One more hour in this hellhole people called a facility would be enough to cause anyone to go stir crazy and fall into the deep end. Oddly enough, there were many others that stayed back behind these cell bars, letting nothing bother them in the least, as if they liked it. In their eyes, everything they could want and more was supplied to them, dropped at their feet. Poverty was a word they didn't know unless it was part of a vocabulary lesson. There wasn't anything they hadn't been taught, wasn't anything they didn't learn.

Though, they have never experienced any of the words or phrases they'd been debriefed on. How could you possibly know something you haven't underwent first hand? They hadn't experienced a lot of things, not like her. The way a street carries that raw smell of rain washed gravel after a sweltering summer day, smog exuding from the filthy potholes and sewers. The look of broken trash bags, with garbage all but spilling out of the gray plastic onto the roads and concrete sides. It may not be the most pleasant encounter with the outside world one could have, but it beat the stench of cold, metal, and sterilizers any day.

These people may be content with the lives their bred into, reason being they have never known anything else. She has, and she'd be damned if she'd be kept there against her will by anyone, especially the ordinary guards who seemed to think they were bigger and stronger because they had brand new shiny toys supplied by the government, and worked for the heads of an underground installation for high-bred super soldiers. Well, she didn't ever plan on being there voluntarily, so she figured the only way they'd be happy was if she ended up getting sent to reindoctrination to swipe her mind's slate of every memory of the past, every intention of the present, and every idea for the future.

Looking around the six by six cell, she thought which way would be easiest for her plan of escape from prison. She did it before, hell, she could do it again as easily as she could snap her fingers, all she needed was a plot. Allowing her eyelids to slide closed, serving as a cover over her mossy orbs, she leaned back into the small bunk, starting to devise a plan in her mind. It hadn't been that long ago since she'd escaped with her bothers and sisters, she did it once, she could do it again, only this time would be number...

Two more minutes, approximately, would be the only remaining time he'd need before reaching the small door at the end of the hallway. There had been too many times he'd found himself canvassing the painted gray walls of the corridors that lead ultimately to the same place, his destination. Cracked and broken, piece by piece, breaking off into dusty chips of drywall, while crumbling to the floor in a miniature landslide if touched.

Another day off, in order to find out the brand spanking new assignment to be thrust upon his hands. Heading to the debriefing room, he sucked in his breath, ready for the all too familiar regimen.

The soldier swayed back and forth a bit, lolling like weaving himself through a crowd on a busy street in mid-day New York. The clicking sound of a reverberating walk made itself known softly in the far distance, echoing more and more, becoming more evident to the soldier's genetically enhanced hearing.

Straightening his back, he lifted up his chin while clenching his jaw tightly, and rolled back his shoulders, anticipating the staff's approach.

The pudgy little man looked as if he could be broken with one twist of his wrist, and he knew he could snap him down like a water rotted twig. The guard remained staring him down, regardless—or rather staring him up, way up. Laughable. The funny thing was, these guards acted like they thought they were superior to their jobs, which were super-soldiers, and they only stood a chance with them when they were armed with metal prods and taser guns. He kept a face of indifference through it, not showing respect, but not showing disesteem on the other hand. When the small man passed him, he found himself greatly nearing the door. Just a few more steps till he was presented with his brand new mission. One step, two...

Three possible plans of action: She could find a way to break free within the building structure's faults, which weren't many. Maybe wait till the guards came back in, and charge at them, holding the possibility that they'd be easy enough to take down on her own this time, and blur her way out. Of course, there was always the more subtle yet devious diagram or holding herself back, acting like the perfect little soldier they always wanted her to be, but knew she wouldn't. More like couldn't. It's not like she didn't know how to be manipulative, because she most definitely could, she just chose the more honest road. If—no, when they bought in to her act, she'd wait until the perfect, opportune moment arouse. It would be a snap to escape on an outside mission. No doubt her first wouldn't be under complete trust, it would most likely pose as a test for her. But what loyalty to Manticore did she have?

The question was, which way did she want to go. Well, she was never known for being the most patient person in the world, so the third option would have to be ruled out. The only way she saw herself using that method would be if it was her last resort, which is wasn't. Not yet. And the second one just seemed like a suicide mission. And which one doesn't? At least she had more of a chance with the first, although she was genetically enhanced, it didn't mean she could go around growing an immunity to electric shocks of tasers.

And she didn't want to stay in this place another day, she couldn't even start to being herself to that level. I can't act like I don't have a heart when I do. Maybe we don't have souls, but it doesn't mean we don't feel.

And she would know better than anyone, any transgenic what it's like to feel. Sometimes to feel means to hurt, and she wasn't so sure at times if the pain was worth it. Thoughts of the past came flooding back to her all in one almost overpowering rush of a surge, and for a moment, a sick thought popped into her head. Maybe it's better to be on the inside. No, she shook her head back and forth violently, causing tendrils of soft honey brown hair flying around her face. There would be no way she'd ever give in to Manticore, and she especially wouldn't brainwash herself before they even had a chance to. She decided that she had to escape one way or the other, so she lay back, and counted the cracks on the walls, one, two, three...

Four eyes looked back at each other in a still motion effect, not doing anything, not saying anything. She looked up at him from her legs tucked under herself in the sitting position on the opposite side of the cell door. The door that clanged and groaned moments before, while the locks opened and released, and in strode the object of her discrediting transfixion.

It felt like an electrifying twitch in her heart started banging in tune with the rhythm of her beating pulse as she stared up into hazel eyes boring back down into her own. There could be no possible way. "Ben?" She slowly rose, pushing herself off and away from the bunk.

He took note of the way she never tore her gaze away from his eyes, although she found some way to rise up into a sitting position, which caused him to not break eye contact with her either. Somehow he didn't want to either way, noticing her beauty that radiated for him. For Ben. He straightened his back. "It's me Maxie," an amazing rush of feeling swarmed over her, but she also felt her conscious being plagued with guilt of the memories of what happened between the two of them.

She could feel whatever salivating liquid from her mouth being drained, unable to form any coherent sentence, not sure if she could. He watched her fight inwardly with herself, watched her stammer with a dray mouth, and heard her drop her voice to a low, raspy, whisper. "I thought you were... I snapped your neck, I thought you were dead," she cried, her eyes easily sparkling with unshed tears.

He could hear every fragile crack in her voice, the way the words seemed to be catching in her throat along with her breath. "They brought me back here. They re-indoctrinated me, in a way, they saved me. Brought me back to life." he smiled, and cracked an uneasy laugh, dry, almost uncomfortable.

She could feel her feet were almost planted solely to the floor. Almost. Max catapulted herself into his arms, and felt the way he caught onto her. His arms were always awaiting, strong, masculine, cradling her lower midsection close to himself. But the way he had caught her, it felt like he grabbed onto her at the last minute to keep her from falling, like he hadn't expected her hug. But why would he not have expected it? We've known each other since we were...

Five thoughts plagued her mind, flying back and forth with possible answers to the questions she began asking herself. What if he hadn't forgiven her? What if he hadn't remember her? What if he hadn't forgiven her? What if he had bad news? What if he hadn't forgiven her?

It wasn't like she wanted to hear any bad news, well worse than being in Manticore to begin with. She didn't need to hear that they swiped his memories off, but most of all, how could she live knowing that she killed him?

He grinned into her hair, holding onto the nape of her neck, gently pressing her face into the crook of his neck, nestling her crying silhouette. Sobs racked and rampaged through her body, but no tears fell, none shed unless internally. She inhaled sharply, and he could feel her ribcage expand and contract with her intake of breath against his firm chest which radiated warmth into her own body

Her arms were wrapped slackly around his neck in an embrace, her left hand clasping around her right wrist loosely. "It's okay," he cooed, shushing her silent cries, calming her. "Please don't cry," he lowered his own voice to an almost supersonic level, laced with pleading and compassion.

Sniffling, she untangled herself, drawing back, and pulled harshly on her gray cap sleeved tee, looking down towards Ben's midsection. "It's okay?" she looked back up into his eyes, brave enough to face someone she expected to hate her. "How can you say that? It's not okay..." her lips pursed in a strained feature of weeping, shooting her eyes back down again quickly, and then up. "I killed you," she whispered, with a look of pure shame. She had not forgiven herself.

He looked down at the slender form that was slinking itself back into the standard bunk on the side of the tattered wall, she slumped her back against the cold drywall, slumping delicately. Striding over to her side, he tapped her knee, and waited for her to make room before he found himself sitting down beside her. "Max," he started gently. "You didn't kill me. If I recall correctly, and I'm correct," he smirked, waving a finger for punctuation. "I asked you to kill me, I asked you," he said softly, taking note of how many times she'd zoned out, most likely blaming herself. Quite a few times, actually, about...

Six minutes had already passed between the two's conversation, but it seemed like so much longer. In all that time, he never really had seen her indicate any form of smile, except when she took note of his new found arrogance. Even that was only a half crooked smile, not a genuine content smile.

"Ben, when did you get so cocky?" Again he smirked, shrugging. "And in a time like this?" She turned her head to the side in facing him, her long honey kissed hair falling into loose waved tendrils, framing her tanned yet angelic face. "Besides," she turned back forward, bringing her knees up to hug near her buxom chest. "I still shouldn't have done it, even if you asked me to," she paused, looking forward to nothing standing across form them. "I should have found some other way out, for both of us. And not just left you there and ran to save myself."

Clearly this girl was not allowing herself—or anyone else for that matter, to lift the weight of the blame off of her shoulders anytime in the near future.

He wasn't trained to deal with things like this, and for a second almost drew a blank, but being the experienced government stag that he was, he scooped up the only thing he could muster in his brain. He ran his strong hands through his dark, dirty blonde hair, letting the soft but disheveled tufts fall in and out of his combing fingers.

She could feel him shift closer to herself, and she felt a course finger of his touch the underside of her chin, lifting her face up to meet his eyes with her own. "Listen to me," her almost too perfectly shaped eyebrows rose together, yet one arched, as she waited with him for an answer. "What happened back there—it wasn't your fault," he said determinedly, wondering how on Earth he sounded so convincing, as if he really did try to convince her that there was nothing to feel guilty for on her part.

Though, she didn't seem to be backing off on her own smoldering guilt much, since he noticed she'd make little chocking noises quite a few times, maybe...

Seven bites on her slightly swelling bottom lip, and she cast her mossy green eyes down, dangling her feet off the side of the bed like a child. "If anything, you did me a favor," he said as he guided her face back up to meet his once again. "Hell," he scoffed, turning his head with an incredulous grin and then back again, eyes boring into Max's.

"As much as I hate to say this, Manticore helped me. They got me back from who I was turning in to. Back to who I once was, the Ben you knew and loved."

"I still loved you even when you weren't yourself, because you were always the Ben I loved. Somewhere, but it was still there," she laughed halfheartedly, hugging her knees closer to her chest again. "You were still there."

"Exactly," he pointed out, coming to a conclusion. "I still loved you because I understood, I knew that you were still the Max who would never hurt me, who had no choice," he ended softly, waiting for her cue of looking up at him.

Sniffling, Max brushed a stray piece of hair behind her ears, shuffling herself back against the wall, harder. "But, I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice cracking with dejected sorrows.

He pursed his lips together, clasping his hands as he spoke softly to her again. "I forgive you."

The thought of him saying that he forgave her, which he wasn't qualified to do since he wasn't Ben, made his stomach singe with a minuscule spasm of an unrecognized feeling. He brushed off any foreign notions, and started to shift when he heard her voice again. "That makes me feel even worse," she cried, still with unshed tears, but piercing whimpers. How in the hell does that make her feel worse?

He brushed a stray piece of honey glazed brunette hair behind her ear, and placed a hand on her mid-back. "After everything I've been through, after all Manticore's done in their sick twisted ways of helping me, all I wanted was to see your face," he cooed, switching his gears to an all new tactic. "Please don't feel guilty, I need you right now." That seemed to do the trick, with the way her shoulders seemed to relax, and her eyes started to lift brighter. It only took a decent good number of minutes, just...

Eight nights she had lain away on the small, narrow bunk with metal objects stabbing into her back through the polyester and cotton material. The eight nights after her capture some two months ago. Two months of pure hell, stewing secretively over the fact that she would never again see the brother whom she had killed with her very own hands stained with the imaginary blood of a beloved. Today, he scampered back into her life like nothing had happened, into her Manticore life, and she hated herself once again for making him feel abandoned after the pokes and prods courtesy of Manticore lab technicians he had endured thanks to her.

"Ben," she whispered, almost too quiet for her own genetically enhanced hearing to pick up. Leaning over his frame, he could feel her hair that dangled down in almost elusive waves tickling his upper forearm as it grazed his bare skin exposed by his short sleeved uninformed tee shirt.

He was feeling himself begin to get wrapped up into her arms, and thought of nothing else than to kindly reciprocate the gesture. That's what her brother would do. He confused himself as to why he strained the word brother in his thoughts when he said it to himself in his mind. Why did it seem so weird to be called her brother? Maybe it's because she's hot, and she would see any form of physical contact with him incestuous. He shrugged inwardly, ran his hands up and down Max's back through her standard issued gray cap sleeve, and waited for what she was to say next. "I'm so sorry, I never thought of what you must have went through because of me," she whimpered, whining into his neck where she found a cradle for her face.

Drawing back, he looked down at her and returned her look of confusion with one look of his own. She stayed leaning forward, sitting on her knees, but felt her upper body being pushed back a bit as Ben held her a bit shorter than arms length, clasping her upper arms lightly in his own calloused palms. "Just promise me something, Maxie," he asked, without the correct punctuation of a question stressed in his statement.

She nodded. "Anything," she half smiled, flashing her pearly white teeth that sparkled in the dull, dry cell.

He exhaled. "Promise me you wont blame anything on yourself from here on out," he started gently, watching her protest, ignoring her interruptions of buts. "Promise me, Max," he started, again, watching her nod her head, looking him dead in the eye as an act of sealing it without any expression of words.

"I promise," she unnecessarily added, smiling back at him again with a tilted head. She cuddled into his arms, curling her body up into a position of the fetus in the womb, something she hadn't done with him since they were only...

Nine more minutes, he calculated in his brain, just nine more minutes till the hour shall training commence. The training that 452 hadn't realized she'd partake in anytime soon, not when she figured all they saw when they looked at her was nothing more than a renegade.

For the time being, she was oblivious to all other disruptions or surroundings, just enjoying the feel of being wrapped back up in the arms of her big brother. Out of all the others, though no matter how close, he was always the one to be there for her unconditionally throughout any circumstance. The time he had spent on the outside, his sanity slowly but surely deteriorating, she missed being with him like this, like when they were little. Maybe Manticore did change him for the better.

Pushing aside all other thoughts as of this moment, Max snuggled deeper into his warm and comforting embrace, letting him lead the way as he reclined back to rest on the bunk beneath them.

All they were doing was staring into the ceiling that almost seemed surreal to her. The freedom of the outside was gone, with no more blue skies staring her back in the face, challenging her to new heights—new levels. No circumstance could make her sit still for longer than any certain extended period of time. She sat herself up, untangling her chest and arms from his, but missing the warmth he radiated to her from himself. Perkily, she tied her hair back into a ponytail, which stayed for about a fraction of a second without a hair tie, and she cheerily clapped her hands on her legs, as if telling him to come and join her.

Rising, he arched his eyebrows with a tired mixed with interested look as he glanced up at her, watching. She was crossing her legs across from him in her sitting position opposite him. She was smiling, he took note. She was obviously talking, but he hadn't been listening to any part of it, and she noticed him staring at her speaking at one point. Max stopped and kicked him softly in the shin while saying, "I'm not done talking, which means you're not done listening."

And he thought she did something else but didn't quite catch it. Were her cheeks always that pink? "I'm sorry," he said, pursing his lips together. "Well, not really, but I have something to say."

She groaned, waving him off playfully with her hand. "Wait your turn, don't be rude," she grinned. "Anyway, like I was saying..." she gave him a glare as he cut her off while her sentence drifted and hung out there in the dead silence of the air.

"I'm serious." he said.

"And so am I, you're seriously about to get an ass whopping." he gave her a look, and that look caused her to groan.

"Go ahead," he smirked, looking straight into her brown eyes.

"It's..."

Ten.

Author's Note: Formerly known as The Assignment. Underwent a few revisions. It was originally intended to be a multi-chapter but I turned it into a one-shot as it was on a forever hiatus. It had a good stopping point and I don't know if it will be picked back up so for now, I'm leaving it at that. Hope it was a decent read!