Hello again! I apologize that it took me three months to write the last chapter. I feel this one is disappointing, although slightly less so as I'm writing more from Ben's perspective (thank God.)

For all you torture lovers, no incredibly dark moments. Again, I offer my sincere apologies. The dialogue also feels slightly forced at several parts. Alas…

…

"Action cures fear, inaction creates terror."
-Douglas Horton

Chapter Five

Ben quickly came to despise his prison; his main hatred deriving from the complete and utter helplessness he felt.

It was not within Ben's nature to sit around and do nothing. Since that fateful summer when he received the Omnitrix, a vast majority of his time was spent saving people. He was always on the move dealing with one threat or another. He never really thought anything through; not only did he lack the time, but he couldn't afford to spend hours analyzing a situation, not when people's lives depended on quick thinking (rational or otherwise.)

If there was a problem, he solved it. It was as simple as that.

His current situation, however, was a bit more complex. Ben couldn't hit or smash things like he usually did, nor could he depend on his friends to back him up. Without the Ultimatrix, he couldn't fight his way out of captivity. Every plan he came up with seemed to echo the hopelessness that he felt; he was trapped with no way out and he was pretty sure it was going to stay that way for a while.

Ben could only pray that Kevin and Gwen were looking for him. However, he quickly realized that even if they were searching, his chances of rescue were fairly dim. As he was probably on a spaceship surrounded by technology, Gwen wouldn't be able to track his Mana, and with the Ultimatrix down, not even the tech-savvy Kevin could ever hope to find him.

Each minute spent imprisoned in the eerie white tomb seemed to weigh down heavily upon Ben. He was crippled by both his arm and by the debilitating, iron-like fear that crushed his will. He was nervous and jittery, and his thoughts only served to remind him of the grim fate that potentially awaited him. Time seemed to mock him and his misery, and passed by with agonizing slowness.

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Boredom slowly replaced the worst of the anxiety. As the hours passed and nothing happened, Ben slowly began to resign himself to his predicament (although he could still feel the hot sting of resentment and panic broiling under the surface.) He was defenseless (should the need arise for defense,) and he was at the complete and total mercy of his captors.

It wasn't all bad. At least he wasn't being tortured.

Several times, he caught himself dozing off. It usually wasn't for very long, and almost every short nap ended with him waking up in terror; bloodshot eyes open, but not really seeing, while a scream died in his throat. He would sit there for a while, gazing up at the ceiling; too tired to move, yet too scared to close his eyes. In the end, exhaustion and the lack of any other option caused him to fall into a fitful sleep.

He was in the middle of yet another nightmare when he was sent spiraling back into consciousness, courtesy of a kick.

Ben was so startled that for the first minute, all he could do was lie on the floor in a daze and stare up at the dizzying, blinding lights above. His apparent lack of action caused him to be the target of yet another kick.

"What the…!" Ben brought his one good arm up over his head while curling the broken one ever closer to his chest. "What the hell? I'm awake!"

His sudden outburst halted the abuse, and in that time, Ben was able to get a good look at his attackers.

They were…odd; clad from head to toe in a shimmering white armor that was the same shade and hue as the room. Upon initial inspection, they appeared to be part of the walls, and it took Ben several seconds to determine he was not hallucinating. On their heads, they wore a sort of pointed, conical helmet. They vaguely reminded Ben of the Ku Klux Klan, except he was pretty sure that KKK members didn't carry alien blasters.

Nobody spoke. From the hostility that seemed to emanate from them, Ben had a feeling that it was going to be pretty quiet. He glared as best as he could and tried to look threatening.

"What the hell do you want?" He snarled, although his voice cracked on the last syllable. Damn; so much for acting tough.

One of the aliens seemed to gesture slightly at a wall, but other than that, made no indication that he (…it?) had understood him. Ben cocked an eyebrow, but moved toward where the alien had pointed when two blasters were simultaneously raised in his direction. "No need to shoot," he said, although it felt kind of creepy to be talking to guys who wouldn't even acknowledge him.

As he approached the wall, a panel in the side flew up, revealing a darkened hallway. Startled, he took a step back, only to feel the butt of a blaster against his spine. He half turned back to face his captors. "Where are you taking me?"

He received no answer in reply, just another unfriendly nudge.

Ben took a few cautious steps from the white room. What had appeared to be a hallway actually turned out to be another, darker room that encircled his former prison. More disturbingly, looking from the dark room, he could see perfectly into the white one. It's one of those one-way mirrors, he thought, and the idea that someone had been watching him sleep disturbed him greatly.

One of the guards took the lead and dragged him through another sliding panel into a dimly lit hallway. Ben was quickly plunged into a winding maze of corridors. In vain, he attempted to count the number of turns and memorize the route he took on the off chance that he managed to escape. It was pretty much useless. As if they were deliberately trying to disorient him, his guards took arbitrary, sharp turns until his head spun with confusion.

After about fifteen minutes of walking, the leading alien stopped next to a wall. A panel flew up, and Ben was forced into yet another small black chamber and then led into another blazing, brilliant, white room.

He would quickly learn to hate this room more than the last.

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You know the drill: feel free to criticize.

-TGW

(03/10/12)