THE CENTRE – SL-26: ISOLATION BLOCK 'D'

Jarod lay motionless on the cold concrete. He looked longingly at the small block that acted as his bed across from where he had been placed in his cell.

Jarod's bruised body told the story of the abuse he had been subjected to over the past twenty four hours. He could feel a nasty laceration on his left cheek; his chest was covered with small electrical burns, never mind the countless bruises that seem to exist over almost every inch of flesh. When they had finally released him from the overhead shackles, conveniently located in the zoo-cage they kept him in, Jarod had fallen into a miserable heap, his exhaustion preventing him from giving Lyle the defiant glare he so desperately wanted to share.

The cruelty hadn't stopped there, as at Lyle's orders the sweepers had dragged the fallen pretender over to the edge his cell, and had looped handcuffs around one of the bars, restraining him behind his back, than securing his legs in a similar fashion. Jarod had found brief respite in his exhaustion, but had soon awaken to an almost unbearable numbness in his limbs. The cold concrete was unwelcoming against his exposed chest, and before long he had found himself shivering. He was beginning to believe they were planning on leaving him like this until the Africans came to drag him across the Atlantic.

How had things gone so wrong?

He could only assume that Lysander had pulled through, as Lyle had not taunted him about her death, and he hadn't given the twin the satisfaction of begging to hear about her condition. Jarod knew they should have been able to pump her stomach before her body finished its fatal shutdown, but he was obviously most concerned about her emotional state. He could still hear her voice, it haunted him whenever his mind released the memory from its carefully guarded vault.

"Please just let me go."

The drugs had almost claimed her at that point, but the desperation in her voice had been overwhelming. Jarod was driven within by thoughts of his family. He knew his mother was alive, and he had been only temporarily separated from his father, his clone and sister. However Lysander had forced him to wonder about what it would be like if he truly was alone in this world? Could he survive in here, knowing what he did about the outside world, if there was no one waiting for him beyond the confines of his cell? What then would be the point to this miserable existence?

He just prayed that she didn't hate him when she had opened her eyes, realizing that she was trapped back in their unforgiving reality.

As he had been dragged back to his cell, Jarod had found himself contemplating if maybe he should have just let her go. Had he saved her simply to spare himself more grief? He never would have forgiven himself if she had killed herself as he had failed to get them to safety after he had rescued her from Alex's hold. Had he intervened for the right reasons?

And then there was Angelo. Every sweeper in the building was gunning for the poor empath. Angelo had been his saviour during his three decades locked up in the Centre, and his guardian angel while he was on the run. He wondered where his friend was hiding, and if he had the ability to even leave the Centre. Timmy would have made it, but Angelo was so trapped by the crossed wires in his head, he simply could not function in society. The Centre was all the man knew.

Jarod wondered if Broots had managed to send the scribbled shorthand email that he asked the tech to forward on. If he had, he had no doubt that his father would now be aware of his upcoming transfer to Africa. If only he could spare them from the pain. Jarod was slowly resigning himself to the fact that with every passing second, he was more likely to be making an appearance on the African bound airplane. He would stay alert for any opportunity that would present itself, but this time he had been bested in the game of wits. He had determined his own fate.

He prayed his father wouldn't try to make a rescue attempt, as they had originally done with Jay when the boy had been destined for the Congo. Jarod knew the only reason his father hadn't been shot dead on sight was because both Jarod and Jay had escaped that day. However with Jarod on the other side of the bars, his father's life no longer had significant value as far as the Centre was concerned. If the Major showed up, they would shoot - no hesitation.

Jarod buried his thoughts in the back of his head as he became aware of a presence outside the room where his cell was. He was bound with his back to the doorway, and thus was incapable of facing his tormentors.

"Good morning Jarod." Lyle's cheerful voice greeted. "I trust you had a restful evening."

Jarod remained silent.

"I get it, mornings arn’t your thing. Life’s always a bit rough until that first cup of coffee." Lyle mocked, as the sweepers moved to release Jarod from his chains. His arms fell limply to his side, initiating the painful sensation of his limbs reawakening. He awkwardly managed to push himself around to face the twin, who had now entered Jarod's cell. The grin on the man's face was frightening.

"Last day before you leave home Jarod! You could at least pretend to look like you are happy to see me." Lyle taunted.

"I've done enough pretending in my lifetime, thank you." Jarod shot back, wincing at the croakiness of his voice. It had been a long time since he had last been given water.

"It's always big promises, no delivery with you Jarod. Hopefully in your time away from us you'll learn the error of your ways." Lyle responded, crouching down to meet the pretender.

"I brought you a going away present. No need to thank me." Lyle whispered, staring intently into Jarod's eyes.

Jarod watched apprehensively as the twin grabbed a small polaroid from his suit jacket and tossed it at Jarod's prone form.

Jarod apprehensively allowed his eyes to reach the photo, his head replaying the cruel words Lyle had uttered.

"I've been looking for an excuse to get rid of that thing for years Jarod. You just handed me one, gift-wrapped and under the tree."

The photo was of Angelo. Or what had been Angelo.

With his limbs still numb at his sides, slowly tingly back to life, Jarod could do nothing. He wanted to launch himself at the man before him. He wanted to choke every last breath of oxygen from his lungs. But he could do nothing.

He had failed his friend.

Jarod wanted to disappear, to escape the vindictive stares of Lyle and the sweepers who surrounded him. They wanted him broken, defeated.

He wouldn't let them. Angelo had sacrificed himself numerous times so that Jarod could be free from this cruel world in a way that Timmy never could have been. Raines had seen to that. His friend had given his life so that Lysander could have a chance at hers, and Jarod would do everything he could to make sure of that. He would fight them so Angelo's death would not be in vain. He would never give up.

Jarod fought the tears that threatened to surface, forcing them down. He would grieve later. Knowing it was what they wanted, he curled into himself, hiding his head between his arms.

He could hear Lyle chuckle maliciously. "I've finally silenced the mighty pretender. Get him on his feet." Lyle ordered the sweepers.

Jarod remained limp as he was pulled upwards.

He raised his eyes to meet Lyle's.

Lyle's over satisfied smirk fell off his face, expecting the broken gaze of a grieving pretender, but instead was met with a cold, defiant glare.

Without hesitation, Jarod wrenched himself free from the sweepers' placid grip, immediately launching himself at Lyle. The man tried to sidestep Jarod's attack, but Jarod had anticipated his move. Lyle was thrown against the confine of the cell, his head hitting the bars with a sickening crunch. Jarod watched with satisfaction as the man slid to the ground unconscious.

Jarod took advantage of the sweepers' momentary shock, as he delivered a few punishing kicks, and quickly took off in a desperate sprint. Ignoring the screaming behind him he flew out of the room that held his cage, rounding the corner. If he could just make it down one level, to SL-27, he could find his way out.

He raced down the hallway towards a ventilation shaft he knew led straight down to the level below. The sounding of the alarm only fuelled his desperation, as he put distance between himself and the sweepers now chasing after him. He ignored their gunfire threats, knowing no one would dare take a shot that could potentially paralyze their precious pretender.

Jarod rounded the last turn in the hallway, knowing he was just feet away from the ventilation shaft. He was going to make it.

Jarod gasped as a hand reached out and grabbed him as he came into view of the shaft, pulling him down. The momentum from his desperate sprint caused the pretender to careen forward. He flew into the wall, his right arm taking the brunt of his fall. Jarod couldn't suppress a scream of pain as he felt his wrist snap in two as he landed with a loud thud on the linoleum tiles.

"Going somewhere genius?" The gruff voice of Sam sounded.

Grimacing, Jarod turned over and faced the sweeper, holding his broken wrist in agony.

"I think we may be even now." The sweeper taunted as the rest of his team skidded to a stop behind the pair.

"Get him to the infirmary." Sam ordered, smiling spitefully at the fallen pretender.

Jarod dropped his head back to the floor. He had been given his one opportunity to flee. This time tomorrow he would likely be half way across the Atlantic.

"I'm sorry Angelo." He whispered under his breath.