ben_linus: (bad day)
[personal profile] ben_linus
Climbing out of the pit. Gasping, nauseous.

Walkie, broken. Great. Phone signal still out. Well, the Flame went up in flame and the Looking Glass drowned, so that's two out of three backup systems out, and for all he knows, his house has been ripped apart in a tornado of black smoke by now. Summoning it sure doesn't mean controlling it.

So that's fire, water, and air, and here he is, in a pit of earth. All the classical elements--Empedocles would be proud. He would also say that life is an endless battle between Love and Strife for cosmic supremacy, and Ben is strung up in the middle for a handy punching bag.

There will be no way to reach anyone until he makes it back to the Village, not that far of a walk from here. In his secret room, he'll be able to reset all the ultra modern technology supporting the phone network, and then see if anyone picks up. It's a safer bet than trekking to the Temple---

If the secret room still exists. ...If the Village still exists, if the Temple... All he knows so far is the damn Dharma corpses are still hanging out, and stuck a little bit to the Halliwax jacket he discards in the pit.

The Wheel is supposed to control space and time... Maybe it's years earlier. He's not a forensic anthropologist, how should he know from the evidence? Maybe he can go find his younger self and tell him to hug his daughter and retire early.



His fast trek to the Village is full of bitter confusion. He was too emotionally committed to losing everything to now fully comprehend getting another shot at it after all.

Was he lied to about being banished? If not, what's the reason he... wasn't?

Did the Island even move at all? If not, how is he going to stop Widmore from finding the Island again, if the last resort didn't succeed?

But it's hard to focus on these larger questions when he has yet to find out what matters: if Alex survived. The most important question of all. The one that makes his heart beat out of his chest in panic.

He hits the perimeter and this week's pylon code still works. Promising. The village looms. Empty. Signs everywhere of what Widmore's men did, but no sign of the men. He hopes that each one met a completely brutal death. Regrets that he could not have watched. That was for what they dared to try to do to his daughter.

If he finds out she's gone, he'll hunt down their corpses and burn them all, with Martin Keamy atop the pyre. And he'll imagine they're alive as he does it.

And then he'll make Charles Widmore pay, very very personally, for breaking the rules.

He arrives at his house. Steps inside. It's still his house---though trashed, utterly. Bookcases shoved over in haste, furniture toppled, lovingly framed photos stepped on and broken. Signs left over of how John and his people took up camp here before they all had to make a fast retreat. He looks to his kitchen counter, sees the ghosts of the muffins he piled there in his last marathon baking session. It's all surreal.

No dust. It can't have been long.

The secret room is as he left it, as is the equipment inside. He tries to simply be methodical as he comes so close to making contact. No time for much emotion. No time to falter from his rising terror that Alex may be lost to him. He follows Mikhail's instructions to the letter. System reboot.

He pauses briefly to pray before he restarts his phone. Signal... he has a signal.


Calling: Richard.
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December 2010

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