Ben 10 Porn Story: The Jumper Chronicles – Chapter 1

He hit the steel fire door with the force of a charging bull, and as
it slammed shut it threw the three cross fusers backwards onto the
stairwell landing. As they rose to their feet, the room beyond echoed
with a series of volcanic booms, holes appearing in the door as
gunfire punched through it in quick succession, forcing them to draw
back into the previous stairwell for cover. As the shots subsided,
Bens voice called out from the other side. You cant go this
way, keep to the stairwell.

Ben? Meiru called in surprise, running to the door. She pushed
on it, but it would only budge a few inches before hitting something,
refusing to move. Ben, are you ok?

Theres a gunner virus in here, if you open that door hell
blast you apart. Ben strained to keep his voice level, just
keep going.

Some of us are cross fused, Enzan placed a hand on the door,
well give you backup, and well all get out together.

JUST GO! Bens voice cracked in desperation. Enzan
glanced down, noticing a trickle of red as it oozed from under the
door. He grabbed the others and started down the stairs, ignoring
them as they tried to go check on their friend. On the other side of
the ruined door, Ben lay slumped against it, blood flowing from the
numerous holes the gunner had created. With nowhere to go after
hitting the door, hed stood there, taking the hail of fire into
his body. Now, as his systems began to fail, he could only bow his
head and wait for death.

The gunner hummed softly, preparing to fire again. Irritated, Ben
brought his arm up; Slot five, Crush Cannon battlechip, activate.
The air around his hand shimmered, and a powerful blast of energy
exploded from his palm, disintegrating the virus and blasting a
massive hole through the outside wall of the building. Suddenly his
arm started hissing and sparking, then finally exploding as the
hardware fused. As the smoke cleared, Ben looked down at the sparking
stump. Wow, I guess American technology really is shoddy, he
laughed bitterly.

Sighing in exhaustion, he reached into his ruined jacket, slipping a
folded picture from his inside pocket; Meiru, smiling and laughing.
Shed been too busy with Lan and Dekao to notice when he snapped
the picture; it had only been his second day in her class, but he had
already known how strongly he felt for her. But, all things
considered, it was better to have ended this way. Atleast . . .
atleast I got to save your life. That counts for something, right?
he asked the picture, not expecting an answer.

Floors above, Ben dimly
registered the shuddering boom that signified the fifteenth floors
implosion. The building was coming down, but atleast she was safe.
Alone in the shattered hallway, he stopped fighting his heart and let
his emotions go, crushing the photograph in his fist as crystal tears
flowing down his bloody cheeks in hot rivulets. An eternity passed
until the wounds stopped bleeding, his heart grinding to a halt due
to a lack of blood to circulate; his tears stopped soon afterward.

He floated in an empty
void, unseeing, unfeeling, aware of nothing but the swiftly dying
thrum of his heart as it drew toward its inexorable stop. Once the
soft pulse stopped, he opened his icy eyes to the void, staring into
the whiteness as it began to engulf him. The haze touched his metal
fingertips, and as he watched, the prosthesis instantly started to
rot away into rust, a fate he imagined befell his artificial leg as
well. Wherever the mist touched his flesh, it grew cold, and a
numbness flooded his body. He was dissolving, losing himself into
death.

No . . . he
struggled weakly in the void, images panning through his eyes. No
. . . I am not ready . . . He could feel himself slipping away,
his memories fading away. He could no longer remember his mothers
face. No! Somebody . . . somebody help me! Faces kept
vanishing, and with each one, his voice grew weaker, more willowy, as
if it were fading with the rest of him. It cannot end this way!
Younger faces were disappearing now; who was the fat kid in class? He
swore he should remember him, with his stupid haircut. I want to
live! All that was left was the red-haired angel, her eyes smiling
on him. He clung to the memory, gave up every memory, every scrap of
being, to hang onto the sweet sound of her name as it fell from his
lips for the last time. . . . Meiru . . .

Oblivion
licked at his face, an alien, feathery touch that caressed his flesh
like some living thing, before slowly beginning to recede.
Nothingness lapped at the last bits of Benjamin Bradt, like waves on
a sandy beach, and slowly he began to feel again. Something was
there, and as it came nearer he tried valiantly to scream. His voice
was mute in the oppressive void; his eyes would have bulged in their
sockets if hed had them.

It
was pain; that first thing that returned to him. As if his flesh had
been replaced with fire, and his nerves cursed with immortality, all
of his existence was a searing agony that blinded his fear with
suffering. Existence began to explode around him, the sudden howl of
his agonized scream drowned out by the oppressive cadence of reality
as it hammered him with crashing waves of force; metrical blasts of
sound smashed repeatedly against him as he fell, slamming into a
hard, cold surface that offered him no respite against the onslaught.
His eyes rolled in his head as they were bombarded with rapid
explosions of light. Someone kicked him in the ribs and he groaned,
rolling away. The pain began to subside, although the war against his
senses continued. The world outside of his battered senses stopped
existing, a dull noise building in his ears, culminating in one
harmonious proclamation:

EVERYBODYS
FREE . . .

His
eyes flew open as the music exploded around him, the sounds becoming
distinct as his eyes adjusted to the light. He was in a rave, with
sweaty bodies dancing around where he lay, prone on the floor.
Someone tripped over him again, stomping on his ribs, and he groaned
as he rose to his feet. People danced around him, oblivious to his
presence, gyrating in ecstatic celebration of life. He felt like
screaming himself, both shocked and elated to find himself alive,
although he wasnt sure why; everything in his mind was blurry and
disjointed, hard to recall, but for some reason he was sure he was
supposed to be dead. Someone plowed into him, their bottle of water
splashing in his face, and he irritatedly shoved them away as he
started for the edge of the dance floor. He grabbed the railing and
leaned on it as he ascended the stairs, feeling weak from whatever
ordeal had brought him there, and staggered out of the rave.

As
he opened the warehouse doors the night rushed to embrace him, the
salty sea air blowing his unkempt hair back, the cool breeze kissing
his face. The signs around him were in English, something else that
shocked him, as he felt that he was supposed to be somewhere else.
Its so confusing, Ben groaned into his hands as he rubbed
his bleary eyes, What the hell happened to me? Beneath the
black leather gloves, his metal prosthetic was hard and cool, and he
removed the glove and pressed the steel palm to his sweaty face. He
walked across the nearby street and leaned against the railing,
staring out into the green waters of the Pacific Ocean, a great
orange bridge dominating the water before him. Oh my God, thats
the Golden Gate Bridge?! He gaped in surprise, Im in
California! How did I? He stepped back, staring in surprise at the
skyline of his home town.

What
the hell is going on? A loud honking hit his ears, and as he
turned, he saw a city bus hurtling down on him. Behind the
windshield, the driver stared in horror at the young man he was
hurtling towards, his mouth open in a muffled scream. His legs
refused to move, and as he stared mutely at the steel missile coming
towards him, he inwardly screamed in terror. God Dammit, Im
going to die again!