Cinque Terre

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“Please don’t make me do this,” Ben pleaded as he stood inside a small room with another subject he recognized as Billy, or Subject N-963. Ben was standing only a few feet from the boy of about 19 years old. He had always been a problem for the facility, and despite being somewhat valuable to them, he’d recently become more trouble than he was worth. As a result, the team of scientists who oversaw the studies of Ben’s powers had decided to use the troublemaker as part of an experiment they had been all too eager to conduct.

The small room that they both now found themselves in was solid white. Made of several, smooth tiles, the floor was almost clean, with only a few stains of red, yellow, and brown that probably couldn't be cleaned off anymore; and though it wasn’t particularly acrid, the smell of blood and human waste also lingered in the air. The walls were concrete painted white with a long, bright, buzzing, fluorescence light embedded on each of them at about eye level. The ceiling, also painted concrete, was just high enough to accommodate a normal person, which always made Ben think this section of the facility must have been underground. At the front of the room, where the door leading out into the hallway was located, there was a solid piece of white, one-way glass. Almost indistinguishable from the walls, it completely obscured the occupants' ability to see who might be looking in. The room was also sound proof, Ben would come to find out. The only way to communicate with someone on the inside was via a small speaker mounted at the top right corner along the wall with the window. It too was painted white and just as Ben’s words escaped his lips, the speaker made a clicking sound which was followed by a voice he knew all too well.

“Stitches,” started Dr. Abrams, the one mostly in charge of all experimentation and studies regarding Ben and his abilities. “We’ve been over this,” he continued with an unsettlingly calm tone to his voice that showed just how little he was phased by what he was about to force a man who was barely in his 20s to do, “We aren’t asking for your compliance. We are telling you what you are going to do. If you are reluctant to do as we ask, then we will motivate you. The choice is yours.”

With that the speaker clicked again, falling silent. Ben stood in the middle of the room with Billy just behind him, strapped to the wall with only a pair of boxers on. As the fact that Billy was about to die began to sink into the poor boy, the echoes of his thrashing, whimpering, and struggling to get free filled the room. All Ben could do was turn back towards Billy and slowly walk towards him. With each of Ben’s steps, with each slapping of his cold, bare feet along the tile, Billy only became more frantic and began to struggle more violently. All Ben could do was choke on the lump welling up in his throat as tears began to fall down his cheek.

When Ben finally reached Billy, all Ben could do was stammer out the words, “I’m sorry.” Before Billy could say the string expletives he no doubt wanted to reply with, Ben placed his hand on Billy’s chest. In that instant, Ben suddenly felt the man’s body as if it was his own. The pain of bruises along his body from being beaten into compliance earlier that day, the knot on the back of his head when they rendered him unconscious to drag him into this room, and the panic and adrenaline that coursed through his body at this moment. Then, Ben reluctantly began his mission. Billy's pulse, it was what Ben had to concentrate on. The rhythm, the beating of that powerful muscle in his chest. Slowly, as that beat came into focus, Ben began to stop it. Immediately, Billy began to struggle as he felt himself going into what was basically cardiac arrest.

Unable to move, but with no other option, Billy furiously tried to free himself from his bindings as Ben continued to fight with the man’s will to survive. As Billy’s pain grew, so did Ben’s. In time, the tears he was once shedding out of fear turned into tears of pain as he felt Billy’s suffering like it was his own. Ben could feel what it was like to have his heart stopped as he pushed through the pain to comply with the orders he’d been given. After what felt like hours, Billy’s struggling subsided as his pulse began to weaken and Ben began to win. All the boy could do was hang there as Ben continued to subdue the one thing that keeps us all moving. The entire time, despite Billy’s eyes rarely leaving Ben’s face, Ben couldn't look up at Billy. Then, as Ben stared intently at the man’s bare chest, his slowly paling skin growing cold beneath his fingers, Billy made one last plea. With tears beginning to slide down the young man's cheeks, Billy begged in a weak voice, “Please. I don’t want to…”

But before the last word could escape, Billy finally stopped moving and a second later, Billy’s last breath escaped his lungs. He was gone. As soon as Billy was dead, Ben jerked his hand away from Billy's chest, gasping for air and finally falling to the ground. As Ben finally began to feel his mind break, all Ben could do was scream in sorrow and pain while gripping his chest to make sure his own heart was still beating.

---

It was always the same combination of background noises and sun light that pulled Ben out of his alcohol induced coma. At the same time every morning, the birds gradually grew louder as the sun began to break free of the horizon, their chirping drowning out much of the other noise, at first. Then the sun would finally reach the needed height to peek into his room. As soon as that began, it was only a few more minutes before his entire room was greeted by the unwelcomed light. It was then that he usually jerked back to consciousness.

His eyes barely and slowly creeping open, only wince shut in response to the sun bearing down on him. A hand slowly rising to his head as he groaned aloud in response to the throbbing in his skull that made him feel as though his head was going to explode. After a moment to make sure he would keep the liquid supper from the night before, Ben would slowly turn towards one of the bed’s sides and then very carefully pull his knees up and over to the side of the mattress, just letting them eventually fall over the edge. As he then used the hand that wasn’t cradling his head to push himself up and into a seated position, Ben just groaned even louder. “Fuck…” was usually the word that persistently graced his lips during this entire ordeal.

After this ten minute struggle which plagued him every morning, Ben would eventually pause for a moment, needing a few seconds to collect his thoughts in order to push through whatever memory had wreaked havoc on his dreams. This usually led to his habitual glance over to the bedside table to see the drink that’d helped him get to sleep. He’d sit there for several seconds, thinking over whether or not to take another drink before facing the world again as the sun from the warmth of the sun danced across his pale bare flesh, never wearing anything to sleep in. However, it was never a question of whether he would, it was always whether he had to strength to not do it that day. The answer, so far, was always no.

The second Ben realized he was going to give in again, he rose from the bed, letting the blankets fall from his bare form as he reached over to the table and picked up the bottle. Usually never putting the top back on any bottle he opened, he immediately put the glass to his lips and took a few deep gulps. As the burning sensation crept down his throat, Ben would lower the whisky bottle to his side and sigh aloud as he felt the familiar warmth spreading inside him. With that, he would walk over to the first set of clothes he came to on the floor that didn’t smell, pull them on, and then make his way downstairs.

He was always the first one up. At least usually. Then again, he never really slept so, that might not be a fair statement. Moving down the hall in an old pair of black, sweat pants and a faded, blue t-shirt with several holes warn threw the fabric, Ben make his way to the kitchen. However, the second he reached the common area which was open to the world through several windows that let in as much natural light as possible, Ben would usually have to stop for a minute to adjust. Holding an arm up over his eyes as he shuffled over to the small bar just outside the kitchen, he’d take a seat on one of the wooden stools and wait, letting his hangover at least become tolerable before he did anything else.

There were only two ways Ren woke up on a given day. She either woke up screaming, nightmares of her time in that lab getting picked apart over and over haunting her, unable to escape the pain even in sleep. The frequency, as well as her begrudging proximity to other people, prompted her to sleep with duct tape over her mouth. It didn't always help. The other way Ren woke up, such as this morning, was starving. Her power/ability/curse/whatever you wanted to call it had her body constantly active, even if she wasn't. The good news was it kept her fit, burning calories to where she didn't need to work out nearly as often as she should to keep her physique, but the downside...

Her stomach grumbled, an indignant rumbling that demanded she get out of bed. Her eyes shot open in response, looking at the clock to see that the sun had barely been up. Benji was probably awake, but nobody sane probably should be. She shot up to a sitting position and scanned her room as she ripped the tape off of her mouth and absent mindedly fidgeted with it. None of her food stores seemed to survive her midnight snack in the hopes of sleeping in. She turned and reached under her pillow, frowning when she found only an empty Gobstoppers box. Her stomach gave a low growl of urgency, which only served to upset her further. She flopped out of bed, landing among the empty bottles and food wrappers she always said she'd pick up but never did, before slowly getting to her feet and scanning her room again. No food near her dirty clothes pile, she remembered eating the cheez-its in her closet, and the cereal boxes under her bed had been empty for days. She swore under her breath as she grabbed a shirt off the ground and started for the door. She hesitated for a second, glancing back at a pair of pants before looking down at the booty shorts she had fallen asleep in. She shrugged and opened the door, figuring Benji would be the only one up anyway, and she only intended to get something to eat before going back up and actually getting ready anyway.

She headed downstairs and made a beeline for the kitchen. She gave Benji a cursory wave as she passed him by, throwing open the pantry and analyzing its contents. There was still a box of what she'd guessed was supposed to be the European version of fruity pebbles left, which she greedily grabbed and threw open, shoving a fist inside to grab a handful before stuffing her face. The feeling of it sliding down her throat after she swallowed was euphoric, and it wasn't until she went to the fridge to grab the milk that she even really looked at Benji, or noticed that Danica was on the couch in the common room.

'Fuck... Sorry for the show Dani', she thought, but made no attempts at covering herself up or even really hurrying to get out of her line of sight. Focusing back on Benji, she thought for a brief moment again of how they met. The thought always came even if Ren didn't actively seek it out, of Ben crying as he stopped her heart, or scrambled her brain, or whatever else Abrams wanted him to do that day. The thought left as quickly as it came, and Ren pushed down the anger. She'd forgiven him, and the memories wouldn't take that away from her.

"Want a bowl, Benji? Actually eating something might help you feel a little less like shit. Same for you Dani. Nobody should be up this early by choice," She said, opening another cabinet, grabbing as many bowls as needed before setting them down on the counter and pouring her own bowl.

"Also shouldn't have to eat... Strawberry Pops?" she said as she looked at the box, her face sinking in annoyance," God I'd kill for some Captain Crunch. Or a fucking Big Mac."

He lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling with a frown. He hadn't slept well that night. To be more specific, he had gotten perhaps an hour before the visions had started. Then he had given up. He had been just about falling asleep a few moments ago when he heard a door open from somewhere in the house. Hm, who was up at this... hour? Morning? Day? He turned on his side, glancing at the clock. Well, it was definitely the "morning" but that was a stretch. Was he really just going to settle for one hour of rest? The groggy, sick feeling in his joints told him that indeed, he wasn't going back to sleep. He was going to have to slug through the day like usual. Maybe if he got lucky, there would be time for a nap.

He laid there in silence for a few moments longer, trying to control his breathing. Trying to feel a little more at ease. He should feel happier, better, more accomplished. He found his sister. After all the hassle, after all the aggravation, he had tracked her down. She was back in his life. He hadn't been able to break it to her, to tell her the truth of what he had found back home. To him, it was priority that she be taken care of. Looked after. Even if he had a distant and rather abrasive way of doing it. She was his only family... and she meant the world to him. Ugh. He was getting sentimental, laying on his bed in the dark.

He leaned up, throwing off his boxers and shirt to slip on some new clothes. Screw this, he was hungry. He needed something to get his mind off of things. He opened his door, nearly banging into the wall. He forgot how thin the hallways were, really. Ever since he had escaped, well, the lot of them had--they had adapted this... "living" situation. He couldn't say he was too pleased, Benjamin was an awful roommate. He would come home completely wasted, slink up the stairs, crash into everything and anything that could be knocked over, and was just too loud. His sister was a downright angel, quiet, and respectful, never a complaint about her. And Ren, well, all too clearly he remembered how she had snuck into his room the night before last looking for food. That had been unpleasant. He was pretty sure they were both sticking to the "it was too dark to see" story because neither one of them was bringing it up.

As he wandered down the hall, he caught the faint tones of conversation from the kitchen. A quick peek over the banister confirmed at least three occupants in the immediate area. Deciding instead to take the long way about, he went down the stairs and walked out the back door. He breathed out. Freedom kind of felt shitty. It wasn't fulfilling, it wasn't anything of which he fantasized about. Who knew where those psychopaths were now... or was he the crazy one. He was the one... wait.

He turned back around slowly, no longer seeing the house behind him. His pulse began to quicken and he frowned, looking frantically to either side. This couldn't be happening again. He tried to calm himself but to no avail, he could see his sister coming over the hill. Instinctively, he went to approach her, but as he neared, he saw that she was being pursued by someone else. His blood ran cold, he went to go call out her name... but she was being pushed to the ground, one of the figures straddling her. He stuck something into her arm, she was screaming, gasping. And then they locked eyes. In a horrifying, split second, they shared a stare. And she screamed out his name. It seemed to last an eternity and as he went to reply, he was standing in the backyard. His mouth half-hanging open.

He blinked several times, trying to feel better, trying to relax. Was he back? Was that real? What the hell was that in the first place? He immediately turned back into the house, rounding the corner to the kitchen. He looked at everyone with wide eyes and with no words, he stepped over to Dani and hugged her tight. Shit. He hated it when he had those visions, he hated it when he saw... he drew back, settled her with a firm look, and then crossed his arms, barely able to speak.

"... morning." He didn't meet anyone's gaze. His sister knew a little more about these panic attacks he had. Everyone else probably just thought he was overly affectionate towards her. He was tired of confirming that she was still alive. Tired of checking that they were still real. His thoughts were running a mile a minute and his body was shaking. He hated this "power". And now he was going to be paranoid for the rest of the day. Fan-tucking-fastic.