My Family
By Astro Purple
AstroPurpl@aol.com
PG
Timeline: Anytime during the X5s' existence.
Summary: How each X5 sees their family and their special bond. Rating upped because of Ben's POV.
Author's Note: This is Ben's POV. Of course it's set before Ben died. This POV is a fairly disturbing one. Especially the memories. I don't recommend it for people with a weak stomach. It took me a while to write since I wanted to make sure it portrayed an accurate description of Ben as far as we know. That and the fact that I've been occupied with other fanfics and activities this summer.
Disclaimer: Dark Angel characters belong to the wonderful people who bring Dark Angel to us.
* * *
I'm running through the woods savoring the feeling of the hunt. Once in a while I stop, concentrating my hearing so that the sound of a male, early 40's, heart pounding from the physical activity he's forcing upon his body, meets my ears. If I strain hard enough, I can hear the sweat dripping from his forehead and falling to the forest floor. I don't know if it's from the activity or because he's scared, but I don't care. All I feel is the hunt as I sniff the air, savoring the smell of fear that reaches my nostrils. I leap over a bunch of bushes, landing in front of my victim, our victim, just as most of my brothers and sisters get there and begin to close in. We take him down; a murderer, who was placed in prison for life, is taken down by a bunch of kids. Then the carnage begins.
* * *
He was a Nomalie, he deserved to die! I tell, no, yell at myself for the hundredth time as that memory passes once more through my eyes. I'm sitting in a seedy bar in Chicago being observant. There's a glass half- full or half-empty, depending on how you look at it, of whisky in my hand. I'm eyeing the various other customers in the bar, surveying, measuring, while absently fending off the advances of several of the "working" women. This normally isn't my type of establishment; I've never found the one in a place like this. I thought that coming to a place like this would stop me, stop me from finding worthy adversaries. But apparently not.
One guy piques my interests. He is a large, well-built man standing with a bunch of his buddies. I can tell from the way he stands that he is confident, perhaps overly confident of himself. He feels that he can take on anything or anyone that might threaten him. Yes, he is my man.
I drain the last of my whisky and leave in order to prepare. He is one pathetic specimen in a superior gene pool, he deserves to die. I tell myself again, perhaps to give meaning to my work or a reason.
* * *
We were savages, losing all humanity the minute he went down. Someone went for the left hand, beginning the delicate process of ripping each and every fingernail off the frightened, dying man's hand. Others went for the skin, tearing off bits and pieces, leaving his body in a bloody patchwork of tanned skin and bloody pink flesh. Max began to grind the man's bones into powder, to ready the body so we could mold it into whatever pose we wanted it to take. Beside me, Zack dug his fingers into the man's eyes, scooping out the slimy white balls, stopping him from seeing the mutilation we were doing to his body, and putting an end to the silent begs and cries being emitted from those dark soulful eyes. And I. I forced my hand into the man's mouth, plucking out the teeth one by one. Soon, by the law of diffusion, steady streams of blood began to flow from the various openings, streams that became rivers. In these rivers, we bathed, allowing the scent of victory, power, fear, and most of all, ecstasy seep into our bodies, into our minds, into our souls.
* * *
I dropped the double-edged sword I was holding with a clank into the pile of weapons I had pulled from storage. Polishing all but forgotten. I dragged myself over to the couch, dropping down in it to bask in the heady feeling still swirling through my mind from the memory. It seemed with each kill, each anticipation of a kill, the memory returned, stronger than before and with a stronger hypnotic pull. If I squeezed my eyes shut tightly enough, I could remember the feel of flesh beneath my hand, and the feel of life. They'd pulled the man's heart from his body, not caring to be delicate with the process. Only caring for the feel of the dying life beating in their hands, frantic from fear and hysteria, but still alive. They'd each held it, whether for a second or for longer than a second, each of them impressed upon their minds the image and feel of that beating heart. I remembered the feeling in my own hand. The swelling of the heart and then the shrink in size. The feel and the sound of the heart growing weaker, losing strength with each beat as it struggled to pump nothing but air tainted with the smell of blood and the pheromones of a kill, done by a family, one family, my family.
Even now I wonder where everyone is, if they're well, if they're still alive. Of course I discard the latter thought. Of course they were still alive. Who was I kidding? We are X5s, genetically engineered super soldiers. The people hunting us were norms, pathetic ones who attempted to control us, but failed. I sneered at the thought of them catching one of us. Even poor, little, spineless Brin.
I remembered her well. I remembered all of my brothers and sister. None of them were the type you forgot about. A few I disliked, a few I hated, and the very few I loved. Brin was none of them. I admit I never knew what to think about her. She was one of us, which I don't doubt. She was an X5 physically, but I wasn't sure she was one mentally. She was weaker than the rest of us, always needing someone to hold her hand. Always needing praise or a compliment. Real X5s didn't need any of that. We always know what to do in any type of situation. We didn't need someone to tell us whether violence was preferred or not in a certain situation. We didn't need someone to approve any plans or decision. We didn't need attention. Our missions was our life, and we are suppose to carry out that mission, regardless of the consequences, regardless of how long it took, regardless.
Krit, Syl, and Jondy. The few I hated. I loved them, but I hated them. Three of the most annoying brats in the world, but excellent soldiers. No team can do without a weapons or bomb expert. No team can do without scouts. And they were excellent for the jobs. Far too good with firearms, and far too good at blowing stuff up. They were too quiet also. Good for being scouts, bad for older brothers.
The few I disliked, Zane and Tinga and Zack. Zane, always following Zack around, like a second shadow, worshiping the very ground our CO walked upon. Zane, the blind awe-strucked little puppy who could see nothing but good from our saintly CO. Even when his mess-ups were so obvious, even when his flaws stood out so brightly. The only thing Zane was useful for was his mechanic skill. So many times we've had to make use of that skill on our pseudo-missions, and probably more so if we had stayed long enough to go on real missions. Tinga, the overprotective mother hen. Always acting like she knew better, always acting like she knew things even we didn't know. But I knew better. And then there was Zack. Zack our Commanding Officer, our CO, and all because he was eldest. I think he was the worst CO in Manticore. He may have been loved, been worshiped, but I saw him for who he truly was. A regular soldier like everyone else but who somehow had managed to manipulate Colonel Lydecker into thinking he was the best. I'll bet Lydecker thinks the opposite now.
And the one I loved, Max, who else? She was so sweet, so innocent. Always sympathetic to the feelings of others. She loved my stories and was always asking for more, I could never deny her those small requests. She had a good head and didn't liked to be ordered around. She could have grown up to be a good soldier, a good second in command, maybe even a CO. But I bet all this time Outside has changed her. I miss her, and hate the one that took her away even more.
* * *
We moved away from the body, standing in a straight line with our heads raised high, in silent victory as Lydecker approached. I see a slight glimmer of fear in his eyes as they fall upon the road kill our victim has now become. He now knows what we are capable of, and what we can do to a man. I know as he inspects the dead man that he can tell the man died in agony, agony and fright. With death finally becoming a relief, something welcomed and to be held precious in your heart. Or rather the empty place where your heart use to be. There's a flashbulb and I realize someone is taking pictures. Good, let them take pictures. I know that each and every one of us is standing in a straight line, tall and proud of what we have done. I know also that each of us has a murderous look in our eyes, because all this kill has done is stimulate our senses for more. It has not appeased our murderous appetite just as a drug addict is not appeased with a dose of heroin or cocaine. Lydecker nods at us and we walk off, back towards the gray building to wash up for bed. There is so much blood on us that I don't think anyone notices that the red stains are extremely apparent at our pockets, which are bulging with new sacrifices for the Blue Lady. New and fresh. We are what we are, and that is killers.
* * *
With that last thought in my mind, I shove the memories into the back of my mind, heading out the door. It is time to collect my latest chosen one, and put him to the test. I may have promised myself after the last one that I'd stop, but I realize now that I can't defy the calling of nature. I was created to be a soldier, to kill, so I might as well finish my life mission. If I have not been sent to the battlefield, I may as well bring the battlefield here. There are many who may claim to be true worshipers of the Blue Lady, and if they are, they will survive, if they aren't, they will die and have their life cleansed from the name of the Blue Lady.
* * *
Well? What does everyone think of this installment? I know it's a lot darker and slightly more disturbing that what I usually have, so that's why the rating's been raised. But it's Ben and I felt the need to explain why he does what he does. But I admit my descriptions, especially the second memory, might have been a bit much. So I apologize, but let me know what you think and if you think I should rewrite parts of it or not.
By Astro Purple
AstroPurpl@aol.com
PG
Timeline: Anytime during the X5s' existence.
Summary: How each X5 sees their family and their special bond. Rating upped because of Ben's POV.
Author's Note: This is Ben's POV. Of course it's set before Ben died. This POV is a fairly disturbing one. Especially the memories. I don't recommend it for people with a weak stomach. It took me a while to write since I wanted to make sure it portrayed an accurate description of Ben as far as we know. That and the fact that I've been occupied with other fanfics and activities this summer.
Disclaimer: Dark Angel characters belong to the wonderful people who bring Dark Angel to us.
* * *
I'm running through the woods savoring the feeling of the hunt. Once in a while I stop, concentrating my hearing so that the sound of a male, early 40's, heart pounding from the physical activity he's forcing upon his body, meets my ears. If I strain hard enough, I can hear the sweat dripping from his forehead and falling to the forest floor. I don't know if it's from the activity or because he's scared, but I don't care. All I feel is the hunt as I sniff the air, savoring the smell of fear that reaches my nostrils. I leap over a bunch of bushes, landing in front of my victim, our victim, just as most of my brothers and sisters get there and begin to close in. We take him down; a murderer, who was placed in prison for life, is taken down by a bunch of kids. Then the carnage begins.
* * *
He was a Nomalie, he deserved to die! I tell, no, yell at myself for the hundredth time as that memory passes once more through my eyes. I'm sitting in a seedy bar in Chicago being observant. There's a glass half- full or half-empty, depending on how you look at it, of whisky in my hand. I'm eyeing the various other customers in the bar, surveying, measuring, while absently fending off the advances of several of the "working" women. This normally isn't my type of establishment; I've never found the one in a place like this. I thought that coming to a place like this would stop me, stop me from finding worthy adversaries. But apparently not.
One guy piques my interests. He is a large, well-built man standing with a bunch of his buddies. I can tell from the way he stands that he is confident, perhaps overly confident of himself. He feels that he can take on anything or anyone that might threaten him. Yes, he is my man.
I drain the last of my whisky and leave in order to prepare. He is one pathetic specimen in a superior gene pool, he deserves to die. I tell myself again, perhaps to give meaning to my work or a reason.
* * *
We were savages, losing all humanity the minute he went down. Someone went for the left hand, beginning the delicate process of ripping each and every fingernail off the frightened, dying man's hand. Others went for the skin, tearing off bits and pieces, leaving his body in a bloody patchwork of tanned skin and bloody pink flesh. Max began to grind the man's bones into powder, to ready the body so we could mold it into whatever pose we wanted it to take. Beside me, Zack dug his fingers into the man's eyes, scooping out the slimy white balls, stopping him from seeing the mutilation we were doing to his body, and putting an end to the silent begs and cries being emitted from those dark soulful eyes. And I. I forced my hand into the man's mouth, plucking out the teeth one by one. Soon, by the law of diffusion, steady streams of blood began to flow from the various openings, streams that became rivers. In these rivers, we bathed, allowing the scent of victory, power, fear, and most of all, ecstasy seep into our bodies, into our minds, into our souls.
* * *
I dropped the double-edged sword I was holding with a clank into the pile of weapons I had pulled from storage. Polishing all but forgotten. I dragged myself over to the couch, dropping down in it to bask in the heady feeling still swirling through my mind from the memory. It seemed with each kill, each anticipation of a kill, the memory returned, stronger than before and with a stronger hypnotic pull. If I squeezed my eyes shut tightly enough, I could remember the feel of flesh beneath my hand, and the feel of life. They'd pulled the man's heart from his body, not caring to be delicate with the process. Only caring for the feel of the dying life beating in their hands, frantic from fear and hysteria, but still alive. They'd each held it, whether for a second or for longer than a second, each of them impressed upon their minds the image and feel of that beating heart. I remembered the feeling in my own hand. The swelling of the heart and then the shrink in size. The feel and the sound of the heart growing weaker, losing strength with each beat as it struggled to pump nothing but air tainted with the smell of blood and the pheromones of a kill, done by a family, one family, my family.
Even now I wonder where everyone is, if they're well, if they're still alive. Of course I discard the latter thought. Of course they were still alive. Who was I kidding? We are X5s, genetically engineered super soldiers. The people hunting us were norms, pathetic ones who attempted to control us, but failed. I sneered at the thought of them catching one of us. Even poor, little, spineless Brin.
I remembered her well. I remembered all of my brothers and sister. None of them were the type you forgot about. A few I disliked, a few I hated, and the very few I loved. Brin was none of them. I admit I never knew what to think about her. She was one of us, which I don't doubt. She was an X5 physically, but I wasn't sure she was one mentally. She was weaker than the rest of us, always needing someone to hold her hand. Always needing praise or a compliment. Real X5s didn't need any of that. We always know what to do in any type of situation. We didn't need someone to tell us whether violence was preferred or not in a certain situation. We didn't need someone to approve any plans or decision. We didn't need attention. Our missions was our life, and we are suppose to carry out that mission, regardless of the consequences, regardless of how long it took, regardless.
Krit, Syl, and Jondy. The few I hated. I loved them, but I hated them. Three of the most annoying brats in the world, but excellent soldiers. No team can do without a weapons or bomb expert. No team can do without scouts. And they were excellent for the jobs. Far too good with firearms, and far too good at blowing stuff up. They were too quiet also. Good for being scouts, bad for older brothers.
The few I disliked, Zane and Tinga and Zack. Zane, always following Zack around, like a second shadow, worshiping the very ground our CO walked upon. Zane, the blind awe-strucked little puppy who could see nothing but good from our saintly CO. Even when his mess-ups were so obvious, even when his flaws stood out so brightly. The only thing Zane was useful for was his mechanic skill. So many times we've had to make use of that skill on our pseudo-missions, and probably more so if we had stayed long enough to go on real missions. Tinga, the overprotective mother hen. Always acting like she knew better, always acting like she knew things even we didn't know. But I knew better. And then there was Zack. Zack our Commanding Officer, our CO, and all because he was eldest. I think he was the worst CO in Manticore. He may have been loved, been worshiped, but I saw him for who he truly was. A regular soldier like everyone else but who somehow had managed to manipulate Colonel Lydecker into thinking he was the best. I'll bet Lydecker thinks the opposite now.
And the one I loved, Max, who else? She was so sweet, so innocent. Always sympathetic to the feelings of others. She loved my stories and was always asking for more, I could never deny her those small requests. She had a good head and didn't liked to be ordered around. She could have grown up to be a good soldier, a good second in command, maybe even a CO. But I bet all this time Outside has changed her. I miss her, and hate the one that took her away even more.
* * *
We moved away from the body, standing in a straight line with our heads raised high, in silent victory as Lydecker approached. I see a slight glimmer of fear in his eyes as they fall upon the road kill our victim has now become. He now knows what we are capable of, and what we can do to a man. I know as he inspects the dead man that he can tell the man died in agony, agony and fright. With death finally becoming a relief, something welcomed and to be held precious in your heart. Or rather the empty place where your heart use to be. There's a flashbulb and I realize someone is taking pictures. Good, let them take pictures. I know that each and every one of us is standing in a straight line, tall and proud of what we have done. I know also that each of us has a murderous look in our eyes, because all this kill has done is stimulate our senses for more. It has not appeased our murderous appetite just as a drug addict is not appeased with a dose of heroin or cocaine. Lydecker nods at us and we walk off, back towards the gray building to wash up for bed. There is so much blood on us that I don't think anyone notices that the red stains are extremely apparent at our pockets, which are bulging with new sacrifices for the Blue Lady. New and fresh. We are what we are, and that is killers.
* * *
With that last thought in my mind, I shove the memories into the back of my mind, heading out the door. It is time to collect my latest chosen one, and put him to the test. I may have promised myself after the last one that I'd stop, but I realize now that I can't defy the calling of nature. I was created to be a soldier, to kill, so I might as well finish my life mission. If I have not been sent to the battlefield, I may as well bring the battlefield here. There are many who may claim to be true worshipers of the Blue Lady, and if they are, they will survive, if they aren't, they will die and have their life cleansed from the name of the Blue Lady.
* * *
Well? What does everyone think of this installment? I know it's a lot darker and slightly more disturbing that what I usually have, so that's why the rating's been raised. But it's Ben and I felt the need to explain why he does what he does. But I admit my descriptions, especially the second memory, might have been a bit much. So I apologize, but let me know what you think and if you think I should rewrite parts of it or not.