Stefano looked up from the monitor he had been studying to watch his men half-drag John down the long corridor. They had followed his orders a little too well and the man appeared to be only semi-conscious. He should have known better than to leave it to Davies. The captain of the guard had only just recovered from the beating John had given him on the day of his capture. Davies hadn’t been able to walk for a week and Stefano thought he was becoming a little jealous of the attention being devoted to John’s recruitment. Dimera would worry with disciplining Davies later.

Stepping to the sagging body in the guards’ grasp, Dimera wrenched John’s head back, making sure he had his full attention. “Today, John. Today you come home. It’s time you stop playing house and retake your position. Today, Roman Brady dies.”

With a nod to the guards, Dimera led the way into the cell block. On one side of the corridor was gray concrete, on the other a row of cells, divided and fronted by a lattice of steel bars. There were five cells and Dimera walked quickly past the first four, slowing as he came to the last. His men obediently positioned their captive in front of the cell and Stefano stepped behind him. Once again, he twisted his head back by his hair, and as the guards released his arms, Dimera shoved John hard up against the bars. Forcing his head into a gap in the steel, Stefano grated into his ear, “You want Roman Brady, you got him. He’s laying right there, just as he has been for the past 13 years.”

Inside the sparse cell, the sole occupant of the cell block rolled off of his cot and approached the gathered men. “What the hell do you want from me, Dimera.”

The man in Stefano’s grasp stared into his own face. The face he had been born with. The face Stefano Dimera had stolen from him, along with most of the memories that went with it. For a split second, the two men locked gazes- then all hell broke loose.





John slammed an elbow back into the force that was constraining him and reached through the bars, struggling to destroy the imposter before him. Dimera fell, the force of the blow opening him up above his right eye. The guards scrambled, Davies’ taser taking John in the chest, dropping the man to his knees, bringing his attention back to those outside of the cell bars.

The man inside the cell stepped back, felt blood spray over him as the tattered man on the floor thrust himself to his feet and used the force to propel his palm through a nose, sending splinters into the brain pan and resulting in an explosion of crimson. In one flowing motion, John encircled the neck of the next guard and flipped him over his hip. Retaining his hold, he jerked upward, snapping the small bones of the neck and severing the spinal cord. As easy as breathing, John caught a descending wrist, halting the baton intended for his head. He twisted and the wrist snapped. As the man in his grip sank toward the floor, John’s knee smashed into his face, putting him out. Davies, the only guard left standing, ran down the hallway for reinforcements. With no one left to stop him, John lunged for the cell and the man standing just out of his reach. “You fuck. You lying Fuck. You are dead!” he screamed. “You are dead!”


Stefano was dazed and covered in blood, some of which he was certain was his own. Someone was screaming death, and he considered unconsciousness before quickly dismissing the idea. He grabbed a taser off the limp body laying next to him and tried not to catch the notice of the madman above him. This was not exactly going as planned, but the fact that John was more concerned with the man in the cell than he was with Stefano was a good sign. Where the hell were his men?

Alarms were sounding all over the place, and Dimera watched as his men came pouring down the corridor. John turned to meet them, grateful there was someone he could get his hands on. Undaunted by the numbers, John advanced toward the overwhelming force. Stefano saw at least three of the tasers strike home, and overloaded synapses finally dropped the man to the floor, clutching instinctively for the wires delivering the current. From behind, Dimera fired another jolt toward John’s unprotected back and was rewarded with a spasmodic arching in his rival as he lost all voluntary control. Rolling over on his side to prop himself up, Stefano waited as his men swarmed over the collapsed body, pinning it irrevocably to the ground. Crisis averted, he leaned back to catch his breath. “Nice work, Davies. Secure him in the next cell. Chain him to the bars, wouldn’t want these two to kill each other.”

Dimera rolled himself to his feet, dabbing at the blood that still leaked from his lip. That was a bit more unpredictable than he liked.

“What the hell are you up to, Dimera? What’s he doing here?” asked Roman, wrapping his hands around the bars and watching as the guards swarmed over the downed man.

“Just a little something to keep you company, Roman. I thought you might be lonely,” Dimera replied. “Besides, you are going to provide him with an important lesson.”

“I’m not providing that stinking drone with a damn thing,” Roman snapped, his hands tightening around the bars of his cage until the knuckles shone white.

Stefano smiled fondly at his old rival. “You’ve already done more than you know, Roman. More than you could possibly know.

“Davies,” he called, his attention shifting to the guards who struggled with the groaning body on the floor. “Keep an eye on John. Wake him up and make certain that Roman has his full attention. I’ll be down in the morning to see if they’ve made any progress toward mutual understanding.”

“Yes sir, Mr. Dimera. I’ll see to it.”

As soon as Dimera disappeared from sight, Davies yanked John’s head back, his body still penned to the floor. Blue eyes blinked rapidly, struggling to focus. With a vicious smile, Davies drove his fist into the bruised face, taking satisfaction in the blood that started to flow. “Take him into the next cell,” he snapped to the men standing around him. “Chain his ankles to the bars on the far side- wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. I’ll be back in a second.”


Furtively, Davies rummaged through Dimera’s private medicine cabinet. He couldn’t believe the amount of energy that was being wasted on one man. John Black wasn’t a soldier, he was a damn psycho. It was time to prove it to Dimera once and for all. Picking with care, he selected a potent combination of drugs from the cabinet.

John was already struggling to rise to his knees by the time Davies got back to the cell. His ankles securely fastened to the bars on the far side of the cell, he shook his head and made an aborted attempt to get to his feet.

“Dammit, grab him!” Davies yelled. “Get some friggin’ cuffs on him.”

Taking no chances, four men moved in on John, wrenching his arms behind his back and fastening them securely together. Davies reached in, grabbing the short length of chain that secured the prisoner’s wrists and yanked up, forcing the man to bend almost double, his arms twisted awkwardly up behind his back.

“I don’t want him moving around, tie this off- and keep it tight.” With the prisoner now almost completely immobile, Davies jabbed the needle into the tightly stretched muscles of the right shoulder.

“Hey, Dimera didn’t say anything about drugging him,” one man nervously noted.

“He said he wanted him awake, didn’t he? Well, this will keep him that way- and it will keep him from enjoying the experience. He just killed two good men, I’m going to make him pay for it. Besides, Brady here will keep an eye on him for us, won’t you Brady?”

“Go to hell,” Roman replied, watching curiously from his cell and wondering what the hell Dimera was playing at now.

Davies merely laughed. “A place you’re obviously familiar with, eh, buddy. OK, guys, let’s leave these the two lovebirds alone- bet they’ll want some privacy as Black comes around. I’m going to hit the showers. Just leave them be- Dimera’s favorite is going to be a hurting puppy for a while.”

The sound of receding footsteps, and the two of them were left alone. Roman studied the man who had stolen his wife, his children, his very identity. The man’s face he knew as well as his own. He had seen it countless times- in his cell questioning him, in the pictures Stefano had used to taunt him, in the videos of his family and this… usurper.

“There is justice in the world,” Roman said softly, waiting patiently as the man gathered the strength to lift his head.

“What did you do to earn this? Another betrayal? After all, you are so good at that,” Roman continued, his hatred bubbling to the surface. “Or is this all just another twisted game? You think I have anything left to tell you after all these years? You sick bastard, I hope they crucify you!”

The man on the cell floor shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Foreign words in a familiar voice assaulted him. He ignored the voice and the promise of pain it carried. He ignored everything, knowing that thought would hurt. He focused on finding his balance in the awkward position as his ribs burned and his lungs fought for air. The dusty concrete floor provided him with no reprieve from his own mind, so he twisted the thoughts until they served his will. An imposter. The man in the next cell was an imposter. Another trick, that was all.

“What the hell are you doing here?” the man who wore Roman’s face snarled at him from across the cell.

He raised his head, struggling against distended shoulder joints, and stared into the face that had been his. Older and tired with lines that shouldn’t have been there, it was still the face he expected to see in the mirror. Without conscious thought, he lunged out. Nothing mattered but that face and the need to make it go away. A scream ripped from his throat as the joint in his left shoulder separated, the ‘pop’ sounding loud in his ears. The pain was welcome, obscuring the thoughts, obscuring that face. His body swung to the side, slamming into the bars behind him. The pressure on his shoulders was unbearable, but his nerves were now humming with a drug induced adrenaline rush. His mind was muddled, tiny pieces of reality slipping away from him with each labored breath. The cramps hit, doubling him over, the dry-heaves forcing the air from his lungs. Images in black and white beat him down, forcing him to see.

“He’s just a cop, boss. Why do you think he’s worth all this effort?” He watches with vague curiosity as Dimera slides the needle into the bound man’s flesh. He ignores the screams of rage, the promises of retribution. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before.

John hesitates in front of the unconscious man, studying his face, looking for some hint of underlying strength. There’s nothing to see, just another white-bread cop, the type that ate donuts and coached little league and threw barbeques in the summer. He should just put a bullet in the guy’s head, put him out of his misery. He seriously doubts this guy is dangerous enough to deserve whatever Dimera’s going to do to him. Then again, John has never been foolish enough to think that life is fair. If it was, he’d have never been born. With a casual shrug, he turns and leaves Roman Brady to the darkness.

As suddenly as they hit, the cramps eased and he swung loosely from the chains around his wrists. The air cut through his lungs, bringing awareness. Staring at the floor, he refused to look at that face. “Bastard. Fucking bastard. Won’t work- she’ll know,” he hissed, clinging to the one certainty in his life. “She’ll known you’re not me, you bastard.”

“You son of a bitch,” Roman muttered, shaking his head and watching the bowed form of the other prisoner. “You really think she’s yours, don’t you? You don’t even know who you are, you stupid punk!

“You work for him! You understand me, you work for him! You stole my whole life and if you think I’m going to let you keep it, you’re even dumber than I thought!” Roman hadn’t believed he could hate anyone as much as he hated Dimera, but he now knew better. This was the man who had lived his life, who had raised his children, who had made love to his wife. It was only right that John Black lose all that he had stolen.

“You work for him,” Roman continued, his voice low and malicious. “You’re his friend. His number one man. You’d stand there and ask me about her, try to ferret out the secrets of our life together so that you could pretend like they were your own. I didn’t give you much- but everything you knew about her was mine.”

He shook his head, fighting against the words, the drugs, the memories. “Not his friend,” he whispered. Never his friend....

“Beautiful, isn’t it,” Stefano asks, watching him with amused eyes.

He suspects that Dimera is joking. He hopes that he isn’t.

The convulsions slammed him against the bars, driving away consciousness, leaving nothing but the empty darkness. If he could think, he’d have been grateful. Instead, he was simply gone.

Roman cursed, his hand slapping against a bar, as the other man passed out. Whatever the drugs were doing to him, Roman wished they’d do it some more. The body kept jerking, muscles reacting in ways they had never been meant to. The movements stirred the memories, and if Roman listened very hard he could make out the fear in the words that spilled from the man’s lips. The words were incoherent, but Roman sat and listened anyway. Eventually, the man would wake up. Roman watched and he waited and he wondered what could make a man so afraid.

He swam through the blackness, avoiding the light. The light brought the memories and the memories were all bad. He pulled the blackness to him, wrapping himself inside it like a blanket of nothingness in which he could hide. The light slipped through anyway, and in the shadows of its passage, the memories remained.

Grimy streets, grimy clothes, grimy skin. Even his thoughts are dirty and worn. He clenches his hand to his side, pushing the pain away. The knife he holds is the only friend he will ever need and he grips it tightly as he slips through the darkness and approaches the car. Long and black and so clean it shines- a challenge to his crown of dirt. He watches as the man walks up the front stairs, entering the barred doors like he owns the place. Confident, cocky, powerful- the boy can read it all in the set of the man’s shoulders. The boy could never refuse a challenge and he smiles as he makes his way to the waiting car.

“Don’t open the door,” she whispered in his ear. “Don’t get in the car. I’m here with you. Don’t go inside.”

“Marlena? Doc?” He ground the words out, the effort making his throat raw. He yanked again against the chains, spat the bile from his mouth.

Roman snorted an ugly laugh. “She’s not here. Just your own head playing games with you. Did you enjoy the trip? Didn’t sound like it to me.”

“She’s here,” he said weakly, talking to the imposter because anything beat visiting the memories again.

“She’s not here. You’re hallucinating,” Roman replied, his tone suddenly sharp and fearful.

Fighting against his own muscles, he raised his head and looked at that face. He blinked, wishing the face would go away. When it didn’t, he had to fight back the tears. “Dimera brought her here. I saw her. He wants her. He always has.”

“You’re lying,” Roman stated, the sudden fear bringing him to his feet.

“No. She’s here....”

The muscle spasms struck like a blow, the pain of it tearing through his mind, slicing him open, leaving him exposed. The wounds wept memories he couldn’t escape.

“Don’t leave me, Angel. Please, don’t leave me....”

He whispers prayers he knows won’t be answered and walks on down the hall. The hallway is long and narrow and impossibly tall. He is impossibly small. But the bat in his hand is magical- it makes him big, it makes him strong, it’s going to make him free. He walks forever, and with each step the darkness deepens until darkness is all that exists. He becomes the darkness and enters his new kingdom. The bat, the blood, the crack of bone- he owns it all and is grateful for his gift.

“John! Not now, you bastard. Don’t you dare do this to me now. Tell me about Marlena, John. Tell me where she is!” Roman’s arm shot through the bars, wanting to shake the man, to tear the truth from him. Instead, he watched helplessly as the body convulsed and blood ran down to join a growing pool beneath the man’s bent head.

Peace. As close to peace as he would ever come. The clear waters close over his head, dragging him down, away from the sun. He stares up at the light and opens his mouth, letting the water fill his lungs. He dies. Long before he is born, he dies.

“Damn it!” Roman watched as the man in the next cell slipped further away from reality. Marlena couldn’t be here. Not after all this time. John Black was a liar. A dirty rotten liar. But if Marlena was here....

Roman rubbed at his temples, trying to think, to see beyond his anger and his fear. If John cared about Marlena, if he just imagined he cared, that could be all the edge Roman needed. He could use Dimera’s Pawn, but to do it, he needed the man alive. Cursing the necessity, he began screaming for the guards. Roman might not have figured out exactly what was going on, but he was very certain that Stefano still wanted his soldier alive. 
-----