Title: Future of the Future
Author: Nimitz4
Rating: R
Show: DA
Genre: Romance / Drama
Pairing: Ben / Other
Type: WiP

Summary: The story takes place at the beginning of FN – on the night Max burns down the Manticore facility she's being held in, releasing a number of transgenics / nomalies - to scatter into the night.  All this time Max has lived with the guilt of believing that her disturbed brother died at her hands…but did he really?  Since when did Manticore allow mainstream medical science to dictate what it could and couldn't do?  So - what if another troubled soul was set free that night as well…  

Author Note: Special thanks again to Adrolien – who not only commits her own time to review my scribbles, but does so with great patience and thoroughness J
Disclaimer: I don't own DA – the lucky Mr's Cameron & Eglee do…the only thing I own is the drool over the DVD jackets.

Future of the Future

Layer: 002 – Wicked Beauty

The Bar come Pool Hall was dim, noisy and smoky, which only made it all the more appealing as far as Ben was concerned.  In addition to these 'outstanding' features it was run-down and frequented by a less than reputable clientele…the kind of customers who displayed an obvious distaste for 'questions' in general.  All of which suited Ben's purpose.

The 'colourful' reputations of the seedy regulars provided enough camouflage for him to hide in plain sight…and also supplied him with the right contacts for the kind of work that required somebody with his special talents and skills.  The perfect symbiotic relationship – a kind of 'you scratch out a problem for me, and I'll scratch out a problem for you' simplicity...

Ben hunched over his drink at the bar counter – quietly and unobtrusively surveying the room.  He'd already checked the closest entry and exist points to the room, planned primary and secondary escape routes in the event of any trouble, and scanned each of the current room occupants for a threat and risk assessment…and he'd only been there long enough to order one drink.

*You can take the soldier out of Manticore…but you can't take Manticore out of the soldier…

Satisfied that there was no current threat, he allowed himself to relax a little and enjoy his drink.  Ben swirled the amber liquid in the glass, watching the dim light refract in the fluid, casting different patterns of light across its surface.  The changing golden, tawny shades stirring up memories of another night.

It had been three months since he had stood on the rocky outcrop watching the Manticore facility burn in the cool night.  That night he'd fled the flames and the chaos with nothing, only the drawstring pants he'd been sleeping in…but he'd been lucky to escape at all. Even from his vantage point he'd been able to hear the screams of those that hadn't made it out.

Still more terrifying had been the inhuman calls, growls and sibilant cries of other 'things' that had somehow survived, and now ran through the black night…unleashed and unseen.  A cold chill ran up his back and he shivered involuntarily as he recalled the feeling of being alone in the pitch black knowing that the 'Nomalies' were nearby.

It had taken considerable mental strength to keep control over the feelings of panic that had flooded through him.  Even with his night vision, it had been terrifying…catching glimpses of these creatures, neither human nor animal, but a horrifying mix in-between.  The experience awakened old memories he'd forgotten…he'd remembered all those times his brothers and sisters had sat up late at night, listening to him recount his stories about the 'Nomalies'…telling tales about what the creatures would do to them if they were ever given the opportunity.  Now running through the night, it was like one of his childhood nightmares had come true.

For that reason he had avoided the 'others' that he heard moving in the undergrowth – unsure whether they would be another 'friendly' transgenic, or some unnamed creature, until he was close enough to see them with his night vision.  Instead he'd remained independent, relying on his own resourcefulness to survive.  Eventually he'd made his way into a built up area – lying low for two days he managed to secure a vehicle and the barest of necessities to travel as far away from the area as possible.

Since then he'd moved from city to city, doing the odd 'job' along the way to earn some cash.  He'd waited to see what Manticores' reaction would be to the destruction of the facility, what approach they'd take to 'round up' the escapees.  With a little luck they might presume that he had died in the fire – and he'd get his life back…again.

He smiled to himself as he recalled the feeling when he'd broken out into the fresh cold night air – away from the climate controlled building, with its cement floors and sterile recycled air.  In a strange way it had felt almost as if he was being born again. 

Practically naked, the chill in the night air had needled his bare skin…the cacophony of sound caused by the explosions, transgenics and humans shouting and screaming, blaring alarms, and the confusion of the flashing lights, had stunned him momentarily. He had found it bewildering in its stark contrast to the controlled, antiseptic calm of his daily existence.

*My second birth…my dual life…

Ben raised the glass to his lips in a silent salute, and took a slow drink.  Holding the liquid in his mouth, he tasted its warm bitterness as it spread across his tongue and down the back of his throat as he swallowed.  Lowering the glass once more to the bar top, he balanced its weight between his hands. 

A slight frown appeared on his forehead as he returned to an all too familiar train of thought.  In the three months since his escape he'd had plenty of time to consider 'what' it all meant – his new life…his second chance.

Ben had retained some memories of his 'first' life, but they tended to be a cluttered jumble of vague images, snippets of recalled events and blurred emotions.  He remembered killing, but he couldn't remember what had motivated him to do so.  The understanding he held was a confusing mix of pleasure and guilt.  His superiors at Manticore had told him that what he had done was wrong, and although part of him felt shame at his actions, a soft whisper in his mind questioned how killing could be 'wrong' when he had been trained to do so since birth?  How could one find fault with it, when he did it with such…grace?

Of all his recollections from his previous existence he had had an overwhelming sense that he had failed the Blue Lady in some way.  It was this belief that had caused him the most pain…even now.

He knew that he had been punished for his failure, that he had in fact died because of it.  Even the specialists from Psy-Ops had confirmed his death, bragging about their scientific wizardry, their ability to repair and regenerate even the most damaged.  Initially he had felt some element of pain at this, knowing that even in death there was no escaping Manticore, that they could pursue you through the calm darkness of eternity if they chose to do so…if they had a purpose for you.

Despite trying he was unable to recall the manner of his death, but he knew the knowledge of it was locked somewhere deep inside.  Sometimes he had awakened during the night in his cold cement cell, his face wet with the tears he had been crying, from a dream that hinted at it, before fading quickly beyond the reach of his conscious mind.

Not knowing how or when he'd died, he had had no sense of how long he'd been back in the facility.  Sometimes he had felt weighed down with a weary sense of 'immortality' – dateless, ageless, and suffering a timeless existence.  Regardless, he had endured his sentence within his institutional 'prison' - the pain of the Psy-Ops 'treatments', the bitterness of his isolation, the endless re-education sessions and other physical punishments.

Oddly enough the source of his fortitude had been the confirmation of his death.  Despite Manticores assertion that it alone had created him 'anew' deep down Ben believed that it had only been able to do so through Her intervention.  Knowing that he had died, and had then been resurrected, stirred the beginnings of a now unshakeable conviction that the Blue Lady had given him a second chance for a reason…she had a purpose for him. 

He had dutifully guarded his faith in that cold antiseptic environment, intuitively knowing that he was never to mention it to his 'protectors'.  So the days had progressed from one to another, and he had patiently waited.  Waited for the Lady to send him a sign of what she wished of him.  Eventually his faith had been rewarded by her provision of an opportunity for his escape.

Ben knew he had been wrong the last time he had gone forth into the world…his faith obviously hadn't been strong enough.  This time he intended to prove himself worthy and deserving of her faith in him…this time he would be alert to the 'signs' she would show him and follow the path laid out for him.

********************

Ben's reverie was broken by the noise of a vicious but short-lived scuffle at one of the nearby pool tables.  He quietly studied the situation, which apparently was a pool game gone 'wrong'.  Two rough and extremely large bikers had been playing against another set of unsavoury characters, and the stakes of the game had gone significantly high, with a large pot of money sitting on the corner of the table.

The bikers seemed to be taking offence at the fact that they had lost the game.  Ben resisted a smirk.  With a practiced eye he could understand 'why' they might be less than pleased with the outcome of the game.  It had been a clear 'set-up' – their slimy counterparts were obvious 'pool sharks'.

* They should have known better *

"You fuckin' cheated…and me and my bro' won't be paying to be treated like fools!"  The largest, most muscle bound opponent reached out a hand to retrieve his money from the stash, but his hand paused in the air above the cash, as the loud click of a loaded weapon broke through the noise of those nearest to the table.

"You play – you pay, man…or we take our payment out of you by some other means."  The threat from the other man was obvious, and his smile had a cold confidence that supported his words.

The tattooed brothers studied the two mean looking guys before them, but they quickly realised that neither of them were holding the gun.  The gunman had to be a third person concealed in the nearby crowd – and the bikies realised that this meant that at least one of them would be hit before they had a chance to take out the tricky bastards.

The men cast contemplative looks at each other, but it was clear that they had no option but to pay for the indignity of being 'played'.  They both looked pissed, but there was little they could do about it.  Their faces livid with anger they threw their pool cues onto the table and turned, pushing their way back out through the crowd.

An insolent snigger from the shortest pool player followed their retreat.  "Nice doing business with you…please come again." He grinned at his tall, thin greasy-looking partner with obvious satisfaction at the outcome of their operations.

In half jest he raised his voice to those nearest to the table.  "So…no other takers I'm guessing?"  His buddy snorted at the implied joke, and he extended his hand to collect their winnings from the end of the table.

A honeyed voice carried across the noise of the bar halting the progress of his hand above the rather large pile of money.

"I'll play you…"

The owner of the voice rose from her discrete position at a small table well concealed in the darkness, behind some booths, and by the press of bodies standing just in front.  She moved with a lithe grace towards the pool table into the light.

Ben felt a chill pass through his body.  Either he was getting sloppy (and he doubted that) or she was just very good at being inconspicuous, because he couldn't recall seeing her when he had conducted his initial surveillance…and she was not the kind of woman that anyone forgot easily.

Ben figured she was almost as tall as he was, and that was fairly tall for a woman.  The potential masculinity of her broad shoulders and lean frame was countered by a remarkable range of obvious female curves, emphasised to perfection by her choice of outfit.  A plunging brown leather vest hugged, rather than covered, her torso and an admirable amount of her cleavage struggled to remain encased within its embrace.  A leather waist brace almost like a Japanese obi bound her, whilst the leather braiding up the sides of her black leather pants seemed to suggest she'd been sewn into them, which judging from their snug fit probably wasn't far from the truth.  Added to her "Biker Girl Barbie" ensemble was a pair of brown leather gauntlets adorning both her arms, displaying an intricate range of bindings and clasps, running from her wrist to her elbow.

The beauty of her face was startling, like some divine being had reached down and cast life into a china doll.  Her face was heart shaped, her skin a pale pure alabaster, contrasting starkly with the darkness of her mahogany jaw length hair.  A wide mouth, with large full lips beneath high cheekbones, and the most amazing pale jade green eyes.

These features alone would have left any man with even half a pulse panting, but this wasn't what drew Ben's attention.  As she stalked gracefully across to the other men, he felt an eerie resonance pass through him.  He could feel the hairs rise on the back of his neck in a hypersensitive response.

Ben couldn't take his eyes from her, and he felt an unmistakable feeling that he knew her, but he couldn't quite place it. There was a strange familiarity in the way she moved.

She carried herself with an elegant assuredness - every action, each simple step, displaying a measured economy of movement. It was pure Manticore - and at the same time it was more than that.

During his time back in the facility he'd realised that Manticore technique had changed over the years, and he now recognised that the way this woman moved hinted at a much earlier era. That's when it hit him - it was the same physical signature that he and his other siblings had learnt all those years ago as children.

There was only one explanation for why this woman moved the way she did…and it stemmed from a single night many years before. A night when a small group of children, who thought of themselves as brothers and sisters, had fled across a frozen landscape after breaching one of the toughest military installations in the country, to then scatter into the night. He'd been one of those kids…and judging by the way she carried herself, so had this woman.

Ben placed his glass on the wooden bar top and settled back into the stool he was on.

*Now this could get interesting…*