Reality Check

By Rowe

Summary: Three little boys born at Manticore grew into three very different men in different worlds. But one thing they all shared was their need for a purpose in life. This is their story.

Chapter 9. Judgement is drawing near.

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Ben could smell it on the air. His lungs filled with the scent. It was intoxicating making him heady with its pungent aroma. Reaching down with his hand he dipped his finger in the puddle. He rubbed the sticky red fluid between his thumb and forefinger- lifting it to his nostrils to get a less diluted appreciation. It was the smell of victory- of a crusade well fought. Safely tucked away in his jacket pocket was the tribute to her for making him strong.

The glint of the moonlight on the nearby water broke Ben out of his revelry. This one had been good- he had been cunning and nearly succeeded where others had failed. He had nearly survived. The twang of the cat gut as it had sent the bolt hurtling towards his chest had been the only thing that had alerted Ben in time. The projectile had nearly reached him when his reflexes kicked in. His hand had shot out to intercept it mere inches from his skin- he'd had no time to duck or avoid. This had been so much closer than he was happy to admit. Was her faith in his ability waning- was she switching sides.

The body had slumped in to the water when the neck snapped. He'd finished the man's life quickly and efficiently, giving him the respect a worthy adversary deserved. Hauling the limp shell onto drier ground, he had let the surge of adrenalin wane a little before pulling out the pliers and setting about his task of collecting alms. Now the power was back. A strange kind of euphoria that was incredibly addictive. Surely 'She' must be the source of such an overwhelming experience. He bathed sensuously in the sensation for a few moments more. The body was arranged as he had the others. It needed to be perfect. Snapping the bones of a corpse with detached efficiency- Ben was adept at arranging the bodies- moving them into position like they were posable dolls. In his mind, like a black and white snapshot- was his template. The image of their first kill, their first experience with the true power in their blood. It kept him focused- it gave him form to adhere to. It made sense.

Entering the church, he made his way down between the rows of pews to the small statue of her. Withdrawing the bloodstained cloth from his pocket he moved to her feet. His eyes shone with a light of her. Then he felt it. A sharp tingle down his spine. Something he hadn't felt for a while. Stiffening he turned to face her, trying to suppress the thrill of excitement. Seattle was going to prove more interesting.

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494 Drifted in and out of consciousness. Sometimes he awoke through choice...other times he was more forcefully woken to be placed through another battery of tests to assess his brother's behaviour. The experiments were beginning to become more bizarre and desperate. 494 could sense he was reaching breaking point- holding onto sanity was become less of a goal as the lull of madness seemed peaceful in comparison.

The images that flickered in front of his glazed eyes were beginning to confuse his sense. Time was passing outside of his realm of conscious thought. Most of the time it felt like his broken body was dumped on his bunk in his cell only to be dragged back out again minutes later for another round of torture. The smell of burning flesh and the gurgling sounds of a body in pain filled his senses. Yet he was too far disassociated to realise that they were his own.

In moments of lucidity he glimpsed the white lab coats of the minions as they scurried without rhyme and reason about him. Pushing buttons, moving levers, asking stupid questions and jotting down his increasingly incomprehensible answers. His mind had stopped trying to make sense of it. In fact, 494 wasn't sure what was real anymore, the sights and sounds just didn't seem to gel enough to allow him to format any thoughts. Finally his grasp on who he was and where he was becoming tentative.

The image that haunted him every moment the hard face of the blonde dragon. Barking commands and seemingly enjoying his pain and confusion. A sneer of pleasure crossed her face every time his hazel eyes screamed in pain- his voice was now gone- but his soul was not silent.

The row of photos on the wall made no sense to him. His face on another man...two other men. Images seemed to be all juxtaposed together in an progressively unrelated manner. Morgue pictures and grainy photos from his childhood were tacked around the room.

A burning sensation started inside his skin as the toxic liquid in the drip began to seep into his veins. A sigh of relief escaped from deep inside his bruised and needle-marked chest- his friend, the darkness was coming to take him away again.

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The cell closed in on him as Cain rocked on his bed in a mindless trance. It was the only way he'd found that he could escape the horror he had been forced to witness. The films of sterile death and violence had been on constant loop- indoctrinating him in the art he was supposed to become an expert at...assassination. His very being abhorred every second he watched but, strapped to a gurney and forced to keep his eyes open, gradually they were wearing him down. Cain cringed every time he saluted as he felt little pieces of himself- of his soul- ebbing away.

Each time the door opened he fought the instinct to keep from rushing it. His mind and body screamed at him to escape. He knew somewhere inside of him that it was no use. Really he wasn't trying to escape this cell even, for he knew that the horror that he was running from was buried deep inside himself. Inside the twisted double helix contaminated with poisonous abilities. He was an abomination. Something that was bred to do unspeakable evil.

That cold bastard Lydecker had him training with the kids. They were undergoing basic training- something that those of his age were well past. As they pushed their genetically enhanced bodies to the limit- Cain was forced to release the invisible barriers he had placed on his own abilities. They revelled in the power they could wield. These tiny little bodies had proven to him that they were capable of maiming and killing without blinking an eye. They knew multiple techniques to wring the life from a target- he gagged at the blood that spurted from their victims.

Yet inside him was the bit that he hated the most. That little twinge of excitement that betrayed him. It betrayed all he believed in by reacting to what he was. The smell of blood made his adrenalin surge- made him feel more alive than he had ever felt. The idea of it sickened him but the feel of it thrilled. The conflict inside was driving him mad- and so he rocked. Forward and back. Bringing forward in his mind the images he clung to. The gentle images of his family- well they were still the people who raised him and they had given him a wonderful upbringing- especially when compared to the horrendous lifestyle his unit mates were being subjected to. Lost inside his memories he blocked out the world he had been thrown into. Between the mental exposure to mind altering propaganda and the physical skills he was being forced to acquire- Cain was losing sight of who he really was- a gentle soul in the service of God.

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The line of photos stared back at him, giving him nothing but a sense of foreboding. Deck could sense it. No, not like his children. He didn't have the genetic enhancement to call on his animal instincts. Yet, his gut told him it was time to be truly worried. It churned away inside him, everything seemed to be moving towards the inevitable. It looked like they had been right, this line was irretrievably flawed. Even the new one was displaying increasingly erratic and self-destructive tendencies. He didn't seem to understand that for all that he had lost- his sense of family, his service to God- he had gained so much more. Among mere mortals he was a superior- a near perfect specimen. Why couldn't 495 appreciate his physical abilities and the superior intellect that was developed to drive them? Deck shook his head at the response to testing that Cain had produced. The boy was tethered by his upbringing...limited by the low expectations he had in his own mind. Lydecker sometimes wished he had been so gifted- like the charges he had nurtured and seen grow into incredible soldiers. They were capable of things any normal man would dream about. All he could do was give them the discipline to make the most of their lab-given gifts.

Then the slap in the face came. The White-haired Witch with her insidious ways strode purposefully into his office. Without hesitation she sat comfortably in his chair behind his desk sifting through the layers of paperwork. She obviously thought she could act with impunity. Her arrogance both threatening and comforting...at least someone so arrogant would make mistakes- leave holes unplugged that would allow her to be dealt with. Sandoval gave Deck a look of pity before scampering off out of the firing line. The thinly veiled threats- the past dragged out and thrown in his face. She wasn't terribly original but she was persistent and determined. With an extreme effort, he kept an iron grip on his anger- he was the only chance the X5s had. He dearly wanted to give 493 every chance of survival but the situation had taken a turn for the worse. He didn't want to condemn 494 and 495 for their sibling's misadventures.

He uttered the word- he didn't like labelling Ben this way. The admission of the boy's failure- but at least it could be passed off as not being a design fault. Deck hated to do it. He had told her Ben was the one thing he hated to call any of his kids- but if it would save the others...

Ben was an anomaly.