustration, burying his face into his hands.

“Miss Parker, if raising Debbie has taught me anything, it’s that children are capable of things even we can’t imagine. If Jay wants to help, who are we to deny this to him? If Debbie is old enough to spend the semester in France, then he’s definitely old enough to make his own choices.”

Parker scoffed. “There’s a big difference between lollygagging in the Louvre versus playing chicken with the Zulus.”

Sydney stood up angrily from the table.

“Where do you think you are going Freud? This conversation is far from over.” Parker sneered.

“In case you didn’t notice Miss Parker, the harshness of your words sent the very person you are so dearly trying to protect running out of the room. I’m going to speak with him. Whatever this is, can wait.” Sydney stated with conviction.

Parker shot up from the table. Sydney’s eyes narrowed as she pushed him aside.

“I’ll do it.” She offered, leaving no room for argument.

She didn’t know what to think. Every fibre of her being screamed that Jay should not be here, that it was wrong to use him, but a very small part of her was already considering the possibilities.

Whatever it takes. It was a statement she had said over and over again in the past six years chasing Jarod. Whatever it takes to bring the genius home, whatever necessary to dig up the secrets of the past, whatever it takes to survive.  

She wouldn’t sacrifice Jay to save Jarod. Sydney clearly had no issues making that decision and Broots was too wrapped up in his new age parenting methods to see the stark black and white of this particular situation.

Jarod wasn’t around to protect the boy, and the Major was nowhere in sight, likely not even remotely close to Delaware.

She would shoulder the burden.

As she climbed the stairs, she had to wonder how it was so easy for her to care for Gemini, but when it came to Jarod, she rarely did anything. Two people, same twisted Centre tale, one genetic code. Her feelings simply didn’t add up. 

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod inhaled sharply as he struggled to slip out of the unconscious haze the sedatives had created for him. The memory of what exactly had occurred before he was sedated quickly resurfaced, a feeling of violation immediately consuming him. He pushed away his memory of the first time his annual Centre medical exam had involved two plastic sample cups. Jarod had been so distraught after that first visit, they had subsequently sedated him for all future examinations. 

The Africans had clearly proven their point. For all his bravado and resistance they had demonstrated there was one thing that was completely out of his control.  Jay had been created well over fifteen years ago, he would be stupid to believe that they had been letting his apparently invaluable DNA sit idle since then.

It was just easier not to think about it. He couldn’t, not here, not now.

Jarod gave a gentle tug on his left wrist, not surprised to find himself in soft hospital restraints, all part of their need to constantly assert their control over him. He reluctantly glanced down, surprised to find an IV running out of his left hand. He followed the line up, but was unable to read the contents of the bag. He suspected that it was most likely rehydration fluids, but too many nights spent under the influence of some unidentifiable narcotics made him wary.

Turning his head to the right, Jarod let in a deep breath, enjoying the moment to simply be himself. He was mentally and physically exhausted, and craving human interaction in a way he never had thought possible. His personal resources were slowly dwindling and his memories of his freedom and of his family were growing slightly more distant with each passing day. It was hard, picturing his father, Jay and Emily together as he lay a prisoner an ocean away. The memories had initially brought him comfort, and still did, but now they were starting to add to his hopelessness and misery. 

Logically he knew they would be working hard towards a rescue, but he had been here for what had been at least a month, likely much longer, and had yet to find a single flaw in their security. If he couldn’t even begin to plot a way out, how would they plot a way in? It was ironic, as the only person who could make a difference, would be Raines. Jarod knew that the chairman would not lift a finger to bring him home, until Raines was certain that he had shattered into a million pieces. If the Centre even had that kind of leverage to begin with.

Aware his desperation was quickly growing, Jarod turned his thoughts to the new accommodations he had been escorted to last night, desperate to decipher exactly what game they were trying to play at. Isolation had been an unspoken requirement of his captivity his entire life, and yet they had thrown him into a cage with several other men and why?

Given he had spent the majority of his night handcuffed to one of the bars that made up the perimeter of the prison, Jarod had spent most of his night simply observing the other men. He had quickly leapt to one observation, that only he wore a brand on his top left shoulder. It made him different.

He now knew that they were using these new harsher conditions, as a means to attempt to further break him down. Jarod had spent so much time behind locked doors in his life, he had simply learned to cope. The punishing routine of his days here at the Triumvirate Headquarters had made his isolation at night that much more imperative to his survival. His mind was his one and only powerful weapon against them, and as long as he possessed the capability to use it to its full potential, they would never break him down. His resolve might diminish, but it would never crumble.  

The Centre had never fully understood what he was capable off, and instead of relied on threats and intimidation to ensure Jarod’s compliance. The Africans were clearly were much more educated on how to play the game.

Jarod knew his new accommodations would stretch his already waning mental resources even further. They had taken the last few morsels of privacy he still had left out of the equation. He was no longer free to recover from the ramifications of his nightmares, to let his frustrations out, to simply allow his tortured soul a few moments of relative safety.

It meant every second of every day he was held prisoner here, would be a fight for survival.

Jarod shuddered slightly as his mind began to question exactly how long he could go on like this for. He refused to broach the question, as he recalled the emptiness in the eyes of the men who shared his imprisonment.

As to who they were and why they were locked up in such pitiful conditions, Jarod was clueless. Not that he wanted to investigate what could lead to such disparity in the first place. When it came right down to it, it didn’t matter anyway. It was out of his control.  His own survival was questionable, let alone that of poor men, most of which he suspected were well beyond the saving stage.

Jarod could hear Sydney’s voice in his head, pleading with him to be strong, to fight. He heard his father’s pleas screaming at him not to give up, that they would wait for him to come home, that they would come home. He was beginning to realize that they were nothing but nice thoughts. Africa was his battle to fight, alone. The images of his family gave him strength, but survival was up to only him.

The days had turned into weeks, and the weeks eventually would turn into months. Jarod knew he couldn’t hold on forever. Eventually it would come down to one simple choice; the lives of the innocent or his. 

MEXICO CITY, MEXICO

Emily closed the door gently behind her, looking cautiously to her father staring out of their airport room hotel. The Major was too distraught to even pilot a plane, and hence they were returning to America via commercial airlines.

“Dad?” she called softly, giving him a small smile, as he turned to meet her gaze. “I’ve brought some take-out, enchiladas.”

The major nodded his thanks, returning to his empty staring out the window, his face expressionless.

“He’s okay Dad, I know he is.” Emily assured the Major. She was trying so hard to be so strong, to keep it together, but even she was beginning to falter. Her father, already mentally exhausted with trying to process Jarod’s fate, was falling further and further from her reach.

“I just don’t understand why he couldn’t feel that he could trust us with that information. I tried so hard to give that boy the life he deserved after we rescued him from the Centre.” The Major stated softly.

“He left without a word because he knew we would have talked him out of it.” Emily replied, setting the takeout down on the table and walking over to her father.

“Why?” He whispered, his despair evident.

“I don’t know Dad.” Emily remarked honestly. “But I do know he has a big heart. He’s just a lost teenage boy, trying to save his older brother from the same fate that he, himself, was rescued from.” Jay’s note had been extremely vague, filled with obvious guilt-ridden apologies and a few words stating he had gone to find a way to bring Jarod home. There was no clue as to where he might be headed, Emily could only pray it was neither in the direction of the Congo or Delaware. Her instincts screamed otherwise however.

“We have to find him.” The Major said with broken conviction. “It seems that history has chosen to repeat itself. All my sons – missing once again.”

Emily sat down next to her father, pulling him into a big bear hug.  “I’m still here Dad, and I’m never going to let go of you.” She whispered, shivering slightly, as he pulled her tight against him.

They were holding on by the thinnest of threads.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik studied Lysander intently from his private viewing area behind the two-way mirror. The predictor had him admittedly stumped. She had arrived in Africa only days after a failed suicide attempt. She had cooperated without question, but now, out of the blue had found strength to fight.

They wanted him to figure out how to destroy her spirit, but Henrik was slowly realizing it was already gone. How do you break someone who is fighting for nothing? It was as if Lysander was willing death to come to her, and that rebellion would catalyze the process that the predictor was so certain was coming towards her.

Jarod has been suspiciously absent from the lab for the entire day, but Henrik had been too fearful to dare bring up the issue to Dr. Masoud.

He was getting close to finding a way to entice Jarod, he could feel it. After his talk with Dr. Masoud he had realized something very key to the pretender’s inner workings – feelings of guilt. Everything Jarod had done leading up to and after his escape had been motivated by the guilt he felt about the misuse of his simulations.

Henrik had sifted through pages of electronic reports, detailing the many people Jarod had helped on his so-called pretends. It was as if one person at a time, the pretender was trying to balance the scales.

It was a misguided quest, although Henrik had found the little tales admittedly touching. As a small boy he had lain awake, cursing whatever higher being had sentenced him to a life of captivity. He would wish for a miracle, someone to save him from his fate.

Henrik now knew the world didn’t work like that. Life was all about power and what one did with the opportunities they were born into. In the big scheme of things, Henrik knew he didn’t have any power by which to bargain with. He had been gifted with accelerated intelligence, an asset so powerful that if it wasn’t the Centre exploiting it, it would have been some other nefarious organization.

Henrik had forgotten what it was like to feel hope, until he had the pages and pages of documents detailing the people Jarod had helped. The path his life had taken him on had taught him only how to accept his fate.  His genius had sentenced him to this life, and all he was able to do was learn to accept it and learn to make the best of it.

Still Henrik had found himself drifting slightly into SIM mode, as he had reviewed the files, relishing in the happy emotions Jarod’s pretends had brought to others. Such pleasant feelings were not part of his existence.  

It was not the life of a pretender to feel emotions, rather to interpret them from a neutral standpoint. Jarod would learn eventually. Henrik would see to it. The key to the pretender’s rebellion was guilt, and this would also be the solution to his undoing.  The solution was so close, Henrik could almost taste it.

Henrik could only wish that unlocking Jarod’s resistance would be his ticket out of Africa.

Dr. Klaus wouldn’t leave him here, would he?

Chapter # 9 – Unlikely Allies

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

“Jay?” Miss Parker called out hesitantly as she reached the top of Broots’ narrow staircase; she waited several long seconds before repeating the call.

“In here,” a reluctant voice finally called out from the bedroom at the end of the hall.

Parker lingered at the doorframe, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath before entering the small, yet well furnished, guest room. Broots was more domestic than she had given him credit.

“I’m sorry,” were the first words out of her mouth; she grimaced as they came out hesitantly. With a small sigh, Parker moved towards the bed where Jay now sat, hugging his knees. “I should not have said what I did.” She admitted quietly, guilt eating into her as she observed the defensive position the boy was curled into. It was too familiar.

Jay brought his gaze up to face her, studying her quietly. “You’re different than I remember,” he stated, no accusation in his voice.

Parker sat down beside the boy, meeting his deep brown eyes, waiting for him to continue. His eyes reminded her so much of Jarod, the lost pretender who was overwhelming her thoughts.

“You were the first person to see the real me,” Jay finally admitted, hugging his knees tighter. “All my life, I was trained to do what I was told, made to believe that any expression of emotion was wrong. But not by you. You were the first person to see just me, not a successful science experiment, just me, a boy.” He spoke with slight faltering.

“We only spoke for a few minutes.” Parker reminded him gently, yet negating the compliment. “I don’t deserve to be on anyone’s pedestal.”

My entire childhood was filled with darkness and negativity, until you offered me a few brief moments of sanctuary. It may be only the first of many from now on, but I can’t help but remember its’ significance then,” Jay practically whispered. “I’ve thought often about that kind, gentle woman who gave me the first memories of light in my dark and oppressive world.”

“It was a moment of compassion.” Parker replied, shrugging away Jay’s implication. “The pain in your eyes reminded me of another boy, one who’s suffering I ignored. Your memories have turned me into something I am not.”

Jay adverted his gaze. “I can see now you are not who I thought you were. I always wanted to thank that woman, who gave that gift of compassion and hope.”

“Few people are who we believe them to be.” Parker replied softly, her thoughts turning briefly to Mr. Parker; just another amendment to the Parker curse.

“Jarod is.” Jay replied, a slight hint of accusation in his voice. “My family is.”

“Even they conceal darkness.” Parker retorted, a slight edge creeping into her voice.

Jay shook his head firmly. “Everyone has secrets. It’s not the same thing.”

Parker leaned back against the wall with a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry I can’t be the person you thought I was. It’s just the way it is.” Aware her eyes were starting to water slightly, she allowed her thoughts to focus on the older pretender. “It’s not safe for you to be here. Jarod would not want you to risk the life you have built for yourself. You need to run, run far away from here.” She warned the teen, suppressing warnings of capture before they could leave her.

Jay shook his head with determination. “Jarod risked everything to give me my freedom. I have to do this.”

“No you don’t. Sydney, Broots and I will figure out a way. I promise you.” Parker replied. “This is not your battle to fight.”

Jay shook his head. “If you won’t let me, I’ll do it alone.” He said with conviction, his tone taking on that quality which Parker had observed in his ‘chromosomal equal.’

“Then you clearly are as stubborn as your genetic origin.” Parker snapped, sighing in frustration as the boy shrank into himself at her harsher tone. .

“Who is the real you?” Jay finally asked, not meeting her eyes. “Are you the woman who cares about the lonely boy, or the one who uses harsh words to push everyone away?”

Parker took a deep breath, recalling the conversation that she and Jarod had shared in the Florida Keys.

“It doesn’t suit you.”

“What?”

“This façade you put up. You try to act like your father; But he’s not who you are.

“What is with your gene pool and always asking difficult questions?” Parker contemplated aloud, her voice barely a whisper.

“They are only difficult if you are trying to hide something.” Jay replied knowingly.

Parker was admittedly taken aback by the level of maturity and composure that the younger pretender was portraying. “Most kids your age are more concerned with getting their learners permit. You’ve escaped the Centre, broken away from the web that will also trap Jarod and I. Jarod’s life is not worth the sacrifice if the price is your freedom.” She argued with the teen. “You know very well what he would say if he were in this room.”

“It’s because he’s not here that we are even having this conversation. Jarod’s life is worth every sacrifice. How can you say that?” Jay asked accusingly, his body language hardening instantly.

“No Jay. My mother died trying to rescue children like you. Every action comes at a price. Jarod and I lost our chance at a normal life the second she was murdered. I will not let you become the next permanent casualty.” Parker informed the young pretender, her voice softening.

“And what about Jarod?” Jay countered.

“We will do our best Jay. That’s all I can promise. Life is a lot easier to negotiate if you learn that not everyone can be saved.” She replied honesty. “Ask Sydney. He tried to drill that concept into Jarod’s head. You can’t save everyone.”

“You speak of him as if he is already gone.” The teen remarked with obvious bitterness.

“He is gone.” Parker informed him.

“Gone, but not forgotten. As long as we are here fighting for him, Jarod still has a chance. I will never give up.” Jay replied instantly, his voice taking on such force that Parker almost jumped back in surprise.

“And what about Major Charles, and Emily? What happens to them while you are trying to save Jarod from a place which prides itself on leaving no survivors?”

Jay sprang from the bed, moving over to the window. Parker gasped slightly, as the revelation dawned on her. She was besieged with guilt, as the broken image of Major Charles leaving Jarod behind in the van, after a failed rescue attempt. She rose from the bed and approached the teen cautiously. “I can imagine the only thing worse than losing a son, would be to lose him more than once.” She offered supportively.

The teens head nodded hesitantly. “When I was first rescued, the day we had to leave Jarod behind on the runway, Dad was beside himself with worry. But this time, he knows exactly what happened, where Jarod has been sent… he…”

“He blames himself.” Parker finished for him.

Jay nodded again, his back still to the woman behind him. “Can’t you see Miss Parker? I have to help Jarod. If I don’t, I won’t only lose my brother, but my father as well.”

Parker stepped back, observing the slender frame before her, tense with obvious resolve. It was blatant that Jay was determined to help Jarod, no matter what the consequences.

She moved back to the small bed as a distinct memory from her childhood, when she was thirteen years old, one of her last memories of Jarod before she had been sent away to boarding school came to mind:

She climbed through the air vent which opened into Jarod’s bedroom. “Thanks Angelo!” she whispered as the small boy disappeared into sight.

“Jarod?” She called out hesitantly, gripping the vent cover with her fingers.

“Miss Parker?” A small black form called out from across the shadowed room.

Miss Parker smiled as she pushed the vent out, cringing slightly, when it noisily fell to the floor. She paused until she was sure the sound had gone undetected, with a slight shrug, she lowered herself gently to the floor, replacing the vent cover.

“Jarod?” She asked again with concern as she saw her friend, uncharacteristically curled into a small ball on the floor, protectively hugging his knees to his chest.

“I thought you were supposed to be in England, with your father.” The young pretender stated.

Miss Parker frowned, the pain of another broken promise resurfacing. “Daddy ended up being too busy to go.” She admitted, not wanting to recall the lonely hours she had spent as Christmas had slowly passed by. It was the second Christmas she had spent without her mother, and she was beginning to realize that the holiday season no longer held the same wonder and excitement it once did. That joy and happiness had died along with her mother in that elevator. This season had brought her nothing but emptiness, amplifying the pain she felt from her mother’s absence. .

“I’m sorry. I know how excited you were.” Jarod offered sincerely, still sitting motionless on the floor.

Unsure what was wrong with her friend, Miss Parker looked around the small room, a small smile finding its way onto her face, as she caught sight of the small paper snowflakes that lay on the pretender’s desk.

“You made more.” She exclaimed excitedly, picking them up, remembering the wonderful conversation she had shared with Jarod before departing for the Christmas holidays. The pretender’s eyes had filled with wonderment as she had described the way snow sparkled as it gently fell from the sky, the sensation of lying on your back, spreadeagle with your mouth open, ready to catch the delicate icy crystals. She turned back to her friend, seeing how Jarod’s face had taken on a pained expression. “I’m sorry Jarod, I really do hope you get to see the snow someday.”

The young pretender studied her intently for several seconds before placing his head onto his lap. “I did it. I got out.” He stated proudly, although with an undercurrent of sadness.

“What do you mean ‘out’?” She asked the young pretender with a frown on her face.

“To the roof, to see the snow.” Jarod replied, his voice muffled as his head was still buried against his knees.

Miss Parker moved to the wall, and slid down along the wall, sitting beside her friend, sensing he wanted to say more.

“It was beautiful Miss Parker.” The teen admitted, turned his head to meet hers, his warm brown eyes coming alight before fading slightly as the pained look returned.

“They found out, didn’t they?” She asked knowingly, watching as the pretender nodded his head sadly.

“Sydney?” She probed further.

Jarod nodded. “He returned from wherever it is he goes. I’ve never seen him so angry.”

Miss Parker had to smile a bit at that. It was hard to imagine the level-headed psychiatrist worked up over anything. “I bet you earned yourself quite the lecture.” She commented, attempting to bring a smile back to her friend’s face.

Jarod grinned slightly. “I thought he was never going to stop.” Sydney’s long-winded parental life-lessons were somewhat of a point of amusement for the two children. Miss Parker herself had been subjected to a few, Sydney obviously increasing his nurturing ways since her mother had passed on.

The pretender’s face darkened as he grew distant. “I’m not allowed to walk around on my own anymore. I have to wait for the sweepers.” Jarod dejectedly admitted.

Parker smiled sympathetically at her friend. “It’s Sydney, Jarod. He’ll get over it. It was worth it though, wasn’t it?”

Jarod simply gave her a melancholy smile, but his eyes retained their look of defeat.

“There’s more that you’re not telling me.” Parker stated knowingly.

“Dr. Raines, he…” The pretender said softly, his voice breaking, as he brought his head off his knees and turned to face his younger friend. Miss Parker gasped slightly, as she caught sight of a deep purple bruise along the pretender’s right cheekbone.

“After Sydney left, he came, and took me to another room. It was so small and dark…” The pretender continued haltingly, obviously trying to suppress his emotions and failing miserably. Parker placed an awkward hand on the pretender’s knee as a weak attempt at offering comfort.

“How long did he leave you there Jarod?” Miss Parker finally asked.

The young pretender shrugged. “How many days have you been gone for?” He asked sadly, bringing his head to his knees again. Miss Parker shook her head, as the implications of Jarod’s question dawned on her. It had been nearly two weeks since she had last seen the young pretender.

Both teens looked up as they became aware of a presence outside Jarod’s small room. The two exchanged fearful glances, as they realized there was not enough time for Miss Parker to return to the vent.

“What are you doing in here, Miss Parker?” The evil voice of Dr. Raines questioned angrily, as he entered the small room, two sweepers following in behind him.

Miss Parker shivered slightly, noticing how Jarod was cowered against the wall, as if willing himself to disappear.

“I was just visiting.” She answered, surprised at the strength her tone projected. She quickly got to her feet.

“I suggest you leave – now.” Dr. Raines replied neutrally, walking over to the small desk and picking up the small snowflakes with disdain.

“Get up Jarod.” He ordered, crumpling the paper in his hands, destroying the delicate pieces of art work. “It’s obvious that we are not challenging your mind hard enough if you find time and patience in fantasizing about such trivial matters.” He continued. Miss Parker frowned at the hidden implications behind his words. She turned and looked at Jarod, the young pretender was reluctantly pushing himself to a standing position. She frowned as Jarod made no signs of responding to Raines’ remark. He instead just stared at the floor in front of him, his eyes betraying his nervousness, avoiding eye contact.

Miss Parker felt the firm hand of one of the sweeper’s on her back, and she reluctantly left the room, lingering on the outside as Raines continued to speak to the pretender, trying to hear what was being said.

“You’re kept isolated for a reason Jarod. Forget about the outside world, and forget about Miss Parker. Your purpose is to serve the Centre.” The doctor informed the teen cruelly.

“She’s my friend.” A cautious voice replied.

“Not anymore she’s not. You don’t get to have friends Jarod. It’s for your own protection. You’re too susceptible to contamination from the outside world. Isolation is our only option. You will understand one day.”

“We weren’t doing anything wrong,” he protested.

Miss Parker flinched as the sound of flesh hitting flesh sounded sharply. Not wanting to hear anymore, she took of running down the hall, wishing she could do something to save her friend.

Parker shook herself from her reverie, looking up to Jay, who was still looking out the window, oblivious to the fact she had drifted away momentarily.

Several days after she had been caught visiting Jarod, her father had announced that he had enrolled her in a boarding school in Italy. Before she could get two words of protest in, she had been on the plane bound for Europe. It had been mid-term, and she now suspected that Raines had everything to do with her being whisked away in the middle of the winter, far away from Jarod.

Parker studied the younger pretender intently, seeing for the first time his differences, not similarities to Jarod. That memory had been the first she had, bearing witness to the depths of which Raines’ cruelty could sink, and it barely scratched the surface. It was perhaps a miracle that Jay could function, let alone have the confidence to leave the safety of his family and arrive on Sydney’s doorstep. Hell of a nature versus nurture debate.

Jarod had been a young and confident boy, but he had grown more doubtful, as his years at the Centre had passed. Parker could only imagine what it would have been like, slowly losing hope at each passing year that the Centre would release him. It was only in his years of freedom that Jarod had found and developed his cocky demeanour. He had been so understandably naïve and immature those first few years on the run, a child trapped in man’s body. To a lesser degree this still held true.

Jay was different. He had already shed the skin the Centre had forced on him, and was gradually turning into the young man Parker suspected that Jarod would have been like, had the Centre not brutally interfered. Jay was his own person, a teenager quickly making inroads into the responsibilities of manhood.

Her soul still screamed warnings to protect the boy, but she was slowly beginning to realize that perhaps Jay was ready for the challenges that lay ahead. Perhaps the ultimate failure that she should fear was not what cruel fate could be lingering in the shadows for the young man, but rather would happen to all their lives, if Jarod couldn’t be brought home.

A world without Jarod was not one that anyone caught in this tangled web wanted any part of.

Major Charles: The distraught father.

Broots: The kind-hearted suburban man, just wanting to set things right.

Emily: The long lost sister desperately wanting to get to know the older brother whose disappearance had torn her family’s lives into turmoil.

Sydney: The guilt ridden psychiatrist turned paternal keeper.

Jay: The young boy struggling to find his place in the world while saving the family he never realized he could belong to.

Where did she stand?

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod let out a long sigh as he stood motionless, waiting for one of the guards to pull the hood off his head, or to undo his handcuffs. If anything, his time here had been therapeutic in removing his debilitating phobia of the hood.

He had been left tethered in the infirmary for what he estimated to be about thirty-six hours, alone, only the dripping of the IV to keep him company. It was obvious that his dehydration had reached dangerous levels.

Jarod rolled his shoulders gently, as he was released from the ever present restraints, closing his eyes, as the black cloth was pulled from his head. He stared into the familiar small cage, apprehension about spending another night already surfacing.

He tensed as the cage door was opened and a strong hand guided him forwards. He walked forward, fighting the urge to hesitate.

“You’re not going to give us any problems tonight, are you lab monkey?” The menacing voice of the guard questioned as he pushed Jarod sharply towards the left.

Jarod ignored him as he moved into the corner in the far left hand side of the cell. He sank down into a seated position, hugging his knees protectively, bracing himself for what promised to be a long and entirely sleepless night.

The guard snickered slightly as he exited the cage, closing the door with a bit more force than was necessary.

Jarod looked around the cage discreetly, his head lifting slightly as he found the older man, with the distinguishing salt and pepper hair studying him intently. Their eyes interlocked briefly before Jarod forced himself to look away.

He wasn’t in the mood to determine how serious they were about the sanctity of rule # 1 – no speaking, not tonight. Whatever had been mixed into the IV fluids he had been given in the infirmary had left him drowsy and admittedly compliant.

Jarod closed his eyes and imagined himself to be back on the infirmary bed. He relished the welcoming softness of the thin mattress, and the ability to close his eyes without the fear of being victim to one of his nightmares. Despite being tethered like some sort of animal, the infirmary had been a welcome respite.

Jarod’s eyes flew open as he became aware of a small rustling to his right. He turned slightly, surprised to find the older gentleman had made his away across the small cell, and had settled down beside him.

Jarod eyed him nervously before lowering his head to study the floor in front of him.

“You belong to them.” The man’s accented voice whispered so quietly, Jarod almost questioned if he had imagined the sound. He easily recognized the accent as dutch, despite the hushed tone with which the elderly man spoke. He brought his gaze up to the guard whose attention was focused on some poor soul locked up in one of the other cells in the room.

Jarod narrowed his eyes. “I belong to no-one.” He whispered, forcing bitterness into his tone.

The older man shook his head, touching his hand to the brand Jarod had spent the better part of his time in Africa trying to forget. “This tells me otherwise.”

Jarod flinched away from the unwanted contact, his gaze going to the far end of the room, where the guard was disciplining another prisoner. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly, briefly, as a wave of empathy for the man washed through him.

“You don’t understand what this place is.” The man stated, triggering Jarod’s curiosity enough that the pretender lifted his eyes to meet his. “Most of these men are simply waiting for death to come, and not by their own hand. But not you, your presence here has a much greater purpose.”

“I don’t follow.” Jarod whispered back carefully, his gaze again darting nervously to the guard at the far end of the room. The man was obviously implying that these cages were the last step on what he could only assume was a torturous path to death in Africa. But who were these men, and where did they come from? His soul was begging to be allowed to help, but it was nothing but an impossible situation. Jarod was emotionally spent, and in reality could only afford to care about himself, to keep his mind from succumbing.

“Most of us in here are discarded wastes, personnel who have outlived their usefulness.” The mysterious man whispered back, his grey eyes steeling into the pretender’s. He inhaled sharply.

“You don’t know anything about me.” The pretender whispered back with an edge to it.

The older man smiled slightly in amusement. “I used to be what I can only imagine would qualify as your worse nightmare.”

Jarod’s brow wrinkled in confusion, but he remained silent, obviously intrigued.

The man traced a long gash along Jarod’s pectoral muscle, causing the pretender to squirm away from his touch. “In a past life, I used to be the one who ordered this. Cruel irony now as I find myself on the other side of the bars. Let me guess, you’re some disobedient project from who knows what corner of the earth who has stopped behaving and has found himself immersed in hell.”

Jarod’s eyes narrowed slightly in suspicion, as he processed the implications of what the man had just told him.

I made a career out of breaking down the resolves of stubborn experiments gone wrong, just like you. And now look at me.” The man remarked, his eyes boring into Jarod’s, his expression a mixture of anger and regret.

Jarod broke away from the man’s gaze, his exhausted mind unwillingly trying to process what he had just been told. He couldn’t tell if the man was expressing regret over the path his life had taken, and the lives he had ruined as he climbed the corporate ladder, or simply was bitter at the ironic twist it had taken.

The elderly man seemed to sense the pretender’s uncertainty. “I have found myself with endless hours to contemplate what I have done with life, people I have hurt along the way for my benefit. It’s amazing what revelations can come when your end is near.”

Jarod huffed slightly, feeling no empathy for the man. He imagined for a brief moment Lyle suffering behind these bars. Perhaps this was a fate one could wish upon certain individuals.

The older man let out a small sigh. “I don’t expect, or deserve, your sympathy. But perhaps this is my opportunity to a proverbial act of good, after a lifetime of antagonism; My turn to give hope instead of taking it away.”

The reflective nature of the man’s tone caught Jarod’s attention and he met the older man’s stare, his eyes filled with curiosity.

Both men flinched as a baton was shoved in-between them and clanged harshly against the bars. “Monkeys don’t have hope.” A menacing voice spoke from behind the two prisoners.

Jarod gently rapped his head against the bar he was leaning against, letting out a broken sigh, knowing that what already had promised to be an unpleasant evening was about to get significantly worse.

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

48 hours later….

Sydney rubbed his temples, staring at the bank records tiredly. Broots and Jay had been working determinedly on pursing electronic leads on Jarod. The boy had been insistent that the first thing that had to be done was to establish an electronic link to the pretender’s whereabouts or at least day to day activities in Africa. Only then could they begin to formulate a plan to bring Jarod back home. Sydney suspected the boy was only desperate for information about his older brother, as Jay now referred to Jarod. In reality, they all were, and no one had argued with the suggested course of action.

Unable to participate in the electronic hound dog search, Sydney and Miss Parker had dedicated their time to investigating Raines’ bank records. Parker was convinced that the downfall of the chairman was the ultimate key to getting what they want. Unwilling to sit by with idle hands, his mind tormented by the many memories of his wrong doings in regards to Jarod, Sydney had indulged her wishes. Whether or not Parker was pursuing Raines for the right reasons, it was keeping their focus away from the one question none of the four members of the so-called rescue squad wanted to pose; was Jarod still surviving?

“Syd?” Miss Parker called out, standing in the door frame of the small office Sydney had claimed as his workspace. He found it easier to work away from the group.

Sydney’s life was not one he wanted to reflect on, and the copy of the young boy he had raised and exploited was dredging up memories that the psychiatrist was not ready or willing to face.

“Broots and Boy Wonder Junior have something for us.” Parker stated, lingering as the psychiatrist slowly rose to his feet.

“You okay Syd?” She asked sincerely.

The aging psychiatrist shook his head sadly. “So many missed turning points Miss Parker. I can’t help but realize that this path could have been entirely avoided.”

“This is far from over. But I understand he has the same effect on all of us.” The younger woman replied gently, obviously referring to Jay’s presence. Sydney nodded sadly as he moved passed Parker and into the kitchen where Broots and Jay were waiting expectantly.

“What did you find?” Parker asked the computer brains, rolling her eyes as she saw the large pile of soda cans and half eaten pint of ice cream.

“Jay created a worm virus, and through some difficult manoeuvring we were able to plant it on the African mainframe without detection.”

“I don’t follow.” Parker stated honestly, turning towards Sydney, the psychiatrist sure that he, himself, wore a similar look of confusion.

“The virus acted as a leach. It grabbed on to any information that contained Jarod’s file number. We were able to trace the files back to their original source as the server underwent its regular nightly maintenance and backup functions.”

“English, Broots.” Parked ordered, snapping her fingers authoritatively. Sydney had to repress a small smile. It had been the same dance while they had been chasing Jarod, Broots also getting very excited when he had cracked a complex problem, and always explaining it in a way that involved the most random ramblings and complex tech lingo. It was familiar, and comforting, Sydney found himself almost believing they were back to chasing Jarod, not trying to dig out information about his protégé’s sufferings in Africa.

“Our file found it’s way to the main surveillance archive database in Africa. I pulled feed from last night, it just finished downloading.”

“Jarod?” Parker gasped slightly. “You found Jarod?”

Broots nodded excitedly.

“Play the video.” Parker commanded.

Sydney gave a concerned look towards Jay. They did not know what to expect, and he didn’t want the boy to be aware of what cruelty Jarod had been forced to endure. He knew the boy would only add to his already misplaced guilt over their failed attempt at rescuing the pretender before his transfer to the Congo.

Broots patted the teen on the shoulder affectionately. “Nice work kid, definitely keeping me on my toes.” The tech admitted playfully.

“Jay, why don’t you take a break? Perhaps go and finish off the Star Wars movie that you and Broots started yesterday?” Sydney offered. Two perhaps, drop one.

The boy frowned. “But we just found Jarod!” He protested.

Sydney closed his eyes tightly. “Please Jay. We don’t know what’s on that tape. I don’t want you to see it just in case…”

“In case what?” The boy challenged.

Sydney moved to respond, but Miss Parker put up her hand, silencing the shrink.

“He’s right Jay. This is our burden to shoulder, don’t make it yours.” She appealed to the boy.

“I want to see him, I have to know how he is.” Jay argued back.

“And you will. Just let us see what we are dealing with, please? I know you think you have seen it all, growing up under Mr. Raines, but I assure you that you have not. Ignorance is bliss Jay, and once the blindfold has been lifted, you can’t take it back.” Parker pleaded.

The teen let out a heavy sigh, and slowly stood up from the table. “No secrets.” He requested, staring into Parker’s eyes. She nodded, exchanging a meaningful glance with the young pretender for several seconds before Jay left the room.

“Let’s just get it over with Broots.” Parker requested, as she and Sydney moved into their familiar spots behind the tech.

“Here goes nothing.” Broots muttered, pressing enter.

Sydney frowned as the screen revealed a large room with four distinct barred areas – cages, each with about six to seven figures.

“This can’t be right.” He stated. “Relative isolation has always been one of the fundamental cornerstones to the pretender program.”

The tech shook his head. “The electronic tag is unmistakable. The archives have been receiving about six to eight hours of feed from this room, and the file is undeniably Jarod’s.” Broots informed them.

The trio gasped as a distinct hooded form was escorted into the room, his hands bound his back. “There. Pause it Broots.” Parker ordered.

“Zoom in.” Sydney asked looking away as Jarod’s clearly abused form filled the screen. The pretender had lost a visible amount of weight, and his physique had suffered, his once chiselled muscles reduced to insignificant angles. He was dressed only in a flimsy pair of scrub-like pants, his feet bare. A thick beard had grown on the pretender’s face, indicating the Africans were not nearly as concerned with personal hygiene and grooming as the Centre had always been. He felt Parker’s comforting hand on his shoulder as Broots proceeded to play the rest of the archived recording.

The guards released the pretender from the handcuffs. Jarod kept his head lowered and immediately moved towards the open door of his cell.

“Stay.” A firm voice commanded, and the pretender stopped in his tracks obediently, his eyes still downcast.

A second guard pressed the pretender against the bars, holding up a small container with two small pills. Jarod eyed them suspiciously. “Sedatives?” He questioned, wincing as the guard smacked him hard on the back of his head.

Jarod gripped the bars in front of him tightly, visibly angered as the guard opened the small container. “A little birdie told me that someone is scared of the dark.” The guard informed the pretender nastily, yanking one of Jarod’s tense hands off of the bars and forcing the pills into them. “Don’t make me ask again.” He warned, stepping back.

Jarod studied the pills intently, his jaw clenched in obvious disgust. He hesitated, his gaze darting back and forth between the pills and the guard on his right. Straightening slightly, after several agonizing seconds, Jarod glared at the two guards before him defiantly, before slamming the pills to the ground.

The two men didn’t hesitate as they rammed the errant pretender against the bars, Jarod grunting painfully as he was dragged into the cell, struggling madly, the other prisoners scurrying out of the way with fearful movements. Once inside the cage, the guards threaded the pretender’s hands around one of the many bars, and quickly entrapped his thrashing wrists in handcuffs.

“You don’t learn, do you lab monkey?” One of the guards asked nastily as he pushed Jarod down to the ground. Together the two forced Jarod to lie face first, holding his legs down strongly as a third figure entered the cell.

“Somehow, we knew your presence would be required.” The one man informed the new player as a syringe was prepared.

“No… please…” Jarod pleaded repetitively, still struggling to the best of his abilities against the strong hold, the rattling of the handcuff chain as he pulled against them, giving away his desperation.

The men ignored the pretender’s protests, instead pulling down his pants enough to reveal his lower left hip.

“NO!” Jarod screamed, his voice muffled as his struggles seemed to find new life, although in vain. The third man didn’t hesitate as he plunged the syringe into Jarod’s exposed flesh, the pretender crying out pain.

The three men stood back as Jarod’s thrashings slowly subsided, the pretender was clearly raging a war against the pull of the drugs. Without a backwards glance they exited the cell, giving threatening glares to the six men who were cowering in the opposite corner, as far as possible from where the pretender lay face-planted on the ground.

After the door was closed, an elderly gentleman crawled over, pulling up Jarod’s pants the remaining distance. He placed a comforting hand on the pretender’s shoulder, letting it linger as the pretender’s struggles ceased, the pull on the handcuffs threaded around the bar going slack. The man then turned the pretender onto his side, his back to the crowd of men still cowering in the corner.

“Stop the tape Broots.” Parker whispered, her voice halting.

Sydney gasped sharply as he caught sight of the damage that became visible on Jarod’s back as the image became frozen on the computer monitor.

He turned over to Miss Parker, a single tear trickling down her cheek, her shock and dismay equally as evident as his.

Sydney could taste the bile in his throat as he found his eyes unable to look away from the disturbing image, his disgust increasing as he clued in to the triangular pattern that had been seared into his protégés upper back.

Branded like cattle.

He turned once again to Miss Parker, desperate to erase the image that was now seared into his brain as well, only to find the woman fleeing the room.

In his darkest of nightmares, he had never managed anything like this.

Chapter # 10 – Of What to Come

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Henrik stared into the empty simlab through the two-way mirror that was part of his workspace.

“You wanted to see me?” the harsh voice of Dr. Masoud questioned sharply as he entered the small office Henrik occupied with Dr. Stone following behind him.

“Yes sir.” the young pretender replied obediently, cowering slightly as the tall African man sat down at the table across from him. He eyed the doctor nervously before picking up the small file he had finished preparing late last evening. He joined the doctor at the conference table and hesitantly pushed the file across its dark mahogany surface hesitantly. Henrik was still incredibly intimidated by the two powerful men, bearing witness to Lys and Jarod’s struggles over the past few weeks had done nothing to allay his fears.

“What’s this?” the tall African asked.

“It’s Jarod. It’s your way in.” Henrik informed the man, forcing himself not to whisper as his heart pounded in his chest.

“And the girl?” the man asked impassively, scowling as Henrik bowed his head submissively.

“I’m still unsure about her sir. Perhaps if I could once again observe her?” he asked timidly.

“She will stay as she is.” Dr. Stone replied, looking through the file quickly. He passed it to dark man on his left.

“You’re sure this will work?” Dr. Masoud finally questioned. “Failure is not an option.”

Henrik swallowed nervously. What did they expect? He had not been allowed to interact with Jarod, instead limited to gathering everything he knew about the pretender from old DSAs, field reports from his pursuit and what he had been allowed to observe of the pretender’s time in Africa. Only if had he been allowed to interact with Jarod personally, gauge the pretender’s moods, could he fully be confident in his findings.

“I am fairly confident sir.” Henrik replied, with as much certainty in his tone as he could project.

The two men studied him intently, their unkind eyes piercing his for several uncomfortable seconds before they stood from the table.

“We’ll make the necessary arrangements then. In the mean time, focus on Lysander.” Dr. Stone informed the young pretender before the two powerful men exited the room.

Not a thank-you, not a word of praise. Never in his life had Henrik felt so unappreciated. His mouth tasted bitter, not one hint of the joy he would have normally felt at accomplishing his assigned task. And what about Jarod?

He should feel proud, but all he felt was lost.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

They had finally given up.

Here Lysander was, surrounded by darkness, trapped in silence, enclosed in a concrete prison smaller than anything she could ever imagine. Only the small red dot of the infrared camera kept her company, even here there could be no privacy. She had played their games for two weeks until one day her handler had simply shrugged his shoulders and walked away.

Fourteen days, three hundred and thirty six hours, one million two hundred nine thousand and six hundred seconds. Her life was that of numbers, counting every minute as it passed her by, another second she refused to submit to their will, another day spent fighting, trying to ignore the unrelenting pain and suffering they were subjecting her to.

She was a predictor, her mind could see, predict, manipulate numbers in a way few people could. Her gift; her curse; a cruel destiny.

Lys had always been told her father had too possessed her talent for numbers. Other than a few happy childhood memories, she could remember little else. He had been killed in an automobile accident when she was three. Two years later, her mom had led them to Christchurch, saying it was for Lys, when in reality they both knew they were only running from the memories. Her mother found a school for gifted children, and Lysander had blossomed. She was defined by her unique abilities, forever a part of her identity. Her life had always been about numbers.

Now they had taken that away.

After her handler had left, without a word, the guards had come and released her from the ever present chains, her body so abused it refused to allow her to walk anywhere, as if a final loss of dignity. Lys had been dragged and shoved in this small cell, the only light being that of the camera and whatever filtered through when her one meal of the day was pushed through a small slot. Only four walls, herself and the damn camera. The side walls were so close together that she could touch both when she bothered to strength out her arms.

There was nothing left to count – no numbers left in her life. The walls were smooth and worn, the floor nothing but a slab of concrete. Meals were slipped through the door, along with a bucket, as an act of final humiliation.

Other than the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, they had taken the one thing her mind had been trained to crave away. She had lain there for hours, her hand on her neck, counting her pulse, her mind switching into gear and quantifying how much time had passed, but she had easily tired of that.

It was surprising what her mind was turning to, finally free of numbers. Memories of her father, suppressed for many years, slowly surfacing. The painful uncertainty of not knowing what had happened to her mother the day Lysander was stolen away; Tuxedo her adoring cat.

People often said that when faced with a near death experience, their life seemingly flashed before their eyes. Perhaps this was a twisted version, as she slowly descended into madness.

Maybe the Africans did have another trick up their torturous sleeves, but Lys was beginning to believe that they would be content to just leave her here until the madness from the enforced seclusion claimed her.

After what she had estimated to be her third day of isolation, a quote from a long forgotten history class had reappeared in her mind, wise words of Napoleon.

“To live, is to suffer; and the honest man is always fighting to be the master of his own mind.”

He’d definitely gotten it right.

The deep rooted fear that permeated Triumvirate pet projects was ironic in a way. The stories and rumours of indescribable torture, pain so great it could drive a man to madness. Lys had fully expected to land here and become the official punching bag for their muscled minions. But they were much smarter than that, and patient in a way the Conglomerate had never been able to be.

Her end wasn’t going to be the torturous path filled with bruises and broken bones as she had originally imagined; instead all it was going to take was four walls, the red glow of a camera and for the first time in as long as she could remember, isolation from her world of numbers.

Her last equation to solve; how many days, how many seconds, how many minutes and hours would it take for her to crumble? And would she even know enough to care, when she finally did?

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS –THE CONGO, AFRICA

Jarod grimaced as he fought his way through the induced haze of the sedatives he had been given the night before, panicking as he found himself unable to move his hands.

“Ssshh…” A hushed voice behind him whispered, a quick hand of comfort placed on his shoulder, and withdrawn with such speed that Jarod thought he had imagined it.

With a light groan, Jarod forced his eyes opened, instantly recalling the position he had been left in before the sedative had been injected into him. He gave an impatient tug on the handcuff chain, a frustrated grunt escaping his lips.

A foot appeared on the other side of the bars almost instantly. “First and last warning. I’m in no mood for your theatrics.” The guard threatened.

Jarod ignored him, gently pulling himself to an awkward sitting position, given his state of restraint. He leaned against the bars heavily, using them for much needed support.

He remained in that position, his mind dull and clouded, so much so that even conjuring up the images of his family seemed too large a task. Jarod didn’t bother looking up as two guards entered the room. Weeks of being forced to look down, had given him cause to memorize the footwear of the guards that constantly escorted him. He knew these shoes.

Jarod lessened the tension on the handcuffs, allowing them to be released with greater ease. He slowly pushed himself to his feet without prompting, and moved slowly out of the cell, his hands placed obediently behind his back.

“Bath time for this monkey.” The one guard sneered as he pushed Jarod towards the shower-block at the rear of the room. The Africans had been very lax in regards to his personal hygiene, a stark contrast to Centre rules. He suspected he was allowed to bathe only when his keepers were adversely affected.

Jarod stood under the spray of cool water, his mind still fuzzy from the lingering effects of the sedative. As the water trickled down his back he felt his energy slowly creeping back as he gratefully washed the sweat and grime from his slender frame. He exited the shower and donned a fresh pair of the neutral coloured pants he was forced to wear. Ready to face another meaningless day.

Approaching the guards with a submissive demeanour, Jarod absently ran a hand through the thick beard that now dominated his facial features. He tried to imagine what his mirror reflection would yield, but with little success. With a frustrated huff, Jarod once again turned around, placing his hands behind his back as the guards moved in towards him. Within seconds, the hood was over his head, the handcuffs around his wrists and two threatening grips one on each of his biceps.

He was led on a familiar path, so familiar, that Jarod believed he could walk himself there, even give his current state of blindness.

As he was led into the sim lab, the hood removed from his head, Jarod almost automatically started to move towards the far wall of the lab, where he had been spending his time suffering through their twisted form of penance. The guards felt his slight movement in that direction, their grips immediately tightening on his arm.

“Could it be time for a change of location?” Jarod asked sarcastically. “I’ve heard wonderful things about the wall on the other side of the room,” he continued, waiting for the reaction from the dark African man who never seemed to be out of earshot.

“New game for this monkey,” the man replied from behind Jarod.

“What’s that?” Jarod couldn’t prevent himself from asking, resisting the urge to turn and face the man.

“One I like to call, Monkey See – Monkey Do,” the African replied as Jarod’s guard forced him to turn around.

Jarod’s eyes immediately fell to a lone file folder that sat waiting at a large work table. He would have dismissed it, but the manacles at the base of the table suggested its contents were meant for him.

Jarod clenched is jaw in determination. A few weeks, perhaps several months of suffering and they were hoping he had simply changed his mind about the bottom line? Not hardly.

But something within set off alarm bells, warning that this was Africa. They had been sitting by patiently, as if biding their time, for some bigger event. They would not be asking unless they had reason to expect the answer would be yes.

Had they dramatically underestimated him, or was he about to discover just how strong their resolve could be?

“You seemed to have missed the memo that was sent out over six years ago. I retired,” he stated, trying to shake his way out of the guards hold, his anxiety noticeably increasing.

The African doctor wasn’t fazed. “I have to give you credit. Few make it through with your level of sarcasm and reckless disregard for authority.”

Jarod could almost hear the lingering and the unspoken threat behind the man’s menacing words. He clenched his jaw in determination as the guards led him towards the table. The temptation to struggle was hard to ignore, but he managed; somehow.

As he was forced down and secured, Jarod focused his eyes away from the small manila folder that lay before him. He could feel the dark African’s eyes staring at him.

“Not even curious as to what in that folder?” The mocking tone asked him.

“I have no interest in anything you people have to say.” Jarod snapped back, crossing his arms as his handler approached him confidently.

“Lies don’t become a monkey of your intelligence.” The African retorted, moving in behind Jarod and bending over so he was speaking directly into the pretender’s ear. “The truth is you’ve wanted nothing but answers from us. Answers about your family, answers about how and why you were taken. Answers on exactly why it is that you are so valuable to us.”

“Your point?” Jarod asked, turning his head slightly to the right, as if daring to make eye contact with the man to his side.

“Face it. The Centre controlled everything about your life for over three decades: what you heard, what and who you saw, what you learned, when you showered. One could argue the control still lingered within after you had escaped. And now? Your existence is controlled by us. What you wear, when and where you sleep, the comfort or in your case discomfort of your daily routine.” The African lectured, growing more animated as he spoke.

Jarod took a deep breath and allowed a small smirk to fall onto his features, ignoring his handler’s attempt to dehumanize him. “Yet there is still one thing out of your control, isn’t there?” He taunted, expecting a reaction from the dark man behind him. The African remained still, as Jarod frowned as he realized the other man was not going to be drawn into a battle of wills. The man was poised, with an arrogant air that reminded him of Lyle the day he played with the firehose.

“Open the folder,” the man whispered the command into Jarod’s ear, causing him to flinch away slightly as he felt the other’s breath on him.

Jarod remained stubbornly still as a tall white man entered the room, a hardened facial expression on his distinguished face. “Silently defiant till the very end?” The new player asked through a thick British accent.

“The end of what?” Jarod quipped back, bringing his head around to meet the Englishman, before allowing his eyes to linger on the file folder. “All the fun you have subjected me to over the past weeks, and it’s all going to be for naught because of the contents of one lousy file folder?” He asked almost incredulously.

The African behind him moved quickly, grabbing a fistful of Jarod’s hair and violently slammed the pretender’s head down on to the table. Instinctively, Jarod turned his head slightly to protect his nose, his left cheekbone taking the brunt of the impact instead, suppressing the groan of pain that would have normally escaped.

“Eyes down,” the dark man snarled, before pulling the pretender upward. “I can see we are going to require a more hands-on approach. Take him across the room.” He ordered, before disappearing from sight.

Jarod remained still as his two guards moved in immediately, unchaining him and dragging him across the room to his familiar spot.

“And here I thought I wouldn’t get to spent quality time with this wall again.” Jarod remarked sarcastically as he pushed down to the ground in a cross-legged position. As the guards attached the nearby shackles, the dark African man appeared in front of Jarod, angrily pinning something on the wall in front of Jarod, obviously the contents of the file that had been on the table moments earlier.

As his handler stepped back, Jarod lowered his eyes onto the ground with a mock submissive posture.

“Your dedication to infuriating me is almost commendable,” the African exclaimed while approaching the pretender, the British man appearing at his side.

“I seem to have little else to do with my time.” Jarod muttered in reply, his eyes still stubbornly fixated on the floor, avoiding the new addition to the wall, obviously meant for him.

“Dare I say that is about to change?” The British man remarked.

The guards still lingering behind him moved so quickly, Jarod had little chance to react as his head was pulled upright, his eyes unwillingly focusing on the wall for the briefest of seconds.

Five photographs.

Sucking a breath of realization, Jarod couldn’t prevent a strangled ‘no’ from leaving his lips.

He tried to lower his head, but the two guards each held a painful wad of his hair. Jarod tried more frantically, closing his eyes against the five images that were now burned in his brain, but the grips only tightened.

Balling his fists, Jarod gave a furious tug at the set of shackles that kept him down and restrained, his eyes still shut, but the images had already begun cycling behind his eyes, over and over again.

He barely heard the light chuckle of amusement from the two powerful men in front of him.

“It always ends this way. Monkey see, monkey do,” the dark African announced.

“I haven’t agreed to anything.” Jarod snarled back, his eyes still shut tightly.

“But you will,” the British man replied with disconcerting confidence.

“Over-confidence has been the downfall of lesser men.” Jarod replied, his tone falling flat.

“A bit of self counselling?” The African piped in.

Jarod took a deep breath, still keeping his eyes shut against the photographs he knew he would not be able to ignore.

“Blackmail, the bargaining tool of cowards.” Jarod said darkly.

“Perhaps, but it is effective.” The Brit remarked with a light tone. Jarod could imagine the satisfied smile that would dominate the man’s features and he would give anything to wipe that smile from his face. He swallowed the bile that was slowly rising in his throat. As long as he stayed in the safety of his darkness, none of this had to be real.

The African leaned in even closer. “So tell me, who will you choose? Their lives or those belonging to the dark shadows in your mind; the so-called faceless victims of your genius?”

Jarod again tried to flinch away, but he was still being held in place by his hair. Aware that his breathing was increasing notably, he took several moments before replying, trying hard to stay in control of his overwhelming emotions.

“They have names, and faces, and families. They are somebody to someone. They still matter.” Jarod whispered, his tone choked with emotion.

“What, like you do? You’ve been no-one since the day we acquired you. Tell me, if you were to disappear, would anyone even notice you were gone?” The African continued cruelly.

“By the way I was hunted down like an animal after I escaped the Centre, I would have to say yes.” Jarod replied, aware his argument, although imperative, was weak.

“I suggest you take a long and thoughtful look at your life then. You’ve been trapped in my maze for nearly two months. Ask yourself, who cries after you, besides the token Mommy and Daddy?” the man continued, his voice growing louder. “Can you even be certain that they haven’t given up, just like you are about to.” He further jibed.

“You people stole EVERYTHING from me, from my family. You made me do things, imagine situations and used them against innocent people all over the planet.” Jarod shouted back, his frustration and anger becoming more difficult to suppress.

“And when you reflect upon your life thus far, how does it add up? Here you are worse off than you were at the Centre. You are locked away from the people who claim you have tried so hard to protect with your ‘freedom’, led around in chains, told what to wear, when and where to sleep, how to act. Tell me, does your life bare more resemblance to your beloved society outside these walls, or to the tiger at the Capetown Zoo?”

“I am what you people made me!” Jarod yelled, no longer in control of his emotions. Guilt, anger, sadness, every feeling he had tried to suppress since his transfer was bubbling to the surface, with a force that surprised even him.

“You have no more choice than the stupidly proud tiger born in captivity. Life will become a lot easier when you learn to accept who you are, your destiny. The Centre may not have been able to do it for you, but rest assured we will not fail.” The African snapped.

“This is not my destiny. I had a life, parents, a brother and sister. They still are out there, and as long as they are, I will never stop fighting.” Jarod growled, full of determination.

“Letting you find your family was a mistake made by our lesser Centre counterparts. I assure you that you will never see them again.” The British man stated in a tone so void of emotion, Jarod shuddered involuntarily. He didn’t want to, couldn’t fathom his life becoming only this. There had to be a way out, somehow, someway.

His existence was so tightly controlled, his very being so suppressed. Everything the Africans did was about exerting their control. The hood, the chains, the demeaning accommodation, the humiliating punishments.

“I will never give up. NEVER!” Jarod stated with force resolve, aware he was faltering.

“Your family may exist inside that well-endowed brain of yours, but that’s as close as you’ll ever get to them again. You’re mine now. And today is a turning point in our arrangement. I’m only going to ask you this once, and once only. There are no second chances in Africa.” The African said with calm and controlled voice, pausing briefly. Jarod could feel the man’s deep and intense eyes upon him.

“Today you have the rare opportunity to be given a choice. An encouraged act of independent thought. I’m done playing mind-games and re-educating you as to your correct position in life. It’s time to go back to work.”

“What’s the choice? I give you my soul, and the people on the wall get to keep theirs?” Jarod asked knowingly.

“What a stark picture you paint boy.” The Brit remarked. “You jumped our hoops for thirty years. Just shy of six years playing fugitive, it’s about time you realized that your little dream vacation is over.”

“I don’t trust you. Chances are they are already dead.” Jarod remarked sceptically.

“I can only but assure you they are still alive, but if your cooperation remains elusive, we’ll be forced to show you undeniable proof that they are no longer amongst the living.” The British man remarked cockily.

“Study those five pictures. Study them hard, burn them into your brain. We’ll be back later. You’ll be given one chance and one chance only. I want you to think long and hard about the shadows that haunt your nightmares. The familiar faces of your so-called friends you met while eluding our capture, or the unknown masses that may or may not suffer at your hand.” The African threatened, speaking directly into Jarod’s ear, before pushing away the pretender with a sharp push.

Jarod sucked in his breath sharply as the two men left his side, the two guards behind him finally releasing the hold on his head, before retreating. With an almost suppressed moan, Jarod finally allowed his eyes to rest on the five pictures pinned up before him.

Five familiar faces stared down at him.

He had to admit their plan was simple, basic, almost obvious that he was surprised that the Centre hadn’t tried it years ago.

Then again, Miss Parker likely didn’t have the stomach to order, let alone, suggest it. It would have ended his pursuit years early, had they dared to try it.

Aware he was nearly hyperventilating, Jarod turned away from the pictures, grateful that the guards seemed oblivious to his halting movements, for once. Five faces, each bringing a wealth of memories about his freedom; Memories about his quest to undue or at least counter balance the wrongs his genius had helped to create in three decades as a Centre prisoner.

He had rubbed their noses in his success while he was free, with the people he had helped along the way. It had seemed liked a harmless exercise, as long as he didn’t stay, the people he met, whose lives he helped to change were not in danger. Until now.

With a heavy heart, Jarod finally allowed his gaze to linger on the photographs.

JR – the healthy and talented college basketball player. His heart, once Kyle’s beating for eternity, the only remaining and earthly piece of his brother.

Mary – the mental patient, badly abused and manipulated by her psychiatrist because she had witnessed something she wasn’t meant to see. Jarod had rescued her from a forced drug induced haze and returned her to her family, where she belonged.

Violet - the feral child, left to fend alone in the woods by the most unethical and mercenary of scientists. Once rescued and provided with love, she had flourished, and would continue to do so.

Susan - the determined P.I who worked countless hours, evenings and weekends to reunite families with their lost children. She gave hope to those that had no one left to turn to. Her success rate was considered phenomenal.

And finally Jill, who had suffered through her own, then a subsequent forced addiction, the loss of her father, the loss of her son. Despite it all she still had the strength to survive her past. She had won back her family, son and husband.

Five lives out of the large group of people that Jarod had influenced in his freedom. He had helped them to escape the guilt of his past. Now he was being asked to weigh the guilt of their survival versus the lives of countless masses of faceless people.

How could he possibly make that choice?

He had fought for so long, so hard, with everything he had. Survived their abuse, the humiliation and degradation they had subjected him to. The endless weeks filled with only cruelty and hopelessness. He had survived it all, to save the vague shadows of the people he knew would be killed by the potential applications of his simulations.

The unproductive and tortuous what-ifs circled Jarod’s brain. Why had he so arrogantly flaunted his work in front of his pursuit team? Why had he not simply decided to vanish, the odd phone call to Sydney aside?

But it was much too late for endless reflection. At the end of the day it came down to a simple choice. Sacrifice those he loved for the lives of many more people he would never know, but whose lives could potentially be affected by what he thought up, in terrible ways he didn’t even want to imagine.

The numbers told him one thing, the almost crushing pain in his chest screaming another.

An impossible choice – yet one he had to make.

I decide who lives or dies.

Kyle’s words. His words.

His mind screamed logic, numbers, the simple argument based on quantity.

But his heart cried in anguish and the memories, the small gifts of kindness, family, togetherness, hope he had taken from each of the people he had helped on his pretends.

Closing his eyes, the screams from the shadows were easier to tolerate than the pleas from those he knew, those who had touched his life, who had helped him regain part of his soul.

There was another way, one life whose termination would save them all.

But he didn’t even have the power to do that.

How many days, how many weeks had he suffered? For what?

Jarod took a deep breath, straightening his posture and opening his eyes, staring blankly at the wall.

They had won.

CHAPTER 11 - Changing Tides

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE 

Miss Parker lingered a few feet away from the small den/converted office in Broots’ suburban home. Sydney sat oblivious at the small oak desk, his hand twiddling a pencil absentmindedly over a blank piece of paper.

Warm laughter erupted in the kitchen, and Parker turned briefly towards the warm glow that was seeping into the dark living room. Jay had been with them for three weeks, and had formed an instant bond with the geeky tech. The two had become inseparable. Although her input in the logistics of the plan was significant, Parker felt like an almost useless component of the so-called research team. She could only imagine how much the feeling was amplified in the psychiatrist who sat before her.

Both Sydney and she had wronged Jarod in so many ways over the years, her sins more recent, the shrink’s likely repressed behind a wall containing decades of memories and misrepresented deeds. Jay symbolise everything that Jarod had not been allowed to become. Each of them had played a role in stealing his life, his hopes, and his dreams.

With one last glance towards the orange glow, Parker walked the remaining distance to the isolated office, to the psychiatrist who sat lost in his memories, in the dark.

“Penny for your thoughts, Syd?” She offered kindly, giving the shrink a small smile of comfort, as he was clearly roused from his train of reflection. The two simultaneously looking back towards the kitchen, as another round of laughter erupted.

“Care to join me outside?” Parker pressed, Sydney giving a small nod and following her onto the small front porch and the much despised wicker furniture. Winter was finally lifting, and the first warm spring nights were starting to infiltrate the state. It wouldn’t be long until the first sprouts began to cover the trees.

“Jay doesn’t know, does he?” Sydney questioned vaguely.

Parker shook her head, no need for clarification. “As far as I know he hasn’t seen any of the footage they’ve been downloading from the Triumvirate server. I asked him to stay away from it, and for now he seems to be respecting our wishes.”

“It’s imperative we keep it that way.” Sydney cautioned. “Jay doesn’t need to live with those visions in his head. No-one does.”

Parker sighed as her own mind begin to relive the video footage that Broots had shown her last night. He and Jay had lost their path into Jarod’s folder on the network, and had been forced to find another way in. The footage they had watched last night was two weeks old, and none of the three had the stomach, or the heart to watch anymore. She had to admit it was almost genius on the Triumvirate’s part, using Henrik to find a way into Jarod’s soul.

 “No matter what we saw Sydney, you have to take comfort in the fact that Jarod is still there. He’s punching back sarcasm in a way that confirms our beloved boy-wonder is still alive and kicking.” Parker remarked.

“I saw a much different Jarod than what you saw Parker. He’s been repressing himself, hiding from his situation in his mind. I’m may be worried about his physical well-being, but I am seriously afraid for his mental status.” Sydney pointed out.

Parker pursed her lips as she contemplated Sydney’s troubled words. She had seen the panicked look of disbelief as Jarod had finally focused on the five pictures that had been pinned up in front of him. It was such a simple solution; she almost was surprised it had taken a pretender to conceptualize it. All of this time, the answer to Jarod’s cooperation had lain in a storage room in the Centre. How could it be that no one had thought of it sooner? Threaten the very people who Jarod was trying to atone for his past sins with.

Perhaps only her pursuit team had realized the depth of Jarod’s compassion, or maybe the lack of compassion that existed in Raines and Lyle had prevented them from realizing the significance of the people Jarod had helped.

They were all Jarod had for the first two years of his freedom anyway. One person at a time he tried to chip away at the guilt, forging relationships and bonds he could treasure forever, even after parting ways.

“Broots and Jay are getting close.” She reminded the psychiatrist gently. It had taken only one week for Jay to have a plan of action. The boy worked unrelentingly, taking a break only when one of the adults intervened.

“I just keep thinking about what Jarod would say if he were here.” Sydney stated honestly. “Both you and I could have done much more to keep him out of Africa. This ending is entirely our fault.”

“We were just pawns Sydney. Jarod would have ended up in Africa regardless of what we had done.” Parker argued back.

Sydney shook his head sadly, a bitter smile now dominating his features. “Don’t you see Miss Parker? I’ve tricked myself into believing that for years. Just a pawn. But the reality is, the solution was always there, it just took a much braver path to confront it.”

“What? The path of suicide? At the hands of the Centre? Give yourself a break Sydney. Think about where Jarod would be today had you not been in his life.” Parker pressed. “Had you taken that other path the word of the way would not be brave, it would be abandonment.”

“Think about where he would be if…” Sydney started only to be cut off.

 “Enough Syd,” Parker interrupted fiercely. “We can’t do this, not now. Let’s just get him back, and then you can fall to pieces, bow down and beg his forgiveness. Don’t fall apart on me; Jarod needs you more than he ever has. For once in your life, step in and help him instead of sitting on the sidelines.”

Sydney sat back in the rickety wicker chair. “His eyes, I have never seen such pain, not since that night in Dry River.” 

“I know Syd. I know.”

“I can barely stomach the thought of what has happened since,” Sydney admitted.

“You already know the answer to that. Jarod’s doing what he’s done his entire life – he’s surviving.” Parker stated with forced confidence.

“Once, when Jarod was in his late teens, I caught him rifling through my desk the day before my traditional leave for the Christmas holidays,” The psychiatrist reminisced.

“I assume he wasn’t searching for the gift you forgot to put under the tree,” Parker remarked sarcastically.

“That’s just it Parker. He wouldn’t admit to anything, but I soon realized that he was looking for information.” Sydney continued.

“About what? His parents?” She questioned.

The psychiatrist shook his head. “No, far from it. He was trying to figure out where I went, why I disappeared for two weeks at the end of every year. My two weeks off can only be described as a living nightmare for Jarod.”

“Raines.” Parker stated unnecessarily as the shrink nodded in agreement.

“For years I ignored the signs, chose not to see them, while Jarod suffered.” Sydney confessed. “This is no different. Jarod was terrified to go to Africa and I couldn’t extend my neck out enough to even accompany him to the airplane. He was facing his most terrifying demon, and I let him do it alone; while I was drinking scotch in my office, and waiting for the good news phone call that never came.”

“Why are you doing this to yourself Sydney? Getting yourself killed will help no one – it never does. Look at my mother, what happened to her as she tried to protect those she loved.” Parker pleaded, her voice cracking at the rare mention of Catherine.

Sydney stood up. “At least she tried, Miss Parker. I’ve analyzed my life, my choices in more ways than I care to quantify. When Jarod comes back, it will be time to make some changes in my life. May I suggest you do the same?” He finished abruptly, disappearing back into the house.

Parker sat in an almost shocked silence. It had taken so much self reflection to get to this point, sitting outside Broots’ house, conspiracy against men and an organization more corrupt and powerful than most could imagine, all to bring home their lost pretender. 

What more could she do?

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS, AFRICA

Jarod focused intently on the three schematics before him, the figures on the bright white paper dancing in front of him. With a frustrated sigh, he turned away from the diagrams briefly.

He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead, wanting nothing more than to linger, to allow his mind a few precious moments to escape.

But they came, appearing instantly when his eyes were closed, surrounding him until he thought he would suffocate from their sheer numbers.

Sometimes they had faces, expressions, and other days they were shapeless grey masses screaming in despair. The souls of the people whose lives he destroyed to save the ones of those he knew.

Jarod had tried to rationalize it. The people he had helped on his pretends, were in immediate danger. The simulations could take months, sometimes years before their ultimate purpose was executed. He could be free, prevent the tragedies.

It was nothing but empty excuses, the desperate rationalization of a murderer. Was this how Mr. Parker carried on as he had? Cause-effect, action with a logical purpose. Nothing was unjustified in the big scheme of things. What about Lyle and Raines, how did the live with the evil things they had done, pointless justification or were their souls so truly far gone that the literally just didn’t give a damn?

Jarod wouldn’t forget the people he would never know, or see, he would carry their pain in his soul for the rest of his life. It was one of the few things still left in his power, the sacrifice he made to keep JR playing basketball, Susan Granger reuniting broken families, the Arnold Family from experiencing another tragedy, the list was endless.

“Daydreaming again?” The angered voice of his African handler broke through his tortured thoughts, pulling him back to reality, the schematics, the families he was about to destroy.

Jarod remained silent, turning back to the diagrams.

“If I had a 3D model of the building I could -” Jarod tried to reason with the man.

“You’ve been given adequate resources to complete the simulation. This is your second warning.” The tall man responded with a clearly unimpressed tone, very similar to one the pretender had heard from Raines over the years. Jarod had no doubt he could come up with a plan, one that would likely be successful, but the more he knew, the better his simulation would be, the more innocent lives he could protect. As to whether the African suspected that or not, he was in the dark.

Jarod sighed loudly, the extent to which he dared to vocalize his disdain towards his current situation. As if the man had any concept of what Jarod needed. He closed his eyes, seeing through the grey masses that assaulted his vision; trying to visualize a solution to the problem he had been assigned. Focus was so difficult.

Sydney came to his mind this time, and Jarod felt himself yearning for the comfort and guidance he knew his Belgian mentor would provide. The African was never more than a few feet away, allowing Jarod no freedom, no room to breath, always threatening, never supporting.

This simulation was extremely complex. The client was obviously trying to stage a coup; Jarod had a feeling it was for a nearby African nation, and not that it was information to which he was privy. He was working on the draft plan for taking control of the main legislative building, an act that would coincide with seizure of the main branch of the national bank, University administration building, local hospital and water treatment and energy facilities.

The blueprints were engraved in his brain, but it wasn’t enough, he needed more. Needed to see more of the building, visualize the best plan of attack.

He shook his head in frustration before turning away and walking towards his workspace, the large table covered with an organized chaos of papers.

“I need more information.” He stated again neutrally before taking a seat, staring at the small map of the city he had been given.

The guards appeared almost out of nowhere, although they were never far behind. Jarod allowed himself to go limp as they each grabbed an arm and dragged him back to the wall that had the schematics on display.

“You could have just asked.” Jarod remarked dryly as they let him go about three feet from the wall.

“I instructed you to study the schematics, and you shall remain standing here, at this exact spot, unless I instruct you otherwise. Understood?” The African chided.

Jarod refused to vocalize his assent, as his gaze turned once again to the blueprints on the wall. He had submitted, was performing their tasks like the trained monkey he was so fondly compared to by the dark man. It seemed as if they wouldn’t be satisfied until he was a compliant drone, acquiescing to their every command without hesitation.

He was holding on by the thinnest of threads, his sarcasm and disobedience his only outlet for the mountain of resentment and despair that was building up within.

The blueprints continued to dance in his mind, as Jarod shook his head gently, trying to clear the haze that was preventing him from finding the solution. He took a step backwards, only to find himself back in the unforgiving grips of the two guards.

“I’m trying.” He muttered through gritted teeth and his arms were roughly pulled behind him and secured.

“Your skills have clearly suffered from your little bout of freedom. I’ll be back at the end of the day, at which point you will give the solution. Until then you are to remain glued to this spot. Do I need to add the or else?” His handler threatened.

“I wouldn’t be looking at these diagrams if that part wasn’t clear.” Jarod answered smartly. He imagined the scowl he knew would be on the African’s face should he dare to look up. The dark man lingered for a few moments but his retreating steps were soon heard. Jarod exhaled almost gratefully as the two guards finally released him from their grips. He relaxed his shoulders and slowly brought his eyes back up to the three blueprints. He blinked, the lines slowly blurring until he could almost see the shadows of the people who would be working in the building, those whose lives would be lost. He blinked again, the happy face of JR as he ran down the basketball court, his mother cheering proudly on the sidelines, the happiness. The cheering in his mind turning to screaming, pleas of the dead.

He felt a lone tear fall as he lowered his head momentarily, allowing his thoughts to drain from him.

Minutes later a hardened face was lifted, cold eyes staring unrelenting at the blueprints, Jarod ignoring the part of him that was screaming for relief.

There was no escape for him. 

 HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

The room was tense. The warm glow Parker had often envied over the past weeks now seemed harsh and florescent.

The four occupants sat around the oak table, staring at the photos and paperwork scattered across it.

Broots was the first to speak. “I.. I can’t help but to feel like were treating this like a game of chess. Like Africa is the King and I’m the sneaky Knight sent in for the kill.”

Parker shot him an unimpressed look. “An inspired analogy.” She turned towards the psychiatrist on her left, his expression was pensive as ever. “Syd?”

“I feel like I’m looking over results of a simulation, something Jarod could have handed me.” Sydney admitted, with obvious praise for Jay. “How did you even begin to find this information?”

Broots easily fielded the question. “We searched for days, Jay was adamant that there had to be something out there.”

“Men are so predictable, especially powerful ones,” Parker added.

Broots glanced at Parker briefly, before continuing on with an excited tone. “Jay found the information; it was like a Pandora’s Box, once we had tagged the file, the electronic trail just lit up.”

“How can you be sure this information is what it seems? From what I’ve read, we are drawing conclusions from circumstantial information at best.” Sydney continued his protests.  

“You were the one who raised Jarod, am I right Sydney?” Parker asked with a scowl.

“Even simulations are completed using a rigid framework Miss Parker. To draw conclusions, you need a solid base from which to draw from.” Sydney pointed out. “While this plan is well thought out and detailed, I’m worried that our structure is lacking.” 

“There is more you are not saying.” Parker pressed, her eyes turning towards the quiet teen on her right. His gaze was on the table, his emotions impossible to read.

“Miss Parker, this reads as if an army of men should be pulling it off, not a small group whose headquarters is on a kitchen table in the suburbs.” Sydney argued with a tone of exasperation. 

“What happened to doing whatever it takes, despite the consequences?” She retorted with an edge to her tone, recalling the abrupt nature to which Sydney had left her sitting on the porch several days earlier.

The psychiatrist gave her an impassive look. “I would have thought the concept of conspiring with Lyle would have been the first indication that any possible benefits are seriously outweighed by the consequences.”

“Funny coming from the man who used Lyle to get himself a get out of renewal wing for free card.” Parker argued back, aware of the maliciousness of her words. She watched as the psychiatrist clenched his jaw, but made no move to respond to her words.

“Sydney, it’s not like we are ambushing Africa with Broots relieving his old childhood GI-Joe fantasies. This is more like puppeteering; something I think your generation is more familiar with.” She added, trying to lighten the mood, feeling Jay’s eyes upon her.

“I understand.” Jay spoke. “It’s ambitious, and risky. If anyone were to anticipate our actions…”

“They won’t.” Parker said confidently, looking around the table to the two men that sat nervously beside her.

“Is there even a contingency plan? Jarod was raised to examine every potential possibility. We owe it to him, to ourselves, to do the same!” Sydney argued.

“This isn’t the sim lab Sydney. Look around you! We are not simulating virtual reality, we are living it. This is no hypothetical situation that we were contracted to dream up. This is the real deal. The longer we spend sitting around here arguing, it’s another minute that Jarod is…” Parker couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence, especially not in Jay’s presence.

“I’ve told you before Miss Parker, I will do whatever it takes. This risk we share it equally. If there was anyway for me, and me alone to shoulder this burden I would. I may owe Jarod my life, but I won’t trade his at the expense of yours.” Sydney finally stated.

“Please. We have to do this.” Jay pleaded. “It’s not just about Jarod. It’s about my family. I’m willing to risk everything to have them back, at the price of loosing them forever. If we don’t do this now, it will be too late, for all of us, for all of you.” 

Parker glanced at the young teen with admiration, surprised at the strength of his tone as Jay gazed pleadingly into Sydney’s eyes.

The same deep, dark brown eyes she had taken comfort in as a small child.

Sydney sighed deeply and sat back against his chair thoughtfully.

Broots and Miss Parker each gave Jay a small smile, recognizing the body language in their colleague. He may be reluctant, but Sydney was all in.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER

Broots watched from the porch as Miss Parker and Sydney drove away in their respective cars, taking a few moments to enjoy the peaceful silence of the brisk spring evening.

It was hard to believe that winter had flown by. Two short months and Debbie would be home from Paris. God he missed her. Her exchange to France was almost like a cruel tease, preparing him for when she would leave for college. Time flew by, for the lucky ones anyway.

How slow the seconds must be passing for Jarod. The pursuit for the pretender had been such a challenge, fun really. He had seldom paused to actually remember what the end goal was, and what it would do to his prey.

The footage from Africa was simply indescribable. The senseless abuse, the degrading routine Jarod was forced to live day in and day out. How had his life led him there? 

Unwilling to reflect any longer, Broots turned back into his house, and slowly moved back into the kitchen, giving his watch a glance as he moved into the light. It was nearly 2 am. So many late nights and far too many early mornings, it was a miracle he was awake, let alone functioning.

Jay’s eyes were on him the instant Broots came into the room, the tech yawning as the true magnitude of his exhaustion began to weigh down on him. He didn’t fail to notice as the teen’s eyes flickered to the monitor briefly, and a quick mouse click was made before Broots could see the contents on the screen.

“You’re hiding something.” Jay stated with a small dose of accusation mixed into his otherwise even tone.

“I’m an adult; it’s apparently what we do. Hide things from children.” Broots admitted truthfully. 

“I know it’s really bad,” Jay asserted, as Broots allowed a loud sigh to escape. “Why won’t you just tell me what is happening with Jarod? I was the one who found the access to the footage in the first place.” The young pretender argued.

Broots just shrugged. “You are right, no one can stop you. So there must be a reason you haven’t looked,” He pointed out, aware his tone was borderline parental.

Jay looked away, his voice halting as he spoke, “Miss Parker. She made me promise. For someone who is refreshingly honest, for her to ask me to stay ignorant to Jarod’s reality, it has to be worse than my imagination.”

“You should be having this conversation with her.” Broots replied.

The teen shook his head. “I was hoping for a sign that perhaps I was only paranoid, that this fear that lives inside of me was not warranted. The more Sydney and Miss Parker try to hide me from the truth, the worse this feeling gets.”

Broots sighed, at a loss for words. He too could feel the same ball of fear in the pit of his stomach, of apprehension every time he swallowed, only his was rolled up in guilt. 

Broots glanced down at Jay, who was looking up at him expectantly. “Jarod is stronger than any man I have ever met. If anyone can survive this, it will be him,” He finally managed to offer to appease the teen.

Jay nodded slowly, his face suddenly betraying his deep state of exhaustion.

“Hey, why don’t you head up to bed? I’ll finishing programming our uploading queue.” Broots offered, surprised when the teen accepted his offer without argument.

“Good night Broots.” Jay said timidly as he exited the kitchen.

The tech glanced at his watch once again as the slender teen exited the room, muttering to himself, “Morning more like it.”

As he heard the wooden staircase creak under Jay’s weight, Broots quickly moved to the computer and with a quick command retrieved the webpage Jay had been looking at while the tech had been absent.

He found himself surprised to be reloading the boy’s web-based email account, the inbox containing nearly twenty emails from the same sender; Emily, Jarod’s sister.

All unopened, unread, unanswered.

TRIUMVIRATE HEADQUARTERS, AFRICA

Jarod pushed his bowl away, leaving the last few spoonfuls untouched. He had forced the unappetizing meal down, something that resembled rice but was obviously fortified with additional vitamins and proteins to keep his brain sharp and focused. The African version of green slop, and it was equally as scrumptious.

“Back to work.” He was reprimanded sharply by the tall African man who sat across the table, working away on his laptop. Jarod obediently pulled the opened file within his line of vision. He had completed the simulation for infiltrating the government buildings and no sooner had he written his last word on the report had the next sim been dropped onto the table in front of him, the laptop he had used to summarize his findings, removed. His computer access was so tightly controlled, not that he could do much without a network card in the first place.    

Jarod stared at the contents, his brain barely absorbing the words and images before him. Instead his mind was racing, cycling images around his brain like a slideshow projector. 

The security guard who would be killed when his simulation was put to use, the maintenance workers who would be comprised, used sacrificial lambs. Did they have families, children, parents who would mourn them? The government officials who would be ousted, would they be shown compassion?

He had tried so hard to prevent innocent lives from being lost, but when pulling strings for powerful men pitted against powerful men, not even his genius could find a way in without bloodshed.

“Focus.” The angry voice of his handler sounded, splicing into Jarod’s thoughts. He scowled, further spreading out the contents of the file folder, his required background reading in front of him. He briefly focused on placing a thoughtful expression on his features, as he studied the documents, pretending to absorb the contents. The work was non-stop, never a break, rarely a moment for reflection. His every move, twitches were questioned and any behaviour classified as inappropriate was readily punished.

It was quite the contrast to his time spent under Sydney’s guidance and tutelage. He found himself almost conjuring the words his mentor might say in his mind, offering him the support and comfort that Jarod needed to get through the difficult sims. Not that any of them were easy. He could see the counter steadily increasing in his mind, the lives that would be lost because of what he thought up. 

This sim was no different than the others. This client wanted a security system designed; their warehouse held what Jarod suspected had to be contraband of some sort. Would he be designing the system, or giving the client the ability to use any inherent weaknesses in the system to their ultimate and deadly advantage? 

Jarod became aware of a shifting from behind him; he looked up slightly, enough to find the overbearing form of his African handler to his right.

“Bedtime?” He asked with disinterest.

The African man responded authoritatively, “Watch your tone. One miss-step and I could have you work until the next light of day.”

“That would be rather difficult, given it’s been at least two months since I have seen the so-called light of day.” Jarod muttered, making a show of collecting up the contents of the folder, gathering them into a neat pile with a sharp thump on the table, aware he was being studied intently as usual.  He’d always known he was watched at the Centre but he’d never expected the degree of intrusion into his soul as the Africans had apparently perfected. 

The other man finally spoke, “I can’t help but speculate you may actually prefer to stay here in the lab instead of getting your beauty sleep in our high quality zoo cages.” 

Hearing the guard approach him from behind, the handcuffs clanging slightly in the background, Jarod reluctantly stood up and placed his hands behind his back, not responding to his handler’s comment.

The African stepped close to Jarod. “You might think that I am satisfied with you once again being our obedient pretender, but the simulations are only half of what I require of you. Now that we have negotiated that unfortunate hurdle, it’s time to work on your attitude. Let me offer you a piece of free advice; embrace your destiny. It will make this journey a lot easier, for both of us,” He concluded. 

Jarod moved to respond but the guard behind him dutifully placed the hood over his head, escorting the pretender out of the lab and towards his cell. His attitude, his will to fight, he would never give those up, never become their complacent servant. As long as his soul still suffered, agonized over the murders he was forced to conceptualize, there was still a chance that he could escape, that he could once again return to his life of making things right, balancing the scales.

He feared how much farther this handler was willing to go to gain not only his cooperation but total compliance. His current position was volatile, and although he felt as if he had been forced over the edge, he was still clinging on, with desperately clawing fingers. Given one strong gust of wind, would he have the strength to hold on? 

Jarod was pulled out of his reflections as the tracking device on his ankle beeped incessantly while he was guided through the small maze of corridors that led to his cell. Arriving at his destination, the hood was pulled off, the handcuffs released and two white sedatives placed into his hand.

He had fought the pills only twice, both times resulting in him being humiliated by receiving the drug via injection straight into his upper thigh. It wasn’t worth the struggle or the resulting overnight restraints. The resulting haze from the pills in the morning, was easier to claw his way out of as they offered a milder dose coupled with a less acute effect. 

Forcing the pills down his dry throat, Jarod walked into the cage. He tried not to flinch, when the barred door swung shut behind him.

How many nights had he spent locked up? He should be beyond caring capacity at this point.

Dejectedly, Jarod sank down into what had become his corner in the shared cell. The men in the cage with him kept their distance from him, no doubt because his presence automatically brought increased attention from the guards. He kept his head down, not wanting to deal with the elderly gentleman who continually tried to form a connection with him.

A man who sentenced himself to this life through what Jarod could only believe had to be greed and deception. The man had more or less insinuated that most of the men who get in this room were steps away from unnatural death. This was obviously not Jarod’s fate, the Africans were keeping him in here simply to keep him off balance, to prevent a single moment where he could free himself from the rules and requirements of his life in Africa, as a pretender.

Jarod wasn’t interested in offering absolution to a man who had made a living destroying souls, taking away hope and exploiting those on the wrong side of the bars. The elderly gentleman lacked all of Sydney’s caring and warmth, the  more Jarod reflected, the more he began to realize just how lucky he had been the day the Centre lotto had paired him up with Sydney.

The older man clearly had other ideas however, crawling over to where Jarod lay huddled once the guard briefly disappeared from the room. It seemed as a final act of indignity towards these men, hours, days, weeks from the end of their pitiful lives, they were constantly supervised, punished for speaking, crying out in their nightmares, or for doing just about anything but sitting respectfully in silence.

“Leave me.” Jarod warned as the peppered-haired man leaned over him. 

“They’re winning,” The knowing voice replied.

Jarod turned his head away, ignoring his words.

“Your increased hostility towards me gives it away, almost as badly as the defeat and helplessness I can see in your eyes.”  

Jarod grunted in frustration. “As I have said before, you know nothing about me.”

The man shrugged nonchalantly. “It doesn’t matter; the monkeys are always the same. I may not know you, your name, your gift, but anyone who wears that brand on their back, I know more about them, and how to destroy them, than any man deserves to know.” 

“So that’s it? Your last act on this planet is to offer false comfort to another pet project as he falls towards hopeless despair? Spare me.” Jarod spat back.

The man gave an impassive huff. “I’ll likely be dead long before you hit the ground, but rest assured you will; everyone does eventually. My death will be a result of my mistakes, my cardinal sins against dangerous men, but it has nothing to do with you.”

“You want absolution then?” Jarod asked uncaringly, willing the man to leave him alone. He could feel the sedatives finally starting to take effect, his eye lids beginning to feel heavy.

“Call it a dead man’s regrets, call it absolution, a life-time of ignored guilt, but whatever it is, I want to help you.” The man spoke, his tone falling slightly flat of genuine.

“I’ll pass.” Jarod replied darkly, but slowly, as the drugs started to pull him into a dream-free oblivion.

The pepper hair appeared in Jarod’s field of vision as the pretender sunk the remaining distance to the ground, curling into himself and instinctively hugging his knees self-protectively. Jarod closed his eyes, pretending for a few blessed seconds that a fluffy pillow lay beneath his head, and that he was engulfed in the warmth of a goose-down duvet. Despite the almost stifling temperature in the room and crowded conditions, he felt cold, empty and more alone than all the years at the Centre put together.

Jarod forced his eyes open, not wanting for the drug to fully control him just yet.  The elderly gentleman leaned in close, whispering in Jarod’s ear. “Not even if I can help you find your way out?”

Jarod raised his eyebrows in surprise in one final act of lucidity. The words registered in his brain, but he lost the battle to fully process them. He sighed deeply as the drug overtook his system.

And then there was darkness.

Chapter 12 – A Deal with the Devil

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Henrik swallowed apprehensively as he took in the body posture and unimpressed stares the two powerful men before him were emitting.

“You’ve been here over two months Henrik, and to what results?” Dr. Masoud asked harshly.

The young pretender kept his head lowered as he straightened his stance. He knew enough to know that it was a rhetorical question and took a deep breath and prepared himself for the harsh words that would be coming.

Dr. Stone took over, “Jarod is working, but we could drag any member of the general public in here and they could tell you in an instant he still has more than enough fight in him. His eyes are full of disdain and hatred. He may be simming, but only a fool would believe this to be a permanent solution. His disrespect is palpable.”

Henrik cringed at the harsh tone of the voice as the words cut into him. His hard work had always been rewarded and complimented. He was trying his best, giving them everything he had, yet no matter how hard he tried the two doctors could find only short comings in his work, always prodding for more. They had tasked him with the impossible. Dr. Klaus had always referred to him as a mediocre pretender at best, but gifted with a much different set of skills, those of an empath. What else could he do to earn their approval?

The British doctor continued, “You have failed to produce any quantifiable plan of action for Lysander. She’s rotting in an isolation cell, and on the occasions I’ve bothered to drag her back into reality, she acts as if she’s miles away, won’t even pick up a pencil.”

“I’m trying sir,” Henrik defended himself.

“Intentions mean nothing Henrik, only the final results. Only what you accomplish or fail to complete will matter in the end. Are you getting my point?” Dr. Masoud replied bluntly.

Henrik just nodded weakly, not entirely sure if he wanted to acknowledge the underlying threat in the man’s words or not.

Dr. Stone’s next words quickly put to rest any doubts he had to the intent of this meeting. “We expect results Henrik, or we will be forced to take a more hands on approach with your quest to understand the true nature of Jarod’s and Lysander’s fruitless plight.”

The young pretender swallowed nervously, the walls of the small observation room closing in on him. He easily recognized the ominous nature of this man’s words

He had done everything he could, faced with an impossible task, asked to destroy not just one person, but two; to discover a pathway into their soul that would leave them empty enough to obey but alive enough to not get lost in their minds. Henrik had this image in his mind, of a man desperately holding on to an edge of cliff, Dr. Masoud slipping his fingers off one by one.

He couldn’t imagine a scarier place to be. He’d given Jarod his first push, but they wanted more, to send him closer to tumbling over.

“I’m doing my best sir.” Henrik finally spoke, aware of how pathetically defensive was becoming.

Masoud scoffed at this, and Henrik spoke his next words quickly. “Lysander and Jarod both have so much fight in them because of their time in the outside world, the bonds that they formed, the people that they miss. Both cling onto hope that one day they will once again be able to re-kindle those bonds, to feel like they belong out there instead of in here.”

“So you’ve said on multiple occasions. What do you propose we do differently?” The dark African inquired.

“I don’t know sir, but I can tell you this. When someone has hopes and dreams there is only one thing more effective than simply taking them away.”

“What’s that Henrik?” Dr. Stone prodded.

“The only thing more painful, more discouraging to losing something is to…” Henrik’s voiced trailed off, but as he glanced up at the two doctor’s he found the rest of his sentence to be a moot point as the two men were sharing knowing smiles.  

He couldn’t help to imagine that the two handlers were now backing him towards that obtrusive edge. Continue to fail in their eyes, and Henrik knew they would push him down, leaving him teetering beside Jarod and Lysander.

Not that he had much of soul or a life to destroy in the first place. He wasn’t even sure if it was worth holding on.

THE CENTRE, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

It was time. The carefully etched plans were about to be set in motion, assuming he took the bait. Parker inhaled sharply as she focused her steely gaze on the door in front of her, her face hardening, her stature poised and powerful.

Pausing momentarily, she allowed herself a few extra moments to prepare for what was to come. Without the courtesy of a knock she entered his office, pulling the doors open with authority.

Staring down the surprised man, Parker strode towards him; her stilettos making an impressive click as she moved across the room.

The thin file folder she had gripped in her hands was tossed onto the desk, the occupant of the room opening it instantly.

“What’s this?” Lyle asked with a clearly unimpressed tone.

“It’s time to get back what’s ours,” she said with doubtless determination.  

Lyle raised his eyebrows in obvious disbelief, but didn’t hesitate to open the folder with a casual flick of a finger. A chuckle of amusement left him as he caught sight of the small picture affixed to the summary report.

“I knew it was too good to be true that he would be gone – forever,” her twin remarked sarcastically. “Although I must admit it is a shame that I am no longer stationed over there. Nothing would have given me greater pleasure than to see our blessed boy-wonder lose that arrogant smirk and collapse on his knees,” Lyle added wistfully as he sat back against his tall leather executive chair.

“Just what the world needs, another Alex,” Parker retorted dryly.

Lyle ignored her barb, but instead gazed at her thoughtfully, “Why?” he finally questioned, almost sincerely. She still caught the suspicion in his tone.

Parker smiled powerfully. “I thought even a moron like you would be able to figure this one out. Our father, or whoever the hell he was, may have bailed with the scrolls, which was our best assurance towards keeping the triumvirate at bay…”

“And?” Lyle asked impatiently.

She glared at him, “Daddy made damn sure that I knew two things. One was to honour the Parker name, whatever that means these days,” she added, slightly nostalgically.

“Dare I ask the second?” Lyle probed.

“That Jarod was the key – to everything.”

Lyle smirked and opened his mouth to reply, but Parker cut him off by raising her hand.

“Our lives have always been controlled by powerful men, and one by one their reign’s are coming to an end. When I seize my destiny, I don’t want to figure out we let the one Centre creation that mattered slip through our fingers.”

Her twin studied her thoughtfully, “I didn’t realize you had such ambitious career goals.”

“This isn’t about the nameplate on the door and the personal secretary. It’s about power and control and reacquiring what we have lost since Raines started running the show.”

Lyle remained silent, instead he returned his attention to the file folder and quickly skimmed the summary report that Parker had provided.

“Someone has been a busy little beaver. Should I be concerned on what information you and your posse have been gathering on me?” her twin questioned impassively.

“You should, but the Centre would have to add another sub-level to store documentation on all the rift-raft you associate yourself with,” Parker replied smartly.

“You can’t expect me to believe that you found this information out by yourself.”

“As I told you before Lyle, I love to be underestimated,” Parked said with a sultry smile.

“Seriously Parker…” Lyle warned.

She sighed, “Let’s just say I have a source with a vested interest in seeing Jarod returned here. He belongs in our cage, not theirs.”

Lyle furrowed his brow, “Let’s just say hypothetically that I choose to endorse this scheme, what’s in it for me?”

Parker gave her twin a casual wink. “Anything… Everything… You’re the one with the big dreams to climb the corporate ladder. You stay out of my way, I’ll stay out of yours.”

Lyle returned his attention to the file, scanning the contents with greater care as Parker lowered herself into a nearby chair, crossing her legs as she leaned back.

Dance puppet dance.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Dr. Masoud paced the length of the small interrogation room, waiting impatiently for the guest of the hour.

The rustling of chains from down the hall indicated his wait was nearing at an end.

He leaned impassively against the wall, watching as the shackled man was escorted through the doors.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” The elderly man questioned flatly.

“Have a seat Dr. Visser.” Masoud commanded, smiling as the other man shuffled his way to the awaiting table. “You’ve been playing games with my new monkey,” he finally stated, his tone laced with menace.

Visser shrugged. “You have all made it quite clear that my presence in Africa is coming to a tragic end. You can’t fault me for taunting your latest toy, I have few pleasures left in my life.”

Masoud gave a cruel smile. “He is a rather fine specimen.”

“Again, I assume we are not here for small talk.” Visser queried impatiently.

Masoud walked towards the man, seated at the small table. “Why the hurry? You can’t tell me you actually enjoy your current accommodations.”

The Dutch doctor ignored him.

“Just think, if it wasn’t for your squealing pet project, you might have gotten away with it.” Masoud reminisced cruelly.

“Betrayal is the name of the game in Africa,” the older man replied.

“So you don’t regret your actions?” Masoud asked.

“Only getting caught.”

Masoud studied the man thoughtfully. “And if there was a chance for redemption?”

The older man huffed in amusement. “Africa doesn’t forgive.”

Masoud shook his head from side to side. “No she doesn’t. However my friend, I am not talking about forgiveness. Our memories are long, and we shall never forget the magnitude of your betrayal. What we are here to talk about is redemption. Your sins will never be erased, but maybe your signed death order can be.”

Visser gave him a long and thoughtful glance. “I’m listening.”

HOUSE OF BROOTS, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

Broots smiled as Jay zealously flipped the pancake, the teen’s enthusiasm was contagious.

“Careful,” he cautioned, “finer men have been known to roof those things on occasion.”

Jay snorted. “Is this from experience?”

Broots shrugged innocently. “It’s all hearsay.”

“Plate!” the teen called out and Broots grabbed one just in time, the pancake landing in the centre, almost perfectly.

“If you say that you calculated the trajectory angle…” Broots threatened mockingly.

Jay’s smile grew even bigger. “You’ll what?”

“I’ll be forced to tell Miss Parker she’s mislabelled me as the household geek. Clearly there is a new contender, and I am quite willing to concede the title.”

“Even after factoring in your pyjamas?” Jay teased back.

“I told you, Debbie…”

“Not fair, blaming the one person who can’t rebuke your statement,” the teen interrupted.

“Convenient isn’t it?” Broots replied as he poured a generous helping of syrup.

Both were smiling as Jay joined him at the table, slathering butter on his relatively generous heap. Broots had to suppress a laugh as the top pancake on his stack was unmistakably paying homage to Mickey Mouse.

“So what should we work on today?” The young pretender queried.

Broots gave the boy a gentle smile as he placed a forkful of pancake in his mouth. “Well, I thought that we could take the day off and just relax.”

Jay tensed as Broots realized just how intuitive the teen was.

“Jay, we’ve been working non-stop since you arrived. The play station and movie breaks here and there are good, but I think we need to take a step back, I know I do anyways,” The tech prodded gently.

“You want to talk about something, don’t you?” Jay asked, his enthusiasm from earlier had vanished.

Broots looked up at him in surprise.

“Only Sydney is more obvious.” Jay remarked dryly. “If it’s about my brother…”

“It’s not.” Broots interrupted, watching as the teen sat back in slight surprise.

“Then what? Here to impart on me your great wisdom about some life lesson I have yet to hurdle?” Jay asked. Having a teenage of his own, Broots didn’t need to look up from his pancakes to imagine the eye-roll that was for his benefit.

“You have your own father to do that.” Broots reminded the boy.

“I know…I know…”

“When’s the last time you contacted him?” Broots pried, knowing full well the teen hadn’t, not since he arrived in Blue Cove.

“Why does it matter?” Jay asked.

“I would have thought a boy who spent most of his life separated from the family he deserved wouldn’t have needed to answer that question.”

Jay looked away. “I left without saying goodbye,” he finally replied, his voice hushed.

“You think you are the first teenage in the world to runaway?” Broots asked softly.

“No,” was the annoyed reply.

“Then what is it?”

“I hurt them.” Jay finally replied, his voice hushed but still full of shame.

Broots set down his fork, as a wave of compassion washed through him. It was hard to remember that Jay still had that scared and isolated little boy firmly etched into his soul.

“I hate to inform you, but that’s what being part of a family is all about,” Broots offered sincerely, giving a small smile of encouragement as Jay finally made eye contact with him.

“Family is forever kiddo – through good times and bad. We all do things that hurt, or make each other mad, and then we get over it.”

“What if what is done is unforgivable?” Jay countered.

Broots found himself flashing back to some of the earlier conversations that he had been forced to eavesdrop on between Jarod and Sydney, after the pretender had first escape. Jarod had been so naïve, and had seen everything in stark black and white. Jay seemed so well-adjusted, but it was coming clear that he still had a few life lessons to pick up on.

Feeling out of his element, Broots took a deep breath and continued onwards, “Jay, speaking as a father, nothing is unforgivable. There isn’t a thing in the world Debbie could do that would lessen my love for her. She can disappoint me yes, but nothing could make me stop loving her.”

“How can that be true? Look at all the pain and the suffering, the anger in the world.”

“I cannot vouch for every family on the planet, but I can vouch for yours. Jarod has a heart of gold, and I can tell you that compassion didn’t come from his childhood. That mixture of sensitivity and strength it came from within, a gift your father gave both of you. But all of this is irrelevant.”

“Irrelevant?” The teen queried, almost rudely.

Broots nodded. “Jay you have done amazing things, made sacrifices and taken an unspeakable risk. If you were my son not only would I not be angry, I would be beaming with pride. Few kids your age have your courage, let alone the rest of the population.”

Jay bent his head down in embarrassment. “So what now?”

Broots picked up his fork. “I’m going to finish my pancakes, and then we’ll work together to track down your family, ok? It’s going to be hard, but we can start by reading the stack of unanswered emails that I imagine are flooding your inbox.”

Jay nodded slowly, but still avoided eye contact, as he pensively went back to working on his breakfast.

“Hey Broots…” the teen finally spoke after several minutes of uncomfortable silence.

“Mmpf,” was the muffled replied through half-chewed pancakes.

“With motivational talks like this, you could have a successful career as a writer for Hallmark. I can see the line of cards now.” Jay stated with that trademark smirk that he and Jarod shared.

Broots looked up, catching the twinkle in the young pretender’s eyes. It wasn’t long until the kitchen had erupted into laughter.

Things were going to be okay.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Lys grimaced as the door was rudely thrown open to her small cell.  She instinctively raised her arm to shield her eyes while she struggled to focus her vision in the intense light.

She need not have bothered as she finally was able to blearily focus onto the shoes her handler, Dr. Stone. With a heavy sigh she leaned back against the cement wall.

“After how many days, I’d think you would be happy to see me,” the doctor stated simply.

Lys shrugged, sighing despondently as she heard two guards move into the room, shackles clanging in their hands. “Time for an excursion?” she questioned unnecessarily as two grips locked onto her arms and roughly pulled her upwards.

“Let’s just call it a last chance,” was the simple reply.

“Then you’ll what, put me out of my misery?” Lys questioned sassily.

Dr. Stone just chuckled. “You haven’t even begun to grasp the concept of misery my dear.”

Lys ignored his remark, as she was grateful to be out of the mind-numbing emptiness of the isolation cell. Already she could feel her mind come to life with the new stimulation, her mathematical mind cranking to a rough start as she was bombarded with stimuli.

The number of steps to their destination, the number of left turns, the number of footsteps made by the guards; it was always numbers that made her world go round.

Four hundred and twenty three steps later she was guided into the sim lab. She was pushed into a chair hood pulled off, right arm chained to the table.

“I’m not going to do anything,” she announced stubbornly, as Dr. Stone casually sat down across the table.

“I assume you are familiar with the concept of patience?” the British doctor finally asked.

Lys rolled her eyes, “Another life-lesson to be imparted on me?” she asked.

Stone narrowed his gaze but did not reprimand her sarcastic tone.

“We won’t wait around forever. We are after all running a business.”

“I’m sure you are breaking the bank given my five star accommodations and the delectable meal plan,” Lys countered.

“Is five minutes of silence too much for ask for, or should I ask one of the guards to find something that will ensure that only my voice is heard?” Stone queried impatiently.

Lys let out a huff, but held her tongue.

“Good girl,” Stone patronized before continuing. “I’m afraid we’ve reached the end of your rope Lys. Bottom line is that we are through. This is your last chance.”

Lys looked at the man with a piercing gaze. Was this really it, or just another tactic to coerce her into working?

“Off to the gallows, after all of this,” she mumbled casually, unsure if her words reached Dr. Stone or not.

Apparently they did.

“You are far from one of a kind Lysander. Valuable to a point, but that line has long been crossed by your foolish antics.” Stone reprimanded. “You have one last chance to pick up that pencil, or we shall part ways - forever.”

“The moment I have been dreaming of since my arrival.” Lys countered, projecting false confidence into her tone.

Stone chuckled, but his face hardened. “It’s hardly something to dream about Pet. One phone call and you’ll be transported across our compound. Some come back from there, their tails between their legs, begging for forgiveness, their very beings shattered into a pathetic shell of mindless obedience. Most, however, they never return. I’ve never set foot in that building, but the stories that come from there are the kind whispered around fires on gloomy evenings, the ones older brothers tell their younger siblings to impart nightmares and unwarranted fears of things that go bump in the night.”

“Life without freedom is hardly worth living,” Lys whispered, aware her heart was beginning to thump madly in her chest.

“Well congratulations, you have been given a rare gift that most Triumvirate subjects never get the opportunity to experience.”

“What’s that?” Lys asked.

“A choice. Life or death, what will it be?”

“I made that choice before arriving here, but someone saw fit to intervene or we would not be having this conversation.” Lys spat back, her emotions quickly becoming raw and uncontrollable.

The doctor was unfazed. “A few little pills is nothing. The journey you have to look forward towards your ultimate end is long and treacherous. Deep down inside we all hope that we can get you back to work, the only difference you have to look forward to is that our means are no longer limited solely by your physical limitations.”

Lys closed her eyes as years of instinctual fear towards the Africans took over. The stories had made the circuit of the residential ring of the Conglomeration about the crazy Zulu torture sessions, the madness, the suffering. She knew they were not exaggerated.

Her eyes flew open as the tall dark doctor she had seen with Dr. Stone several times stormed into the room.

“Stone, I need to see you now,” the authoritative voice of the dark African man she had seen with Dr. Stone interrupted.

“Not now, I’m in the middle of something.”

“It can wait, this can’t.”

With a heavy sigh Stone stood up from the table, giving Lys a long look up and down.

“Use this time wisely Pet.” He cautioned with almost a hint of kindness.

Lys turned away from him as he followed the dark African man out of the room, leaving her alone with just her guard for company.

Her life had finally come full circle.

What was there left to live for? Her mom was her only living relative that she was at all close with, but after two decades without her daughter, Lys suspected that she was lost to her forever.

The chance for freedom, wasted by her many unsuccessful attempts to disappear after breaking out of the Conglomerate.

Her entire being was exhausted, the years of repression, the complete and utter misery and desolation of knowing that this was all her life could ever be from this point forward.

She wanted a way out, but was it worth the path it would take to get there?

Lys shivered, not wanting to begin to hypothesize what the Africans would have waiting for her behind door number two.

Damn Jarod, if he had just let her go in the first place, none of this would have happened.

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA

Jarod resisted to the urge to look up as a set of footsteps approached him. He gripped the pencil in his hand even tighter, forcing himself to jot yet another note down on the pad in front of him.

“Now this really is a sight, the Centre’s absentee pretender not only back in his cage, but diligently working away,” a painfully familiar voice purred.

Jarod let his pencil fall to the table. “Cox,” he stated apathetically. Deep down he knew the man’s appearance should shock him, but Jarod felt nothing but the same numbness that surrounded his daily life.

“Still as sharp as ever I see,” the man replied.

“It is the reason I continue to be the guest of honour.” Jarod remarked, looking up as the doctor finally moved into Jarod’s line of vision, studying the pretender intently.

Jarod self-consciously looked away, feeling vulnerable and exposed, given he was clad only in the neutral coloured hospital-like pants he was forced to wear. He knew his bare chest and back easily gave away the degree of physical abuse he had been subjected to.

“I’m simply admiring Dr. Masoud’s handiwork,” Cox announced as he observed the pretender’s body language.

So that was his name, the African handler that had controlled Jarod’s life since the pretender had arrived in Africa. Just another thing he was denied as Masoud continued to remind Jarod just exactly where his place was in life.

Cox chuckled at Jarod’s embarrassed silence. “There is no need to get sullen with me Jarod. I spent a great deal of my time in Blue Cove cleaning up the messes you left behind, despite the fact we were never formally introduced. I do believe the closest I ever got to you was in the form of a saucy little red-head by the name of…”

Zoe.

Jarod instantaneously sprang from his chair, only to find himself forced back down by his two guards. He clenched his fists in anger, trying to divert the memories before they overcame him.

They had been far from soul mates, but Zoe had given Jarod a piece of himself he thought that he would never find. It wasn’t the physical aspect of the relationship that he missed most, but just the general closeness - the way she would run her fingers through his spiky hair, or rub his back as they were sitting together, or just the casual conversations about normal day to day activities, while holding hands.

“I seem to have struck a nerve.” Cox remarked with a cocky smirk. “Who knows, continue being the obedient project you once were, and maybe we can find someone to scratch that itch.”

Jarod looked away in disgust, a chill running down his spine, as he imagined himself wrapped in Zoe’s comforting embrace.

It was just one more thing to add to the list of things they had taken from him.

In here, it was just him, on a slab of grey. His world held no colour, no freedom, just the constant clanging of his shackles, physical or mental. There was no bright sun with it’s warming rays, the joy of standing under endlessly falling snowflakes, calming hugs or just a conversation between him and a friend.

After everything Jarod had experienced and seen, his life had been reduced to just this, a black hole of despair, pain and suffering, and now he was forced to pull innocent people down with him.

“Dr. Cox, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Dr. Masoud’s voice questioned from across the room.

Jarod met Cox’s gaze only to find the doctor to be smirking.

“No one fights the Centre and wins Jarod, no one.” Cox lectured before turning his attention back to Masoud.

“There is an important matter that must be attended to,” he announced.

“Certainly.” Masoud agreed. “I expect your proposed system by the time I return.”

Jarod closed his eyes against the retreating footsteps.

How much longer could he go on? Then again, what choice did he have?

Chapter # 13 - Transitions

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA, SIM LAB 4B

So this was it. The end of the line. No place left to go. 

Lys stared blankly at the folder on the table before her. It represented her final chapter, her ultimate choice. Open it and she would officially give them whatever few morsels of her soul she still had control over. Keep it closed, and it was game over as far as the Africans were concerned. Either she would die, or her brains would become so scrambled none of this would matter. It was nice to have options. 

Lys felt like her heart should be thudding in her chest, her breath should be quickened, but oddly enough, she had never felt so calm. Was it calm, or just completely numb? 

Lys allowed her gaze to travel upwards for a moment. She had long given up on the concept of heaven and god, but in times of weakness it was nice to pretend that her father was up there, staring down at her, heart-broken for the treacherous path her life had become. For a few brief moments Lys closed her eyes, and imagined herself comforted by her dad’s strong embrace.

The shrill of the lab phone brought her back to the present, and the manila folder once again became her visual focus. Her guard’s terse responses to the call made it obvious the conversation was about her. Was it time to reveal her decision to Dr. Stone?

As the footsteps approached her, keys jingling, Lys allowed her eyes to drift upwards for one final second. Her decision was made, however she was not about to do things the easy way.She had one last opportunity to put up a fight, albeit a losing one, she would still go down swinging, with every last ounce of strength she had.

Lys remained relaxed as the guard reached down and unlocked her from the table restraints. She limply allowed herself to be pulled upwards with no more courtesy than what would be afforded to a rag doll. Lys suppressed the grimace as the tightness in her joints sent a wave of pain through her tired and battered body.

Impatiently, the guard pushed Lys forward, maintaining a tight hold on her left wrist while he reached around for his handcuffs. Lys tensed and with sudden fury launched herself at the guard with a surprising burst of strength. A smile of satisfaction landed as she managed to yank her wrist free in the process.

Thanks to years of martial arts her mom has subjected her to, Lys knew exactly where to aim to make it count. One unfocused guard was no match for the years of suppressed rage that fuelled Lys’s attack.

Less than a minute later the victorious predictor stood over the unconscious guard. She kicked him on his side before bending down and pulling his gun out of the small leather holster.

It was simply dumb luck that there had only been one goon guarding her today. Maybe some higher force had intervened to allow her this one final spectacle. This may be nothing but a suicide mission, but Lys would see it to the end with everything she had.

Turning around, Lys stared at the two doors. The one she was familiar with led out in to the dark hallway, the other sat beside what was obviously a large two way mirror. It was from this door that Dr. Stone always appeared from.

She would probably get about ten meters in the hallway before she was shot down like a rabbid dog, but who knew what damage she could inflict in Dr. Stone’s office. Without a moment of hesitation, Lys cocked the gun and walked confidently towards the door. Only then did her heart started to thud in her chest. 

THE TRIUMVIRATE, AFRICA, SIM LAB 4A

Jarod absent-mindedly scribbled a few notes on the pad in front of him. It was only a front to keep the guard pacing behind him happy, as any momentary lapse in concentration brought unnecessary attention.

In reality Jarod’s brain was busy trying to decipher whether he should be concerned about Cox’s surprise visit. Maybe the twisted doctor had come by to gloat, but something wasn’t sitting right with Jarod.

Based on his treatment upon arrival in Africa, it had become evident early on that Africans ran a much tighter ship than their underlings back in Blue Cove. Jarod would not bat an eye at having to endure Lyle or Raines’ gloating at his being back in captivity. On the other hand, the Africans were all about business. Everything here had purpose, to the point that Jarod felt is entire existence had been reduced to carefully calculated steps uniquely designed to ensure his unfaltering compliance. Cox would not be given access to him just to share a laugh at Jarod’s expense.

Jarod returned his focus to the notes he was making on the notepad. His former self would be madly trying to find how Cox fit into the puzzle that was now his life. Instead he was sitting here absent-mindedly trying to convince himself that he should care.

Then again why did any of it matter when the innocent victims he knew would soon die at the hands of his genius plagued him constantly. It was a choice that he made, sacrificing the unimaginable number of lives of people he would never know to protect the precious few that he did. Even his family rarely entered his thoughts any more. He didn’t deserve those feelings of belonging or yearning when his own ideas were taking those blessed things away from countless number of families.

The slow opening of the office door from across the room pulled Jarod back to the here and now. He scribbled faster, as if trying to make up for his momentary lapse in concentration, waiting for the purposeful strides of Dr. Masoud. It was time for their trained monkey to perform.

“Drop it.” A strong feminine voice commanded from the across room as Jarod heard the guard behind him cock his own weapon. Jarod raised his head to find himself meeting the intense stare of Lysander, a gun clutched authoritatively in front of her.

“Lys?” Jarod asked in disbelief, unable to articulate the hundreds of questions that erupted simultaneously in his head. How did she end up here in his sim lab? With a gun? The complex was massive, how did she end up here? Shock didn’t begin to describe the confusion Jarod was feeling, yet Lys was reeking of cool, composure. Had she know he was here?

“Silence,” the guard behind him warned the pretender, stepping in the direction of the pretender, while keeping his gun carefully trained on predictor in front of him.

“Why don’t you shut it.” Lys quipped, taking a few steps closer to Jarod and the well muscled guard behind him.

A few months ago, Jarod wouldn’t have hesitated to throw himself at the guard. In this hellhole, the six pictures on the wall to his left and the many more that existed were an invisible noose around his neck. At what level of defiance would Masoud order one of those precious lives extinguished? 

The guard couldn’t help himself as he chuckled. “You really think you are the first project to go disgruntled employee on us? It’s a suicide mission. You won’t make it more than two meters before the inevitable happens.”

Lys was unfazed. “Those are my speciality.” Her angry eyes met Jarod’s for the briefest of seconds. They were so full of desperation; it didn’t take a genius mind to realize that Lys had reached her breaking point.

Jarod’s gaze sunk to floor as a new burst of guilt surfaced. It was unequivocally his faultthat she was here. He had botched the escape from Corporation Zero and had been the one to breathe life back into her causing the suicide attempt at the Centre to fail.

Knowing he owed her, something, Jarod turned to his left, trying to gather strength, or perhaps ask permission from the six people on the wall. Their faces stared back at him, a stark reminder of the potential penalty of his disobedience.

Meeting Lys’s gaze once again, he could gut-wrenchingly see the pleading behind her fiery blue eyes, willing him to do something…anything. One well executed push backwards and the guard would no longer be an issue. Jarod would feel his body start to come alive, tingling with adrenaline and apprehension. Was there even hope of escape? He didn’t know the building and there wasn’t access to the extensive vent network that had been his blessing at the Centre. Even if they got out of the building, what then? He knew the Triumvirate compound was massive from the few satellite photos he had pulled up after escaping the Centre after the last time. It felt like time stood still and yet not even a minute had passed since Lys had entered the room. Jarod was immobilized with ambivalence; never before had he felt so uncertain or unsure of himself.

“Jarod!” Lys hissed sharply as Jarod felt the guard place a threatening hand on his shoulder. She was begging him to snap out of it and take action, instead of standing there like the brain-washed mute they wished him to be.

“That’s it!” The guard commanded with whatever authority he believed he still had. “I want both of you on the ground, hands on your head.”

Jarod looked around nervously, his eyes again looking to the pictures on the left, as his mind tried to reach a decision. The price of failure was unimaginable, but, at the same time, he couldn’t be responsible for destroying Lys’s chance at escape, as miniscule as it was. 

“You might have to aim carefully when trying to take down a prized possession, but I don’t have those kinds of constraints on where I can shoot. So why don’t you take your own advice and get nice and intimate with the floor?” Lys retorted nonchalantly to the guard’s command.

 “It appears we are at a stand-off,” he replied unnecessarily.

 “Not entirely,” Jarod finally spoke, pushing backwards with a sharp movement and twisting as the chair fell onto the lumbering guard. It took only one sharp punch to the surprised man’s face before he slumped to the ground unconscious. Every day he was in here, was another day of condemning innocent people to death. If there was even a minute chance to end the cycle he had to take it, no matter what the consequences, right? 

Jarod stepped back, his heart thudding madly in his chest and he looked back towards the security camera undoubtedly capturing everything that was going on. How long until the cavalry arrived to put him back in his place? There was no taking this back. This was it, their one chance. Failure was simply not an option. 

Jarod jumped as he felt a hand on his forearm, realizing that Lysander had made her way over to him. He turned and met her haunted blue eyes, the physical contact between the two severing awkwardly. 

They stood apart like that for several long seconds, each studying the damage on their respective abused bodies. Jarod could read the hostility directed towards him. He deserved to bear the brunt of the full force of Lysander's suffering. It was his fault; all of this was his fault.

“Now what?” Jarod finally asked after a nervous glance to the door behind him. “Are we really going through with this?”

Lys looked at the guard lying at Jarod’s feet. “Unless you have a time machine, I think we're doing this whether we wanted to or not. Besides the well thought out plan served us so well last time we tried to fly the coop, maybe a bit of spontaneity is just what is needed.”

Jarod looked away guiltily, “I’ve replayed the days, the hours leading up to our recapture a thousand times. I should have known, should have been prepared. Everything that happened the day we were recaptured and afterwards is on my shoulders, and mine alone.”

“Don’t.” Lys ordered fiercely. “Look Jarod, I don’t deny that I haven’t spent many nights hating you for bringing me back to life, causing me to experience all the joys my life became after we left the Centre.”Jarod lowered his head and looked back down to the floor as Lys continued on, “But … the reality is if the situation had been reversed, I probably would have done the same thing.”

Lys gently placed a hand momentarily on Jarod's arm, so he would look at her and whispered, “Jarod, our pathway to this continent has been long and torturous and simply put, it’s probably a miracle I wasn’t shipped over here years ago. It’s been a hard life, and they’ve made it clear to me that I’m no longer a part of their prized fleet. If this is the end, then I’m up for one last fight. I’m going to make my mum proud.” Lys spoke with such conviction; it sent a shiver down Jarod’s spine.

He looked at her intensely. “Who said this was the end of the road? There can always another day, another chance.” Jarod's voice trailed off as he said that last part, as if trying to convince himself. 

Lys turned away in frustration. “Look around you Jarod. What could there possibly be for me to hope for? That they’ll screw up my brains enough that I can be shipped back to New Zealand as a garbling mess? I’m alone in this world. No one cares! There is no miracle to be found in my sordid little life’s tale. Even if there could be, it doesn’t matter anyway.” The anger in the predictor’s tone melted away until her last words were nothing but a broken whisper, “this is my chance.”

Jarod walked towards Lys slowly, and placed a comforting hand on the small of her back. On the rare moments he allowed himself to drift away and imagine a few moments of happiness, it was always touch that he found himself craving whether it be a warm hand to cradle, a comforting squeeze, or a gentle embrace.

“It matters to me.”

Lys hesitated but finally leant into the welcomed soft touch. “I was given my last ultimatum less than an hour ago. Either I become their faithful lap dog, or my welcome mat shall be permanently revoked. Based on my actions in the past five minutes, I think that decision has irreversibly been made.”

Lys lingered slightly but finally stepped away from Jarod’s hand, turning instead to bring her tortured blue eyes to meet his stare. “I can tell by the state of this lab, that you’re busy doing their work, but I also see by the pain in your eyes that they’ve done something terrible to get you to this point.”

Jarod looked down to the floor as he fidgeted with his hands. “They’ve exploited my link to some very special people I met during my years of freedom. I…”

Lys allowed her hand to fall onto Jarod's forearm, forcing his gaze back into her line of sight. “As long as you still feel this pain Jarod, they haven’t won, not entirely. The problem is I don’t feel it anymore, and I don’t think it’s coming back.”

The two stood once again in silence, Jarod contemplating Lysander’s word, and she computing the amount of time that had passed.

“I understand if you can’t come with me Jarod. It’s a suicide mission at best,” Lys stated truthfully.

Jarod looked at the guard that still lay unconscious at his workspace, “It’s too late for me to change my mind, the damage is done. Besides who knows, with two brains as big as ours, maybe we’ll actually make it?”

“You really are the eternal optimist, aren’t you?” Lys commented wryly, following Jarod towards the door.

Jarod felt his heart pounding in his chest, the adrenaline coursing through his body kicking into second gear. For the briefest of moments he remembered what it felt like to be free, the luxury of being able to make a choice. He could feel himself being slowly overcome with desire so strong it threatened to take his breath away.

But it wasn’t meant to last; Jarod felt the deep yearning melt instantaneously into the all familiar cocktail of apprehension and despondency. He was reminded of the dead weight around his ankle. He knelt down, pulling up his pant to leg to reveal the tracking device.

 This monkey wasn’t meant to run – not today.

 Years of self-preservation allowed his mind to calculate the only option he truly had, and that was to stay put and wait for Masoud’s wrath. A month ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to bolt, but he was shackled by the pictures on the wall, the happy lives of people he had helped that would remain so at the cost of his cooperation with the devil.

 “With our big brains, it seems only fair that they should be given a head start,” Lys quipped with a trace of a smile, as she lifted her own pant leg to reveal the same piece of equipment.

Jarod kept silent, knowing it was enough to convey the bleakness of the situation. The monitoring anklet was large and cumbersome, nothing other than shorting out the device and electrocuting himself in the process would they be able to negotiate this obstacle.

“I’m sorry Jarod. I’ve done nothing but get you into a pile of trouble. We are sitting ducks with these things on.”

 Jarod just looked sadly at Lys, unable to find anything meaningful to say as he took a step back from the door. 

Lys gave him a sad, knowing smile as she continued to back towards the door, “I’ll see you in the next life amigo.”

 Jarod could see the fire ignited in her eyes, and he had to admire her courage. When he reached the end of his line, it would be nice to think that he would go down with at least the shred of dignity and fight that Lys obviously still had within her. 

Lys was mere inches from the door when it suddenly snapped open. Jarod’s stomach tightened in panic, as he turned away, waiting to find himself facing down the wrong end of a gun barrel. He could almost hear Masoud’s angry voice castigating him.

Instead, a much different tone gave the pretender his second surprise of the day.

“Looks like someone has been a disobediant child,” the accented voice stated in a neutral tone.

Jarod turned around, finding the elderly man with the salt and pepper hair standing before him. He was wearing a grey pin-stripped suit, and nothing about his demeanour suggested he had been sharing cell space with Jarod but a few hours prior.

 Jarod couldn’t find the words to give passage to the million of questions that were flooding into his head. He simply stood his ground waiting to see if the older man would present himself as friend or foe. Lyle had taught him, the hard way, that dangerous men would do anything beyond all moral compasses to survive. Who knew what twisted deal had been reached to land this man back into corporate dignity?

 “Who the hell are you?” Lys spoke, stepping back as the man stepped towards her.

 “Dr. Visser, and you must be Lysander. You were the highlight of the lovely meeting I was just forced to attend.”

 “You leave her alone.” Jarod said forcefully moving in between the two.

Visser simply chuckled. “Relax Jarod; you don’t really believe that after we’ve shared so many nights locked up together that I would be back in my former glory just like that. Quite the contrary, I’m not here to harm you or the little lady.”

“What is it then, you’ve traded something?”

 Visser shook his head looking behind himself nervously. “Today was my judgement day. It’s an old boy’s club, so I was gifted with the luxury of appearing in front of my jury with my last shred of dignity in the form of this suit.”

 “I don’t follow…” Jarod started only to be cut off by the older man.

 “Just shut down that genius brain of yours for a moment. The two of you have about three minutes before this wing will be flooded with guards, and Jarod, I promise you Dr. Masoud will be leading the way. There won’t be enough heartfelt apologies that you can throw at his feet to dig your way out of this canyon of trouble.”

Jarod clenched his jaw as his brain attempted to absorb and conceptualize just how the elderly man had gone from the humiliating zoo cage to here. Everything about this environment was so tightly controlled, how could this man have bettered them?It was the kind of incompetence one would expect at the Centre, but not here.

“How did you get here?” Jarod asked bluntly as the man bent down in front of Lys pulling out a small tool. He made no attempt to answer Jarod’s question, his attention solely on the predictor. “Leg," he commanded. 

 Looking at Jarod expectantly, Lys pulled up her pant leg and in a few short seconds the bracelet fell free from her ankle.

 “How did you get that?” Jarod asked with a more forceful tone. He wanted answers before going any further.

“The moment Lysander’s bracelet was opened, a distress signal was sent back to security headquarters. We have mere moments to act before this building is placed under a pre-cautionary lock-down. You can follow me or go sit at the table and play the part of the well-trained monkey I know Masoud has taught you to become – the choice is yours Jarod.” The elderly man said with impatience as he moved over to Jarod and easily released the pretender from the anklet.

“I don’t trust you,” Jarod informed the man, the obvious suspicion laced into his otherwise mellow tone.

The older man moved to speak, but Lysander stepped in, “We’re buggered either way Jarod. Stupidity is often an effect of desperation, and if we don’t qualify under that category, I don’t know who would.”

Jarod met her eyes, the adrenaline returning to his exhausted body as he once again felt a small flutter of hope. He recognized the flash in Lys’s eye, knowing that she was experiencing the same emotions. Deep down, he knew they had already reached the point of no return.

Lys extended her hand and Jarod grabbed it tentatively. It was a childish gesture, a juvenille attemmpt at comfort. Together they walked towards the door, following obediently behind the older man.

“Who knows, maybe this time, the odds will land on our side,” Lys whispered as they crossed through the door frame.

“What now?” Jarod asked, taking in the eerily silence of the dark hallway.

“We run.”

DOVER GREYHOUND TERMINAL

Broots twitched his nose as the scent of diesel bombarded his nostrils. The smell combined with the dominating rumblings of overused engines created an atmosphere of emptiness. It always seemed to him that bus stations were more for the down-trodden of modern society. With the exception of over-eager college students and a few grandparents who were no longer driving or spry enough for long road-trips, buses were vehicles for the lonely.

He glanced at the nervous teen, noticing the line for the southern bound bus was creeping forward, indicating that boarding had begun.

“Maybe I should stay another week,” the teen offered helplessly.

Broots shook his head firmly. “It’s a new century. You’ve given us everything we need in person. It’s time for this team to become virtual.”

“What if something goes wrong with Lyle and Miss Parker? What if Raines finds out, or worse if the Africans…”

“Jay!” Broots admonished. “For a genius you are pretty doubtful about these plans. Where is that annoying borderline cocky confidence I know exists in your genetic code?”

“I’m scared to see them,” the teen admitted pitifully. Broots shook his head and turned to meet the young pretender head on.

“You told me that Emily was overjoyed when you spoke on the phone.”

Jay shrugged sheepishly, “I hurt my dad, Emily said he’s been in a real bad way ever since –“

“Enough Jay. While I admit that slipping away from your dad and sister in the middle of the night was in poor form, you did what you had to do. Without you Sydney would still be wallowing in his dark house and I would be twiddling my thumbs trying to figure out how to get your brother home. But we have a plan, and it’s all thanks to you. If that won’t make a father proud, I don’t know what will. Hope is one of the most precious gifts a person can give to another, especially in such troubling times.” Broots exhaled, surprised at the amount of breath he still had after his lecture. His lungs were getting used to it.

“What if this doesn’t work?” Jay asked.

“Then we will figure out another plan – together. They have these wonderful inventions called web-cams….” Broots countered sarcastically.

Jay smirked slightly, grabbing the ticket the tech now held in his outstretched hands.

“Thank you Mr. Broots for everything.”

Broots nodded, shaking the teen’s hand with a firm shake. A few weeks ago this situation would have called for a hug, but it was as if Jay had morphed into a card-carrying adult right before his eyes. That was a teenager for you, one part cocky – two parts insecurity.

He stood there with a stupid grin on his face, not moving until a cloud of diesel exhaust sent him into a rough coughing spree.

One errant pretender was being returned to his family.

One more to go.

THE CENTRE, BLUE COVE, DELAWARE

“Make the call Lyle.” Parker commanded fiercely. “This information can’t lie dormant forever. We act on it now, or Jarod will be lost to the Centre forever.”

“I still say that we should inform Raines of this.” Lyle argued annoying.

Parker shook her head in frustration, “He is the last person on this planet who needs to know about this. Raines has had it out for Jarod the moment that he became Sydney’s golden boy. Chairman or not, when it comes to this Centre asset, his vision is clouded. Jarod belongs here, the Centre made him, and I have a feeling that as time goes on we will only begin to realize exactly how valuable he is. When that happens what side of the Atlantic do you want Jarod to be on, Lyle?”

Lyle looked at her with his steely blue eyes. “This isn’t more nonsense about the scrolls is it Parker? Some supposed ancient set of papers. You off chasing your ghosts once again?”

“They were enough to send Daddy out of a plane,” Parker responded callously.

“You know Lyle, Daddy always knew more about this place, where it came from and where it was going than he ever let on. As I’ve told your peanut sized brain multiple times in the last few weeks, he was adamant that I hold onto Jarod and never let go. Jarod is the key. To what I don’t know, but when I find the lock I want to be damn sure I know where he is.”

“We are going in circles with this argument,” Lyle admitted before rising from his desk, giving a long stare out of his window.

“It’s not like we can just sneak Jarod into the Centre and keep him hidden from Raines, we have to tell him something.”

Parker glanced down to a small file folder that she held in her lap. She had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, but Lyle was too much of a lap dog to Raines for there to be any other way.

“What if there was something that could be done to ensure that Raines would no longer be an issue – permanently.”

This caught Lyle’s attention. Always the corporate treasure hunter – for power.

“How?”

Parker fingered the file hesitantly one last time before tossing it towards her brother. “The Centre was started by a Parker, and it should be run by a Parker.”

She felt dirty as the words left her mouth, repeating the same sordid tale of lies her father had used to con her into starting an illustrious career at the Centre.

It was funny how the tired lines still had the power to work.