Roman’s voice was raw from calling for help. Hours had passed and no one has responded. The man in the next cell was dying, the convulsions that wracked him tearing him apart from the inside out.

Feeling the futility of it, Roman once again shouted down the hall for a guard.

To Roman’s surprise, this time, his cries were answered. A young man, one Roman recognized as belonging to the swing shift, responded. Hesitantly, the man walked down to the end of the corridor. “What is it? What do you want?”

Knowing there was no time to waste, no margin for error, Roman simply ordered, “Get Dimera, now.”

“It’s 4 in the morning, it will have to wait,” the young man answered.

“Do you want the responsibility for that man’s death? Because that’s what’s going to happen if you don’t act, sonny. Call Stefano, let him decide. Look at him, dammit. He isn’t going to last if you stall.” Roman didn’t give a damn if the man died, he’d be happy to do the deed himself. But if there was even a chance the man could be of use…

As if aware of the scrutiny, John raised his head. “Stefano?” he called weakly. He blinked watery eyes, straining to focus. Looking at the young guard, he smiled through bloodstained teeth and hissed, “Dimera is going to destroy you!”

The young guard looked stunned, then he turned and ran for the door. Roman watched him leave, wondering briefly if he was running for help or merely to escape. He turned his attention back to John’s now limp body and waited for him to die.

Stefano groaned, and half-awake, reached over and hit the intercom. “This better be good,” he growled.

“Sorry, sir. It’s just, well, John Black doesn’t look too good and I just thought I should make sure you knew what was going on,” came a hesitant voice.

Fully awake now, Dimera rolled out of bed, snatching up his clothes from the night before. “I’ll be right there.

“Open the cell and send for more men. He’s still dangerous, even like this. And get Davies down here. I need to know what he gave him,” Stefano said, his voice as brittle as ice.

He moved slowly into the cell, the familiarity of this scene striking a deep chord.

“There are less messy ways of killing a man,” Roman called mockingly, enjoying the pain he saw on Dimera’s face.

“Shut up,” Stefano snapped, not bothering to look at Brady. He knelt down beside the body, his hand running gingerly across the deformed joint of the shoulder, noticing for the first time the bloody bile that soaked the prisoner’s knees. His fingers curled into a fist as a spasm shook the bound man, and he instinctively reached out, steadying the convulsing body.

“Stefano?” John whispered, one eye fluttering open as his lips twisted into a parody of a smile. “Knew you’d come. Kill these fuckers for me.”

“Sir, we called in the day shift- they should be down any minute,” Blakely, the nightshift commander, called from the open doorway.

Dimera nodded, trying to hold the sweating man still as he jerked mindlessly against the chains. “Give me the key,” he said. “We need to get him out of here.”

Two of his men took up positions on either side of the chained man, the youngest guard still standing pale-faced in the doorway. Stefano ground his teeth together, fighting down his urge to scream at them. With a sharp ‘click’ he released John’s good arm from the shackle, the limb dropping like a dead weight. With a low groan, John flinched away, another convulsion making him jerk spasmodically. Wary of the injured man’s reputation for destruction, the guards scrambled back, leaving the body to pound against the steel bars.

“Dammit, hold him!” Stefano snapped, grimacing as he tried to grab the free arm.

Blakely moved in, using his body weight to try and pin the thrashing man. Again, burning muscles contracted, but this time there was conscious thought behind the movement. Blakely was flung away, his head cracking against the bars. John lashed out with his free hand, ignoring the tearing of muscle, driving Dimera back. The drugs pumped through him, the adrenalin surging in his veins and blinding his eyes. Searching fingers scrambled against the hard leather of a holster and then Blakely’s gun was in his hand. The cold steel of the gun was the only reality he could accept, and he flung his arm out, drawing a bead on the scattered figures before him.

“You bastard,” he grated, his gaze and his gun shifting unsteadily from Dimera to Roman and back again.

Stefano calmly raised his hands, careful to keep his movements slow. “John...”

“You lying bastard!” John screamed, huddling against the bars and swaying softly. Tears streaked his cheeks, a low moan rumbling through his chest as he bent low to relieve the strain on the arm still locked above his head. His eyes lost focus, the gun dropping to point at the floor before him. “Bastard,” he whispered again, as he brought the barrel of the gun to his own forehead.

Numbed fingers fumbled at the safety, panic urging him to hurry as another wave of cramps washed over him. Convulsing helplessly, his arm dropped and Stefano’s heavy frame plowed into him, crushing his free arm against the bars. The gun fell uselessly from fingers that would no longer obey. He let reality go and the light slowly faded, the last of the drugs surging through his system to leave his body hanging limp in Dimera’s grip.

“If this is what you do to your friends, I’m glad I’m your enemy,” Roman called softly, his voice breaking the lingering silence.

Stefano said nothing, focused on unlocking the remaining shackles. Gathering the body in his arms, he drove himself to his feet.

“Tend to Blakely and tell Sarte to meet me in the infirmary,” he ordered the guard who still blinked owlishly at him from the floor. “And I want Davies in a cell- now. Nobody is to lay a hand on him- I’ll leave that to John.”

Stefano looked up, finally acknowledging Roman’s presence with a grim smile. “You’ve done me an invaluable service, Roman. My thanks,” he said, with a half-nod. Turning on his heel, he strode from the cell, John Black’s body draped loosely in his arms. 

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