Your name is subject 10. You are a very important boy in the grand scheme of things if you do say so yourself. You wouldn't be able to unfortunately. Your verbal prowess is lacking.
Subject 10 may be your name but you've gone by several others. Ben Tennyson, Benzarro, Tennyson. Every name is the same and each makes your head hurt trying to think about what it all means.
There are multiple versions of you and most are your enemy, a threat your very existence. Eon tells you this. You agree with him, though you know nothing and are all in all, little more than an undead teenager with a watch. Another bit learned through Eon's words. Something alluded to by a kid that shared every other Ben's face, but was not him. When you weren't with him you were with a version of you that looked dead inside. Funny considering you were mostly dead on the outside.
But those Bens were gone and you wander the streets of your Bellwood aimlessly. A labyrinth of demolished structures and the occasional screaming person. In your absence it seemed that more people had come to Bellwood than before.
You don't know if you should consider that a good or a bad thing. So you don't consider it at all.
Before you had existed apparently you were different, according to the kid that wasn't you "what's up with your face rotting off, Tennyson? You had always had a hideous face but this is pushing it." If you had really not always been yourself you have no recollection of it.
Your hands curl up close to your chest, pausing at the sound of something in the not so far off distance. It had been a long time since you had last heard anything, and you had thought you were far away from the reaches of life.
You take a detour on your long way to nowhere and head towards the noise. A green and black car lays abandoned in the middle of the sidewalk, all four doors ajar. You draw closer as curiosity takes over you. The sound of static greets your ears before the noise from before picks up again.
As we danced in the night
Remember, how the stars stole the night away, yeah yeah yeah
You narrow your eyes as a headache starts to form. It seemed familiar.
The bell was ringing
Our souls were singing
Do you remember every cloudy day
A pressure builds up in your bloodshot eyes, your chest feels like someone stepped on you.
The sounds cut off for a third time and you take a deep breath, waiting, waiting for it to start again. But it never does. A man's voice calls from the car.
Year four. It has been four years and counting since the most catastrophic day in human record.
This will be our last broad cast. It is no longer safe to continue this.
You stare at the car, expecting to see the man pop out of the car and laugh it all off as a joke. No such thing occurs. The static returns from before droning on again. You wait, unsure of how long. It's only when you lift your hands up that you feel the drops of liquid coming from your eyes.
"Benza...Ben..Sad..?" you murmur to yourself in the emptiness.