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.