Clattering of metal against cheap tiles. Darien automatically registered the sound as that of a gun falling to the floor. Stark's voice rang out hollowly through the hall and then there was a slow scraping noise that Darien assumed was the gun sliding across the floor. As the pain finally began to subside, he opened his eyes and saw the gun lying not two feet from his face. The temptation to reach out and grab it was unbearable, but just as he was about to give in to it Stark's voice rang out above him.
"On your feet, Darien. I have a job for you to do." The words sent a shiver up Darien's spine.
And, without even thinking, he obeyed. He cursed himself for it immediately afterwards as he saw the stunned expressions on Claire and Hobbes' faces, but by then it was too late. They had seen him cower and clamber to his feet like a kicked puppy. And now Darien was sure he saw pity emanating from their eyes.
Completely oblivious to Darien's internal turmoil, Stark motioned to Hobbes' gun. "Pick it up."
Darien was filled with a deep sense of foreboding as he bent down to pick up the silver Colt .45 at his feet. As much as he hated to admit it, he knew exactly what Stark was going to demand next.
"Now..." Stark turned to Hobbes and Claire and continued in a casual tone, "shoot them."
Darien saw Claire's eyes widen, and Hobbes' jaw muscles tense. He could feel the color draining from his cheeks as he looked first at them, then at Stark, then at the gun in his hands. Hobbes' gun. Stark wanted Darien to shoot his friends with Hobbes' gun.
We warned you....
"Shut up," Darien hissed through his teeth, referencing the voices that had once again begun to echo through his mind. Apparently, they felt the need to gloat.
"Shoot them," Stark repeated, traces of malice seeping into his voice.
"Don't do this, Fawkes," Hobbes whispered. His hand strayed to Claire's and he wrapped his fingers around hers in a tender manner, although he probably was not even aware he had done so. His voice contained a hint of desperation, but it was painfully obvious to Darien that he wasn't pleading for his life. He was pleading for Claire's.
It's all over, the voices cackled, pleased at the fulfillment of their dire predictions. This is going to be your life. Death is going to be your life.
Darien's hand trembled as he stared down at the gun, at the way his hand easily wrapped around it. And, unbidden, the memory came of how easy it had been to pull the trigger. True, the gun barrel had been in his mouth at the time, and the clip had been empty. But it had been so simple, just a little tug of the finger... it wouldn't be hard to do it again.
Come on, it'll be easy. You've done it before... it's like shooting ducks. Just aim and pull the trigger.
"No...." Darien whispered, shaking his head in an attempt to shut out the voices that he had been so sure he had driven away.
Why fight it? Just shoot them and get it over with. They never really cared about you, anyway.
Darien's jaw tightened. "Oh yes, they did." He stared at the gun for a long moment and then threw it forcefully to the floor. The violent impact as it hit the ground caused it to go off, but the bullet merely embedded itself in the cheap flooring.
Darien turned to Stark, his entire being recoiling at the thought of what this blatant rebellion was going to cost him. Still, his heart was filled with a certainty he had not felt for a long time: the knowledge of how many lines he could cross... but also of some he couldn't, however blurred they might be. Darien took a deep breath and pulled himself to his full height, towering over Stark, the set of his jaw and the glint in his eyes showing traces of the stubborn defiance that he had once been known for.
Stark's eyes narrowed. "Excuse me?"
"I can't." Darien shook his head determinedly and corrected his statement with a harsh, "I won't."
Stark shrugged and said coldly, "Very well." He held up the remote for Darien's collar. Darien took a sharp intake of breath and braced himself for the pain he knew was going to come. Still, he wasn't prepared when it did.
It was five, ten, a hundred times worse than any of the times previous. The pain ran through his entire body like lightning, setting muscles afire and turning his insides to jelly. And instead of lessening as time progressed, it increased exponentially with each passing moment.
Darien had no memory of collapsing to the ground as he let out a long, agonized scream. He had no memory of going into convulsions and slamming his head painfully against the hallway floor. All he remembered was agonizing pain and a ringing in his ears as he convulsed violently and then finally lay still.
***********
Hobbes stared at Darien's limp form for a long moment, his brain refusing to process what he had just seen. If he had been able to properly comprehend the sight before him, Hobbes' first instinct would have been to rush over to Darien and check his pulse. To all intents and purposes, Darien looked dead.
Claire's voice was what finally brought Hobbes back to reality. "Darien!" she gasped, her voice filled with horror. She started to rush over to his side, but was forced to come to a stop as one of Stark's henchmen aimed his gun at her head.
Hobbes immediately stepped in between Claire and the gun. "Point that thing somewhere else, pal."
Stark prodded Darien's body contemptuously with one foot, shaking his head when nothing happened. He turned to Hobbes. "On the contrary, I think he has the right idea."
Claire glared at Stark. "You are a sick, cruel man."
Stark merely gave Claire an indifferent look. "I'm simply a businessman looking out for my own interests."
Hobbes clenched his fists and snarled, "Oh, so knockin' Fawkes on his butt there just 'cause he wouldn't fire a gun for you is lookin' out for your own interests?"
Stark huffed irritably. "You have no idea how much is at stake here."
"Oh no, I know exactly what's at stake. My partner's life." Hobbes tightened his jaw stubbornly. "Well, I got news for you. You can't have 'im."
Stark chortled softly. "I don't think you're in any position to make such a claim, Mr. Hobbes." He turned to his men, motioned to Hobbes and Claire, and said blandly, "Shoot them."
"I... wouldn't do that... if... I were you." All eyes immediately turned to focus on the speaker. Hobbes stared in disbelief. Darien had managed to prop himself up on the ground with one elbow and was aiming Hobbes' gun at Stark with his free hand. His voice was weak and his aim was shaky, but there was a determined look in his eyes that Hobbes knew very well.
Stark sneered. "Oh, please. Have you forgotten already?" He held up the remote and waved it in a taunting motion.
Darien smirked and sat up. "Maybe... you should get your eyesight checked."
Hobbes frowned for a moment, and then had to hold back a whoop of delight as he realized what Darien meant. The collar that had enabled Stark to cause Darien no end of pain and torment was no longer wrapped around his neck. Stark's eyes widened as he too noticed the absence of the metal band.
Darien's grin grew wider as he raised his free hand, which had until now been pressed to the floor, and held up the offending object between two fingertips. "Looking for this?" He threw it down at Stark's feet and stood up slowly, his tone calm but menacing as he said, "Put it on. I have a job for YOU to do."