Smokescreen

12

Ben spat blood out of his mouth once again, adding to the stains that decorated the cold, grey floor. The shadowed figure lingered in the corner, and the only evidence of their presence was the sound of a knife being sharpened.

"Wish I could say I was glad to see you." Ben said, rolling his neck and stretching his shoulders against the chains, which clanked against the metal chair. "How long has it been? I haven't seen you for... three years?"

He was pretending to remain unfazed in the face of imminent death. His hands shook, and though they were hidden behind him, Ben could imagine them as the chains of his past weighing him down. So this was where he would die: an unknown warehouse at the hands of a madperson. It seemed eerily familiar, so Ben resolved that he wasn't going to let history repeat himself.

"Stop talking." The voice grunted, and they turned back to the spy whose life was draining in front of their eyes. Ben gave a small smile as the handcuffs were taken off of the chair and bolted together once more. He let out a groan as his knees hit the cold concrete and his head bowed.

"Why?" He asked. They froze, their whip lifted above their head. Readjusting their grip, Cain brought down the punisher, revelling in the screams.

"That's a very open ended question." They snapped the whip back and forth, the blood spattering on the walls in upward slices. His back was all cut up, but Ben was used to it by now, gritting his teeth as it continued to bite into the exposed flesh of his back.

"Why-" The world swam before him. "Why did you fake your death? You weren't a spy."

Cain squatted down in front of him, pulling up his chin so that their eyes met in what was an eerily caring gesture. A shiver ran down his spine, and he released his hands from the metal chair, watching the blood rush into his stretched knuckles. They looked down at his hands, seemingly giving a feral grin behind the mask. Pliers were grabbed from the table, and Ben was bound to the chair once more. One by one, Cain pulled off his nails, adding lemon juice to the bloody skin. He was a trained agent, one specialised in receiving and giving torture, but he was also a 17 year old boy, who would never have the chance to say goodbye to his family.

Ben let himself fall into the dance of memories as he tried to ignore the torture that the monster in his heart told him he deserved. So many people- friends, once- dead. Mike, Nefarious, Jessica, Murray; the names swirled around in his head as he felt the eyes of the long-dead watching him, waiting for his decision. Would he fight, or would this be the last stand?

Erica... He squinted his eyes from the stinging and burning pain that ran throughout his body and huffed a small chuckle. Had she noticed that he was gone? Was it possible that the best agent that the United States had had tracked down his crumbs and discovered the clues he had left? Would she even care? Ben felt a pang of regret accompany the scream that escaped his mouth as Cain poured boiling water over his back.

Had it really been worth it to push them all away, if only for the temporary assurance of safety? His life was always going to be in danger, and no matter how much he tried not to appear like a threat, people would always be trying to kill him. And then there was Erica, who always seemed to break down his walls. What would she think, watching him die all alone?

Love, to Ben, was a cruel mistress, ready to crush fallen victims under her heels. Had he ever truly felt love, or was it just his brain pretending there was something there? He had never done anything to deserve their love anyway, Ben thought as Cain whispered into his ear. A bucket of water was brought into the room, and the young agent was pushed under until he screamed for air. Even though his mind was alert and his body tense, the spy's eyes were broken, cold and shattered like ice. Could he continue to fight? No one was coming for him.

"Killing you would be a mercy, would it not?" Cain said. "The golden boy of the CIA, all alone? Oh, how sad everyone would be!"

Ben gave a weary grunt in disagreement, afraid that if he opened his mouth, his body and soul would come out of it.

"Or is that not true?" Cain pondered. "Do they care? You are just a puppet to them. You are expendable for missions. Why do you think they sent you to Eden?"

Ben looked up at them, the curious shadow monster that was merely a human hiding behind a mask. Cain was just like him in that way. But Cain was death personified, and Erica was life. Could he choose Erica, after all these years? Would she let him, or would she leave him to the wolves?

It was true, what they said. The CIA continued to pawn their work off on children. They were free labour, after all. The stains of the death of hundreds of innocents permeated his mind every day- he doubted it even left so much as a mark on the higher-ups'. The deaths of his friends had haunted and tested him, pushing him to fly under the radar, but get the most work done. He wasn't a rebel- Agent Benjamin Ripley was just a boy trying to survive in a cutthroat world.

"Tell me," Ben began slowly, his voice creaking with rust. "How long has it been since you felt human?"

Cain froze, their back to him and their hand on the fingers of their glove, about to remove it. They slowly pulled the fabric off their hands, exposing slender but short fingers with buffed and nude nails. They reached out to grasp Ben's chin again, and he felt his eyes linger on the mask and the eyes behind it. They were not the eyes of a devil, but a reflection of the brokenness that Ben had held for years. The distant look masked in their eyes by their current emotion that held in memories they probably wouldn't want to relive, the small amount of barely noticeable premature worry lines around their lips and on their foreheads.

"I will go now." The tall figure let his head go, and it dropped to his chest, tearing the healing wounds on his neck. He kept his face still until the door was closed, stretching his hands and loosening the burns on his wrist from the handcuffs. Ben let out a small, bitter chuckle.

"Bingo." He said to himself, confirming Cain's identity in his mind. Why was she here?

Ben watched the camera in the corner back, glaring at the person behind it. It didn't take Ben long to find out that even if you keep a brave face on, you can still scream in your sleep.