Over the next few days, Ben's plans progressed smoothly. With more than enough funds in hand, securing the necessary resources proved relatively easy. He simply spread his purchases across multiple aliases and suppliers to avoid drawing undue attention.
After four days, his routine had settled into a predictable rhythm: waking early, having breakfast, retreating to his room, and quietly slipping out of the estate to work on his secret base.
With Grey Matter's intelligence and XLR8's speed, the structure was gradually taking shape, though he planned to delegate most of the physical labor to machines later.
Naturally, his reclusive habits had not gone entirely unnoticed by Winston, who—while not yet suspicious—was certainly getting impatient. "Spending the week confined to your room isn't healthy," Winston remarked, opening the car door. "Get in. You need to make friends."
"Friends? I don't need friends," Ben whined from the driveway.
"Yes, you do."
"No, I don't. It's a hassle."
"Unless you intend to grow roots in your bedroom—which I definitely won't allow—I believe a change of scenery would do you some good," Winston insisted. "You'll thank me later."
Ben nearly rolled his eyes out of their sockets, but he suppressed his frustration and climbed into the backseat.
If only I could tell him, Ben thought, suppressing a sigh. If Winston knew what he was truly dealing with, he might understand. He certainly wouldn't be nagging him to make friends.
Then again, the outcome likely wouldn't change anyway. Still, laying everything out in the open would free Ben from so many unnecessary limitations.
Wanting to tell him and actually doing so were two very different things, especially with so many risks to calculate. Information was power, and his meta-knowledge was his greatest asset. In a universe crawling with Mutants, Metahumans, and Inhumans, he doubted telepaths were rare.
Ben had confidence in his own mind's failsafes, but Winston had no such luxury. Sharing his secrets could easily put them both in lethal danger before he even got his operation off the ground.
Until he found a reliable way to block telepathy, keeping quiet was the only logical choice, even if it meant carrying a heavy burden alone.
The matte-black car sped along the silent road, leaving only the blurred greenery of the forest to hold his attention as he drifted deeper into thought.
Wish those parasites had started somewhere else. This would have been a lot more enjoyable.
He sighed deeply, leaning back against the leather seat. At least he had caught it in time. If he had learned about the threat any later, it might have caused irreparable damage. Still, he had never imagined his first real strike against crime would involve a CIA-monitored drugqueen.
Camila Vargas, the so-called drug queen, was attempting to establish a foothold in Belmont. She was the ambitious ex-wifhe of a politician Ben had been investigating, and a ruthless woman who cared little for collateral damage.
'Not in my city, though,' Ben thought, his fists clenching slightly. 'She'll get what's coming to her.'
Winston's eyes lingered a moment longer in the mirror before returning to the road. "Something on your mind, Master Tennyson?"
Ben forced his expression back to neutral. "Just thinking about how much I don't want to be doing this."
Winston gave a quiet, unconvinced hum. "I'm sure you are,"
Outside the window the trees thinned, giving way to the outskirts of Belmont. The city looked ordinary under the afternoon sun, quiet streets, modest shops, people going about their lives.
After driving deeper into Belmont. The car finally slowed as Winston turned into the wide lot bordering Central Park. A few families dotted the open lawns; a handful of kids chased each other near the playground.
"Here we are," Winston said, pulling the car into a smooth park and cutting the engine. He turned slightly in his seat, giving Ben an unyielding look. "Two hours, Master Ben. Walk around, breathe the fresh air, and at least pretend to engage with society. I'll be right here when you're done."
"You're cruel, Winston. Truly," Ben muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt with deliberate slowness.
"I am a pillar of nurturing guidance," Winston replied smoothly, unlocking the doors. "Now off you go."
Ben stepped out into the crisp afternoon air, the door clicking shut behind him. He shoved his hands deep into his jacket pockets, scanning the surroundings with unfriendly scrutiny.
Belmont's Central Park was the picture of suburban innocence: mothers chatting on park benches, teenagers huddled around a skate ramp, and young kids running rampant. 'Two hours, fine'
Suppressing an annoyed groan, he strolled down a paved walkway lined with oak trees. Walking through the park Ben took in the environment not knowing where to start.
He glanced back now and then, confirming Winston was nowhere in sight. 'Does he not care if I get kidnapped?' he couldn't help wondering, especially with his status.
"Whatever." For all he knew, someone might already be quietly watching over him.
He continued deeper into the park, gradually leaving the busier paths behind. Before long, he reached a more secluded section, where dense trees muffled the surrounding noise and offered plenty of privacy.
The park was larger than he expected, and he had no intention of exploring every corner of it. With no one else around, Ben wandered toward a nearby tree and dropped down against its trunk, resting his back against the rough bark.
With some time to kill, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.
He considered his options for a moment before deciding to play a game. The games available in this world were seriously lacking in quality, which only reminded him of his plan to make something better himself if he couldn't find anything he liked.
For now, however, he simply wanted to pass the time. He unlocked his phone and decided to try out a zombie shooter.
A few minutes passed, and Ben grew increasingly engrossed. His fingers moved rapidly across the screen as he cleared wave after wave of zombies.
"Come on, come on..."
By the seventeenth wave, he suddenly ran out of ammo. His explosives were already exhausted, and he couldn't reload in time. Before he knew it, a swarm of zombies had overrun him.
"Fuck. I almost beat my previous score."
"Just two hundred points off. You've got to be kidding me."
He stared at the screen for a moment before sighing and leaning back against the tree.
"It's probably about time to head back before Winston thinks I've been kidnapped."
Ben rose to his feet and dusted himself off. He was about to start back when laughter drifted from deeper within the bushes and trees.
He paused.
For a moment, he considered ignoring it and heading back. Then he shrugged.
"Might as well check it out."
***
Under the dense canopy of trees, a boy no older than seven stood with his back pressed against a tree trunk. Three older boys surrounded him, blocking every possible escape.
"What's the matter, freak? Cat got your tongue?"
The boy said nothing. His eyes darted between the three older kids, searching for an opening that wasn't there. His left arm remained tucked close to his body, hidden beneath the sleeve of his shirt.
The tallest of the three noticed and smirked.
"Still hiding that ugly arm of yours? Come on, let us see it."
He reached forward, but the younger boy immediately recoiled.
"Leave me alone."
"What was that?" the boy asked, cupping a hand around his ear. "I couldn't hear you."
His two friends burst into laughter.
"Maybe the freak's scared!" one of them shouted.
"Of course he is. Look at him!"
The tallest boy stepped closer, planting a hand against the tree beside the younger boy's head.
"Show us your arm, Kevin. Or do you want us to take a look ourselves?"
The boy clenched his jaw.
He hated this.
Ever since he fell down the stairs that day, strange things had been happening to him. His life had become a living nightmare. Whenever he touched an object, his skin would absorb its material, taking on the same texture, substance, and color.
But that wasn't the worst of it. Whenever he came into contact with a living creature, its condition would rapidly deteriorate, sometimes to the point of death.
He didn't understand what was happening to him. Since then, however, he'd made sure to always wear gloves and cover as much of his skin as possible.
For a moment, he couldn't help glaring at the three boys standing over him. If it weren't for them, maybe he wouldn't have ended up like this, a freak. He still remembered the day it all happened vividly.
It had started with an argument. The three boys had cornered him near the staircase, using some flimsy excuse to pick a fight. One of them had shoved him, and he'd lost his balance, tumbling down the stairs.
He'd gotten up afterward with nothing more than a few bruises, or so he'd thought.
The real trouble had started later that day.
Ever since the fall, strange things had been happening whenever he touched someone. At first, he'd dismissed it as a coincidence, but after it happened several more times, he could no longer deny it. Something was wrong with him.
"I saw your skin turn to metal, show us," the blond haired leader said moving even closer, reaching for Kevin's left arm.
Kevin immediately tried to pull away, but the boy caught his wrist.
"Let go of me!"
"Then show us!" the blond boy snapped, tightening his grip.
Kevin struggled, desperately trying to free himself without letting their skin touch. He couldn't risk it. The last time he'd accidentally touched his dog, the results had been horrifying.