The Hero Code

[Thegameaholic]

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[Thegameaholic]

The air inside Conference Room 4B of the PRT East-Ne-East Headquarters smelled faintly of ozone, stale coffee, and the metallic tang of Armsmaster's cooling suit vents. Outside the floor-to-ceiling reinforced armorglass windows, the morning fog over Brockton Bay was burning away, revealing a gray, choppy Atlantic framed by industrial cranes and the scarred skyline of the downtown district.

Director Emily Piggot sat at the head of the long steel conference table. Her arms were folded over her chest, her knuckles pale against the dark fabric of her suit jacket. She looked exhausted, but her small, dark eyes burned with a cold, predatory focus.

Around the table, the local Protectorate assembled in full force.

Armsmaster stood rigid at the right hand of the table, his mechanical halberd docked in its magnetic holster on his spine, his blue visor flickering as it processed internal diagnostic logs. Next to him sat Miss Militia, her eyes fixed on the glossy manila folders spread across the polished surface. Velocity paced near the back wall, his red-and-yellow suit humming faintly with residual kinetic charge. Battery and Assault sat side-by-side; Battery looked sick, her hands resting flat on the table, while Assault's usual smirking demeanor was entirely absent, replaced by a dark, contemplative frown. Further down sat Dauntless, rubbing his temples, and Triumph, his arms crossed tightly over his padded chest plate.

Floating on the primary tactical display at the far wall was the live feed from Dragon, her synthesized, soft-spoken voice broadcasting directly from her workshop in Vancouver.

"The forensic sweep of the Brockton General Hospital ambulance bay is sixty-percent complete," Dragon's voice echoed gently through the room's speakers, breaking the heavy silence. "PRT bio-containment units have secured the remains of Victor and Othala. The structural ice blocks containing Fenja and Menja have been stabilized using localized heat-suppression field generators. Stormtiger and Cricket are currently held in Level-4 power-suppression cells in our subterranean holding facility."

"And Alabaster?" Piggot asked, her raspy voice cutting through the room like coarse sandpaper.

Armsmaster took a step forward, tapping his gauntlet against the table to project a high-resolution neuro-scan onto the central screen. The image showed a three-dimensional rendering of a human brain with highlighted regions around the brainstem.

"Alabaster is currently in the psychiatric ward under heavy sedation," Armsmaster reported, his voice synthetic and entirely devoid of emotion. "Physically, he has suffered zero permanent brain trauma, likely due to a localized flash-freeze Tennyson used to numb and protect the neurological tissue during the extraction. However... his parahuman abilities have been severely compromised. Tennyson forcibly damaged and partially extracted his Corona Pollentia. Without an intact neural structure to govern the ability, Alabaster's power is now activating erratically and unpredictably. He has zero conscious control over it—his breaker state is misfiring at random intervals, causing his physical form to reset without warning."

A heavy silence descended over the room.

Assault leaned back in his chair, staring at the neuro-scan. "Erratic misfires? The guy was a breaker-changer reset cape. You can't tamper with that without killing a man."

"Apparently, you can," Miss Militia said quietly, her voice muffled behind her flag-patterned scarf. She looked up at the ceiling, as if still trying to process the scene she had witnessed at the hospital earlier that morning. "Tennyson phased his hand through Alabaster's skull using that intangible ice form. He reached in, numbed the area with extreme cold, and physically plucked the structure out to stop him from resetting. Now Alabaster is trapped in psychological shock, unable to stop his body from randomly cycling."

"He altered a cape's biology," Piggot said, her tone flat, lethal, and absolute. "He reached into a man's mind, stripped him of his control, and then sat on the hood of a police cruiser drinking a strawberry smoothie."

"He saved the hospital, Director," Miss Militia said firmly, turning her head to meet Piggot's cold stare. "Empire 88 deployed eight heavy-hitters to a public medical facility. If Tennyson hadn't intervened, Brockton General would be a pile of smoking rubble right now. Dozens of civilians, nurses, and doctors would be dead."

"I am well aware of the tactical outcome, Hannah!" Piggot snapped, slamming her palm down onto the steel table. The crack of palm against metal vibrated through the room. "I don't care that two self-proclaimed neo-Nazis are dead! I don't care that Victor and Othala are in plastic bags! What I care about is the precedent!"

Piggot leaned forward, resting her weight on her forearms, her gaze sweeping across the assembled heroes.

"The Unwritten Rules are not a polite gentleman's agreement," Piggot continued, her voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly register. "They are the only thing keeping this godforsaken city from turning into an absolute free-for-all. We let capes play cop-and-robbers because if we don't, they start dropping bombs on water reservoirs and poisoning the air supply. Victor and Othala were terrible people, but they were established players. Tennyson didn't just arrest them. He froze them from the inside out until their cells ruptured, let them hit the pavement, and shattered them into literal ice cubes!"

"It was self-defense," Triumph offered, though he looked visibly uncomfortable under Piggot's glare. "They attacked him at the hospital while he was guarding a patient. That's a direct violation of the rules on the Empire's part. Kaiser broke the truce first."

"Kaiser isn't an un-registered, alien WMD walking around in a green jacket!" Piggot shot back. "Kaiser is a known quantity. We understand his motives, we understand his limits, and we know how to contain him within the municipal political structure! Tennyson is an unknown entity from another universe who possesses technology that violates every known law of physics, biology, and Tinker theory!"

Dragon's avatar on the screen shimmered slightly, her digital eyes narrowing in thought. "Director Piggot is correct regarding the technical threat level. The energy signatures registered during Tennyson's brief engagement at the hospital bypassed all PRT sensory filters. The thermal drain required to instantly freeze two human targets to absolute zero—and maintain that state internally without collateral environmental damage—exceeds the entire power output of the Brockton Bay electrical grid."

"He killed the Slaughterhouse Nine," Velocity added from the back, stopping his pacing to lean against the wall. "Every single one of them. Jack Slash, Siberian, Mannequin, Shatterbird. Gone in less than an hour. The entire country is celebrating, Director. The PRT Board of Directors in D.C. is practically throwing parades in his name."

"And D.C. doesn't have to live with him in their backyard!" Piggot snapped. "The Nine were on a national Kill List. Executing them was legal, encouraged, and politically convenient. Executing local capes—no matter how vile—without a PRT warrant, without a trial, and without authorization, strips us of our authority. If the public sees an independent, sixteen-year-old kid acting as judge, jury, and executioner, the entire legitimacy of the PRT collapses."

Piggot stood up, pacing slowly behind her chair.

"We gave him a soft approach. We offered him a bed, a desk, and a badge. We offered him a place in the Wards. And how did he respond? He simply said no."

"He's a teenager with ultimate power," Battery muttered under her breath, crossing her arms. "If he has a transformation that can travel faster than sound and survive in a vacuum, our containment threat was a joke to him."

Piggot glared at Battery, but didn't refute the point. Instead, she tapped a red button on her console, pulling up a digital dossier on the main screen.

The file displayed two faces: Danny Hebert, a tired-looking, tall man with thin glasses and receding hair, and Taylor Hebert, a slender, dark-haired teenage girl currently recovering in Room 412 of Brockton General Hospital after a severe biohazard bullying incident at Winslow High.

"We are bumping up the deadline," Piggot announced coldly. "Originally, we were going to give Tennyson until the end of the week to consider our offer. That timeline is now dead. He has twenty-four hours to sign the Ward/Protectorate charter, accept PRT oversight, and submit the Omnitrix for technical registry and safety evaluation."

"And if he refuses?" Armsmaster asked, his voice tight.

"If he refuses," Piggot said slowly, emphasizing every word, "I am filing an emergency application with the Chief Director to classify Ben Tennyson as an S-Class Threat. I will request an immediate, active Kill Order."

A wave of quiet shock rippled through the conference room.

"Director, you can't be serious!" Miss Militia stood up, her hands resting on the table, her face flushed with anger. "An S-Class classification? A Kill Order on a kid who spent his first three days in this city saving civilians, killing the S9, defending a hospital, and spending every spare hour helping Panacea heal patients in the overflow ward?"

"He is an unguided missile, Hannah!" Piggot barked back. "He possesses an un-quantifiable arsenal of alien biological transformations! He can alter human genetics, erase parahuman powers at a touch, manipulate time, and level entire city blocks! What happens when he decides he doesn't like how we run the PRT? What happens when he decides the Mayor isn't doing a good enough job? We cannot leave a weapon of that magnitude un-monitored and un-checked!"

"If you issue a Kill Order on him, Director," Assault said, leaning forward with a dark, cynical laugh, "who exactly are you going to send to enforce it? Us? The Empire? Scion? The kid wiped out the Nine like she was a bug on his windshield. If we try to take him by force, half this city will end up as ice cubes or radioactive ash."

"Which is why we are not going to use direct force," Piggot said, her tone dropping into a cold, chillingly pragmatic register. "I know his type. I've read his psychological profile compiled by our Thinkers. Tennyson is stubborn as an ox, hyper-idealistic, arrogant, and possesses a severe hero-complex. You cannot beat him with muscle. But you can compel him through obligation."

Piggot pointed at the screens displaying Danny and Taylor Hebert.

"Tennyson has no home in this world. He hasn't set foot in a residential property since he arrived. Where does he spend all of his time? Brockton General Hospital. Specifically, Room 412. He pulled Taylor Hebert out of that school locker. He's been guarding her bedside twenty-four hours a day, keeping her safe, and assisting Panacea with the hospital overflow. That girl and her father are his only civilian anchors in this entire city."

Miss Militia's eyes narrowed in disgust. "Director... what are you proposing?"

"Taylor Hebert was involved in a severe, undocumented school biohazard incident that led to her hospitalization," Piggot said smoothly, scrolling through a list of legal documents on her tablet. "The PRT has clear, legal grounds to declare her an unregistered parahuman risk and place her under mandatory PRT administrative quarantine. Furthermore, her father, Danny Hebert, is the Head of Operations for the Dockworkers Association—a union currently under federal review. We can initiate an immediate federal audit of the DWU, freeze their operational accounts, and take Taylor into protective custody at our headquarters."

"You're going to quarantine a hospitalized teenage victim and destroy her father's union just to back a sixteen-year-old boy into a corner?" Miss Militia asked, her voice trembling slightly with disgust. "That's extortion, Emily. That goes against everything the Protectorate stands for!"

"It is jurisdictional enforcement, Hannah!" Piggot snapped back, her eyes wide and unblinking. "If Tennyson wants to play hero in my city, he will play by my rules! If he cares about this girl, he will realize that his presence here is putting her in our crosshairs. He can sign the charter, accept PRT guardianship, and protect her under our legal umbrella... or he can watch us dismantle the Heberts' lives piece by piece while he sits in her hospital room!"

Armsmaster stood silent, his visor glowing steadily as he processed Piggot's tactical logic. He didn't object. In his mind, the efficiency of the outcome outweighed the moral discomfort of the methodology. If Tennyson was brought under PRT control, Armsmaster would finally gain access to the Omnitrix's internal database—a technological treasure trove that could revolutionize human Tinkertech for generations.

"Dragon," Piggot called out, turning back to the screen. "Prepare the administrative quarantine warrants for Taylor Hebert and the DWU audit papers. Armsmaster, draft the formal Ward charter with the mandatory oversight clauses. Miss Militia... you will be the one to deliver the ultimatum to Tennyson personally at the hospital."

Miss Militia looked at Piggot, her chest heaving under her uniform, her throat tight with a deep, sickening sense of betrayal. But she was a soldier. She had swallowed horrible orders in the past, and she knew the alternative—a full-scale military mobilization against an alien entity—would end in unthinkable bloodshed.

"Understood, Director," Miss Militia whispered softly, lowering her head.

"Dismissed," Piggot said, leaning back into her chair and picking up her cold cup of coffee. "All of you. We have twenty-four hours to reclaim control of this city."

---

The executive suite on the thirty-second floor of the Medhall Building smelled of expensive mahogany, imported leather, and the heavy, metallic stench of panic.

Max Anders sat behind his massive oak desk, his tailored charcoal suit pristine, his blonde hair combed back flawlessly. But beneath the refined veneer of Brockton Bay's most successful corporate philanthropist, his face was pale, his jaw clenched so tightly that a vein throbbed violently near his temple.

Across the room, sitting on an Italian leather sofa, was Rune.

The teenager was shaking uncontrollably. Her red cape was torn, her combat boots were caked in dried mud and hospital dust, and her hands trembled so violently that the glass of water in her grip rattled against her teeth.

"Tell me again," Max said. His voice was soft, dangerously calm, but the air in the room seemed to drop several degrees. "Every single detail, Rune. From the moment you arrived at Brockton General."

"We... we had the ambulance bay surrounded, Lord Kaiser," Rune stammered, her voice high-pitched, breathless, and terrified. She couldn't look Max in the eye; instead, she stared blankly at the Persian rug beneath her feet. "Victor had the perimeter locked down. Othala was getting ready to buff Stormtiger and Cricket. Fenja and Menja were positioned at the main entrance to get to the alien and the Hebert girl... and then... then he stepped out."

"Describe him," Max commanded quietly.

"He... he was tall and ghostly thin—like a slender phantom made of dark blue and black skin," Rune whimpered, clutching her shoulders. "He had these huge dark blue wings, a glowing green hourglass symbol on his chest, and eyes like green ice."

Rune swallowed hard, shivering as the memory played back in her mind.

"Before Othala could even buff anyone, he turned completely intangible! He flew right at them and pushed his phantom hands straight through Victor and Othala! He froze them from the inside out in a split second! They fell over, Kaiser... they hit the asphalt and they smashed into pieces!"

A heavy, suffocating silence gripped the executive suite.

Max didn't speak. His fingers dug into the armrests of his executive chair, the leather creaking under the pressure.

Victor. His grand strategist. The man who managed the Empire's financial networks, political bribery, and strategic operations. Othala. His premier support cape, the backbone of their combat longevity. Dead. Not just defeated—obliterated. Reduced to frozen gravel in a hospital parking lot.

"And the others?" Max asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Alabaster... Alabaster went crazy," Rune whimpered, rocking back and forth. "The ghostly moth creature reached its phantom claws straight inside Alabaster's skull! It pinched something inside his brain and pulled it out! Alabaster fell to his knees, screaming... he can't control it, Kaiser! His power is resetting him randomly every few seconds now! The PRT shoved him into a van while he was twitching on the ground! Stormtiger, Cricket, the twins... they were all trapped in massive ice blocks! I... I barely flew away in time on my glider! He let me go! He told me to tell you..."

Rune choked on her own breath, looking up at Max with eyes wide with pure, unadulterated terror.

"What did he tell you to tell me, Rune?" Max demanded, leaning over his desk, his blue eyes flashing with a violent, murderous rage.

"He... he said that if you sent any more 'discount Forever Kings' after him... he was going to come here and freeze Medhall into an iceberg," Rune whispered.

Standing near the floor-to-ceiling windows were three figures, shadowed by the morning sun.

Krieg stood stoic, his dark military trench coat buttoned tightly, his iron-gray eyes fixed on the city below. Beside him hovered Hookwolf, his massive, heavily tattooed frame leaning against a marble pillar, his teeth bared in a continuous, beastly snarl. In the darkest corner of the room stood Night and Fog—silent, motionless, like twin statues of pale death. They were part of the backup squad Kaiser had kept in reserve, but now, seeing the destruction of their vanguard, the atmosphere among them was thick with a toxic mix of bloodlust and hidden dread.

"He mocked the Empire," Hookwolf snarled, his voice like grinding metal. He took a heavy step forward, his fists clenching as tiny steel blades began to sprout from his knuckles, cutting through his skin before retracting. "He murdered our blood-brothers! He maimed Alabaster! And you're sitting here listening to a little girl cry, Max?!"

"Shut your mouth, Hookwolf!" Max barked, standing up from his desk and slamming his fists down. "You think I don't know what happened?! You think I don't feel the blood of our brethren screaming for vengeance?!"

Max walked over to the glass window, looking down at the sprawling expanse of Brockton Bay.

His empire was bleeding. In less than forty-eight hours, an un-registered alien teenager had wiped out his best support capes, captured four of his frontline combatants, and turned his terrifying reputation into a laughingstock among the underworld. If Kaiser did not respond—if he did not drag this 'Ben Tennyson' into the street and gut him in front of the entire city—Empire 88 was finished. The Merchants, the ABB, and the PRT would tear them apart like vultures.

"He wants a war," Max hissed, his hand rising to touch the hidden steel mechanism beneath his suit collar. "He thinks because he carries an alien weapon, he is immortal. He thinks he can disrespect the blood and soil of this city and walk away."

"Let me tear him apart," Hookwolf growled, his entire body shuddering as razor-sharp metal gears and serrated blades erupted from his chest and shoulders, clicking and grinding together in a terrifying display of lethal machinery. "Give me Krieg, Night, and Fog. We will go back to Brockton General. We will butcher every civilian in that hospital until he comes out, and then I will grind his bones into dust!"

"No," Max said coldly, turning back to face his lieutenants. "Brute force alone won't work. You saw what happened to Stormtiger and the twins. He possesses multiple forms. He adapts to tactics in real-time. If we engage him carelessly, we risk losing the rest of our inner circle."

Max walked back to his desk, staring down at his private, encrypted satellite phone resting on the mahogany surface.

"We need overwhelming force," Max said quietly. "We need absolute, undeniable air superiority and heavy artillery. We need to strike him at that hospital from every vector simultaneously, before he has the chance to select a form."

Krieg stepped forward, his cold, German-accented voice smooth and calculated. "You are thinking of calling in our external assets, Max?"

"I am calling in a debt," Max replied, his eyes narrowing.

He picked up the encrypted phone. His fingers hovered over the keypad for a fraction of a second before dialing a number he hadn't called in months.

The line connected. It rang once. It rang twice.

Then, a quiet, distant female voice answered. The background sound of a young child babbling softly echoed over the receiver.

"Hello?"

Max took a slow, deep breath, smoothing down the lapels of his tailored jacket, slipping effortlessly into his most persuasive, charismatic tone.

"Hello, Kayden," Max said smoothly. "How are you?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. The sound of shuffling paper, followed by the soft click of a door closing.

"Max," Kayden's voice came back, cold, distant, and instantly guarded. "I told you not to call this number unless it was an absolute emergency regarding Aster. I am trying to build a life away from Medhall. I am trying to keep our daughter out of your war."

"I know, Kayden. And I respect your desire for peace, truly," Max lied effortlessly, his voice dripping with soft, tragic sincerity. "I would never disturb you or Aster if the situation wasn't dire. But... something terrible has happened. Something that threatens every single one of our people in this city."

"What are you talking about, Max?" Kayden asked, her tone shifting slightly, a thread of tension entering her voice. "Did the PRT launch a raid?"

"No," Max said, his tone turning dark and heavy with artificial grief. "An alien entity arrived in Brockton Bay two days ago. An unregistered monster carrying an apocalyptic weapon. Last night... it attacked our people at Brockton General Hospital."

Kayden remained silent, listening.

"Victor... and Othala... are dead, Kayden," Max said, letting his voice tremble slightly. "Murdered in cold blood. Fenja, Menja, Stormtiger, and Cricket have been captured. Alabaster was stripped of his sanity—his power driven wildly out of control by this... this creature."

A sharp intake of breath sounded over the phone. "Victor and Othala? Dead?"

"Execution style," Max emphasized, leaning heavily into the lie. "He froze them alive and shattered their bodies into pieces. He didn't just attack our soldiers, Kayden. He swore to purge every cape in this city who doesn't bow to him. He is currently occupying Brockton General Hospital, holding our wounded hostage. He is targeting our children, our homes, our heritage."

"Max... if this is another one of your political maneuvers—"

"It isn't a game, Kayden!" Max shouted, injecting raw, desperate emotion into his voice. "Look at PHO! Look at the news! The PRT is helpless! They are letting this alien run wild in our medical facilities! If we do not stand together right now—if we do not protect our blood and our city—there won't be a Brockton Bay left for Aster to grow up in!"

Silence stretched across the satellite connection. Max waited, holding his breath, knowing the exact psychological levers to pull. Kayden hated his politics, hated the gang warfare, but her fiercest, most dangerous instinct was her hyper-protective motherly nature. She believed in the sanctity of her people, and above all, she believed in exterminating threats to her daughter's future.

Finally, Kayden spoke, her voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Max's arms stand up. The distant, crackling sound of static-electricity and blinding light hummed through the phone line.

"Where is he?" Kayden asked quietly.

A dark, victorious smile spread across Max's face.

"He is at Brockton General Hospital, guarding a civilian girl named Hebert in Room 412," Max said, his eyes glittering with cold malice. "Gather your strength, Kayden. Come home. Together... Purity, Kaiser, and the Empire will burn this alien out of our world forever."

"I'm coming," Kayden said, and hung up the phone.

Max set the receiver back down on his desk. He turned to Hookwolf, Krieg, Night, and Fog, his posture radiating absolute, unholy authority.

"Assemble the men," Kaiser ordered, his voice echoing through the penthouse like a death sentence. "Prepare every armored transport, every heavy rifle, and every cape we have left. When Purity arrives... we march on Brockton General."

---

The sanctum of Cauldron did not exist on Earth Bet.

It existed in a pocket universe, a sterile, featureless complex constructed from smooth gray alloy and unyielding white light. There were no windows, no clocks, and no ambient noise—only the faint, rhythmic hum of dimensional containment fields maintaining the structural integrity of the facility.

In the center of the primary observation chamber, a massive, holographic projection spun slowly in mid-air. It displayed a detailed three-dimensional reconstruction of the alleyway where the Slaughterhouse Nine had met their demise, alongside high-density tactical footage of the hospital engagement from earlier that morning.

Doctor Mother stood before the screen, her dark hands clasped behind her back, her expression unreadable.

To her right stood Number Man, dressed in a sharp, unwrinkled suit, his thin wire-rimmed glasses catching the harsh white glare of the monitors. Standing near the shadows was Alexandria, her dark cape draped over her indestructible shoulders, her single visible eye fixed on the floating data streams.

Sitting at a sleek metal table in the corner of the room was Contessa.

She was wearing her signature black suit, but her usual unshakeable, perfectly composed posture was gone. She was leaning forward, her elbows resting on her knees, pressing a crisp white silk handkerchief to her nose.

The silk was stained with dark, arterial blood. Her face was pale, glistening with a light sheen of cold sweat, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps. A severe, agonizing migraine pulsed behind her eyes, causing her pupils to dilate wildly.

"Another feedback spike?" Doctor Mother asked softly, turning her head toward Contessa.

Contessa took a slow, painful breath, pulling the blood-soaked handkerchief away from her face and folding it neatly to conceal the stain.

"Yes," Contessa said, her voice hoarse, carrying a rare, disturbing strain of physical exhaustion. "The moment I attempt to model a direct path involving Ben Tennyson... the path fractures. The neurological feedback is immediate and severe."

Number Man adjusted his glasses, tapping a series of mathematical equations onto his handheld tablet. "Fascinating. We have documented blind spots before. Entity chassis, Endbringers, Eidolon under specific cognitive stress parameters, and high-tier precognitive dampening fields. But a feedback loop that causes physical cerebral hemorrhaging in the user? That indicates something fundamentally incompatible with the Shard network's predictive algorithms."

"Explain," Alexandria commanded, her deep, stoic voice echoing off the metallic walls.

"It is a matter of informational physics," Number Man explained smoothly, pointing a slender finger at the screen displaying the Omnitrix. "Our Shards operate by drawing mass, energy, and computational power from parallel dimensions. When Contessa uses Path to Victory, her Shard queries the dimensional matrix, calculating probability vectors based on the movement of matter and energy across all available earths."

Number Man zoomed in on a close-up image of the green-and-black gauntlet resting on Ben's wrist.

"However, Tennyson's device does not draw from the Shard network. The energy signatures registered during his transformations do not originate from localized dimensional wells. They represent a dense, self-contained macro-universal translation matrix. When her Shard attempts to read his future actions, it tries to process a mathematical framework that operates on laws outside our universe's dimensional constants. It is like attempting to run advanced quantum software on an abacus. The Shard overclocks itself, fails to calculate the result, and dumps the raw computational thermal feedback directly into Contessa's brain."

"Can you path around him?" Doctor Mother asked, her voice calm, calculating, and devoid of pity.

Contessa wiped her upper lip with a fresh tissue, her dark eyes hollow but sharp. "Yes. I cannot path 'How do I defeat Ben Tennyson', nor can I path 'How do I acquire the Omnitrix from Ben Tennyson'. Direct queries result in immediate physical trauma."

She paused, taking a breath to steady herself.

"However... I can path peripheral environmental vectors. I can path 'How do I ensure the Mayor signs the emergency PRT authorization order?'. I can path 'How do I delay local traffic to synchronize Kaiser's arrival with the Protectorate vanguard?'. I can weave a web of circumstances around him. But the second he acts—the instant he presses that dial—the path collapses into absolute blind noise."

Alexandria crossed her arms, her jaw set in a hard, unbreakable line. "The Slaughterhouse Nine were our primary stress-testing tool for parahuman development across the Eastern Seaboard. Jack Slash was an essential variable in our long-term projections for the Final Entity Event. Tennyson eliminated them in under an hour. He tracked down Dr. William Manton in his hidden control van, killing him instantly and causing the Siberian projection to simply pop out of existence."

"And that," Doctor Mother said, turning around to face Alexandria, "is precisely why he is the most valuable anomaly we have encountered in thirty years."

Doctor Mother walked over to the central screen, staring at the detailed schematics Number Man had constructed of the Omnitrix.

"For decades, we have been operating under the assumption that the Entities are the absolute pinnacle of existence," Doctor Mother said softly, her eyes glittering with cold, unyielding ambition. "We have been harvesting Shards, creating Case 53s, and building an army of parahumans in the desperate hope that we can find a combination of powers strong enough to kill Scion when he inevitably turns on us."

She pointed at the display showing the glowing green hourglass symbol.

"But here stands a boy who carries the genetic templates of over one million intelligent alien species. A device that can manipulate DNA on a sub-atomic level, rewrite physical matter, control time, and project forces capable of neutralizing threats without touching the Shard network."

"If we can secure that device," Alexandria said, finishing the thought, "we do not need an army of parahumans. We do not need Eidolon. We do not need the Terminus Project."

"Correct," Doctor Mother agreed smoothly. "The Omnitrix is the key to Scion's destruction. It represents a technological and biological framework that completely bypasses the Entity's cycle. If we can harvest the device—or force Tennyson to use its ultimate capabilities against Zion—we win."

"And if he refuses to cooperate?" Number Man asked neutrally. "His psychological profile indicates extreme resistance to authoritarian control. He views himself as an independent peacekeeper. He has already rejected Armsmaster and threatened the local PRT."

"Then we make his environment un-livable," Doctor Mother replied without a single hint of hesitation. "Contessa... begin setting the secondary paths. Manipulate the local factions. Force the Empire, the PRT, and the local villains into an escalating pressure cooker around Brockton General Hospital. Isolate him from his civilian anchors. Squeeze him until he has no choice but to seek an ally."

Contessa stood up, her hand dropping from her face. Her nose had stopped bleeding, her posture instantly snapping back into that eerie, terrifying perfection that defined her existence.

"Path initiated," Contessa said, her voice monotone, devoid of humanity. "Step one: allow Kaiser to launch his full-scale offensive against Brockton General Hospital. Step two: ensure Director Piggot's administrative quarantine warrants are delivered simultaneously. Step three: isolate Tennyson from the civilian girl."

"Do it," Doctor Mother commanded. "The future of humanity will not be dictated by a boy playing hero with an alien watch."

---

Three hundred miles north of Brockton Bay, near the quiet, pine-forested outskirts of a small coastal town in Maine, the sky was a crisp, flawless blue.

A tiny calico kitten, no more than eight weeks old, sat perched on a high, precarious branch of an ancient white oak tree. It whimpered softly, its tiny claws digging into the rough bark, trembling as the wind rustled through the green leaves twenty feet above the ground. Below the tree stood a little girl in a yellow raincoat, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, clutching her hands together as she looked up at her trapped pet.

"Mitten!" the little girl cried out softly. "Come down, please!"

Then, the air above the backyard turned warm.

A gentle, golden radiance washed over the lawn, painting the green grass in shades of brilliant, metallic amber. The leaves of the oak tree stopped rustling. The wind seemed to die down entirely, replaced by a deep, resonant, soothing hum that vibrated gently in the chests of every living creature within a mile.

Descending slowly from the clouds was Scion.

The golden man floated down with impossible grace, his long, golden hair moving gently around his broad shoulders as if submerged in crystal-clear water. His bare feet touched the grass without making a single blade bend. His face was a masterpiece of flawless, symmetrical proportion—devoid of wrinkles, devoid of age, and completely devoid of human emotion.

He did not look at the little girl. He did not look at the sky.

Scion simply reached out his golden arm. His hand, glowing with the warm, soft light of a dying star, extended toward the high branch.

The calico kitten stopped crying. It looked at the glowing golden hand, purred softly, and unclasped its tiny claws from the bark. It stepped delicately onto Scion's open palm.

Scion lowered his hand, gently placing the kitten onto the soft grass in front of the little girl.

The girl gasped, wiping her tears away, instantly scooping her kitten into her arms. "Thank you, golden man! Thank you!"

Scion did not respond. He did not nod. He did not smile. He simply stood there, his glowing golden eyes staring blankly forward into the middle distance, fulfilling his hard-coded, primitive instinct to help. To perform small, meaningless acts of human preservation while his vast, dying mind passively processed the trillions of data streams flowing through his Shard network across every parallel Earth.

Help.

Preserve.

Wait.

He was waiting for the cycle to complete. He was waiting for the heat death of his own motivation. He was a god without a soul, wandering a tiny blue marble, acting out the hollow pantomime of heroics because he had nothing else left to do.

Then... the universe spiked.

Scion's golden head snapped violently to the south.

It wasn't a Shard ping. It wasn't an Endbringer awakening. It wasn't a dimensional rift opened by Doormaker or a high-tier Tinker device tapping into a parallel Earth.

It was a pulse. A dense, hyper-concentrated, macro-universal biological wave that tore through the local dimensional fabric like a titanium needle passing through wet tissue paper.

Far away, in the hospital parking lot of Brockton Bay, a sixteen-year-old boy had slammed his hand down on a dial, transforming his cellular structure from carbon-based flesh into absolute-zero micro-crystalline alien biology.

Deep within Scion's golden chest, the core of his Entity existence—the vast, continent-sized brain structure floating in a locked, pocket dimension—shuddered.

Query: Origin?

The Entity opened its higher sensory wells, sending a massive wave of analytical energy sweeping across the Eastern Seaboard of Earth Bet. It searched for the Shard that had generated that magnitude of mass-energy conversion. It searched for the dimensional well, the connection to the Shard Network, the designated host, the assigned restriction parameters.

It found... nothing.

There was no Shard connected to that energy burst. There was no extra-dimensional well drawing mass from a dead Earth.

Instead, the Entity sensed a foreign, artificial architecture. A dense, hyper-complex biological database containing genetic information that did not belong to the cycle. Organisms from galaxies far beyond the reach of the Entities' ancestral migrations. Energy structures that operated on macro-cosmic laws so vastly different from the Shard Network that attempting to process them felt like a toxic, invasive corruption attempting to overwrite his internal programming.

It wasn't just foreign. It was... disgustingly strong.

The sheer, concentrated density of energy contained within that single, wrist-mounted pulse dwarf-scaled the energy reserves of entire Shards. It was a self-contained, perfected bio-technological matrix that did not bleed energy into parallel dimensions, did not require a host brain to regulate its function, and possessed zero safety restrictions linked to the Entity cycle.

For the first time since his partner had crashed into the surface of Earth Bet decades ago...

For the first time since he had watched her shattered core rain down across a million worlds...

Scion felt a sensation rise from the deepest, darkest depths of his alien consciousness.

It was not curiosity. It was not grief.

It was threat.

The golden man slowly rose into the air, his glowing eyes fixed entirely on the distant horizon toward Brockton Bay, his golden aura pulsing with a faint, dangerous, erratic flicker.

---

Inside a sprawling, un-marked concrete warehouse tucked deep within ABB territory, the atmosphere was pitch black, thick with stale cigarette smoke and the faint sound of terrified weeping.

Half a dozen armed Asian blood-gang enforcers stood near reinforced steel doors, holding submachine guns, guarding the heavy padlocks that sealed dozens of young, trafficked civilian women into cramped back rooms.

Then, the world slowed down to a crawl.

A sharp, high-pitched screech—like friction-free rubber tearing across polished glass—vibrated through the concrete floor.

A single streak of electric blue light cut through the shadows of the warehouse. Before the first ABB guard's brain could register the sudden gust of wind, his submachine gun vanished from his hands. Before the second guard could pull his finger against a trigger, he was lifted off his feet, spun three times in mid-air, and slammed gently back-first against the wall.

Click-click-click-zip!

In less than three-tenths of a second, eight armed gang members were neatly arranged along the main support pillars, wrapped head-to-toe in industrial-strength plastic zip-ties, their weapons disarmed and stacked in a neat, symmetrical pyramid in the center of the room.

The blue streak skidded to a halt near the reinforced holding doors.

Standing there was a slender, hyper-streamlined alien. His dark blue and black armor gleamed under the faint emergency light, his long, razor-sharp black tail swishing rhythmically, his three-toed feet resting on rotating obsidian spheres. The black visor covering his face retracted up with a soft hiss, revealing Ben's emerald eyes and a smug, satisfied smirk.

"And that," XLR8 said, his voice carrying his distinctive, rapid-fire pitch, "is how you clear a room before the sound of your own footsteps catches up to you."

With two flicks of his scissor-like claws, Ben sliced through the steel padlocks as if they were wet cardboard. He pushed the heavy doors open, stepping into the room.

The trapped women backed into the corners, gasping in shock at the blue-skinned reptilian creature standing in the doorway.

Ben immediately lowered his stance, holding up his clawed hands in a warm, non-threatening gesture, his tone instantly shifting into soft, gentle reassurance.

"Hey, hey... it's okay. You're safe," XLR8 said softly, pointing a thumb back toward the open warehouse exit. "The gang guys outside are completely out of commission. I've already called a fleet of PRT emergency transport buses—they're parked two blocks down out of sight. No more locks, no more guards. You can all go home."

A wave of disbelief swept through the women, followed by quiet, sobbing relief as they began filtering out into the cool night air, running toward the street where medical responders waited.

Ben stepped back out onto the damp street, watching the last of the civilians hurry to safety. The night air was dead quiet. The mist settled over the abandoned shipping containers, creating a ghostly, isolated pocket in the middle of the sprawling industrial park.

Ben cracked his slender neck, snapping his visor back down over his face with a sharp, mechanical click.

"Not a bad night's work," he muttered to himself under his helmet, tapping his clawed feet on the wet asphalt. "Clean, quiet, zero property damage. Armsmaster would probably still find a way to fine me for speeding, though."

He turned to sprint back toward Brockton General Hospital.

He took one step—and the world went dead silent.

The ambient hum of distant city traffic vanished. The ocean wind cut out instantly.

From the shadows of the surrounding alleyways, a thick, unnatural, sulfurous gray smoke began to roll across the pavement. It moved unnaturally fast, eating up the streetlights, choking out the faint illumination, wrapping around Ben's ankles like heavy, ice-cold tendrils.

Fog.

Ben's visor flickered, his alien reflexes instantly placing him on high alert. Before he could accelerate, the ground beneath his feet shuddered.

CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

Dozens of massive, six-foot steel blades erupted straight out of the asphalt in a tight circle around him, creating an impenetrable, razor-sharp cage of spiked iron that cut off every ground-level exit!

Stepping out from the swirling gray mist at the edge of the perimeter was Kaiser, his armor gleaming like polished razors in the gloom. Beside him walked Krieg, his dark trench coat billowing slightly as a visible, heavy distortion of kinetic gravity settled over the street, making the very air around Ben feel five times denser.

From the dark shadows of an overturned shipping container, two more figures materialized: Night, her pale, terrifying shifting form lurking just behind Fog's gaseous cloud, her hollow eyes locked onto Ben.

Above them, hovering twenty feet in the air on a piece of jagged concrete she was levitating with her telekinesis, was Rune.

The teenager was pale as a sheet. Her hands were trembling violently against her red cape, her eyes wide with a deep, visceral terror as she stared at the blue-and-black alien. She looked like she was on the verge of a panic attack, haunted by the lingering memory of her teammates being shattered into bloody ice cubes, yet forced to stand her ground by her leader.

And then, the sound of grinding, screaming metal tore through the quiet night.

Step by step, a towering, metallic nightmare dragged itself into the light. Hookwolf's entire upper torso shuddered as hundreds of serrated steel blades, hooks, and heavy iron gears erupted from his skin, shifting and churning into a massive, multi-bladed beast that bared its metallic teeth at Ben.

"Did you really think you could run around our city forever, alien?" Kaiser's metallic voice echoed through the enclosed street, cold, merciless, and absolute.

Ben slid into a low combat stance, his wheels humming against the wet ground, his eyes narrowing behind his black visor as he scanned the perimeter.

Seven to one. Kaiser, Fog, Night, Hookwolf, Krieg, Rune... and then the sky above them exploded.

The overcast rain clouds tore wide open as a blinding, incandescent column of white light illuminated the entire shipping yard. Hovering fifty feet above the ambush, her body engulfed in a terrifying supernova halo of golden-white plasma, was Purity. Her glowing eyes locked onto the small blue alien trapped in the center of the steel cage.

"You killed our blood," Kaiser commanded, pointing an iron-clad finger at Ben. "Now, Brockton Bay watches you burn."

Ben stood in the center of the trap, surrounded by the full power of Empire 88's inner circle. The gravity field pressed down on him, the steel blades locked him in, Fog's mist crept closer, and Purity's beams charged to a deafening, blinding hum.

XLR8 didn't panic.

His visor snapped up. His green eyes flashed with reckless, unshakeable confidence.

Slowly, deliberately, Ben reached up with his clawed right hand, resting his fingers over the glowing green symbol on his chest.

"You guys really don't learn, do you?" Ben smirked.

The Omnitrix began to beep.

 

[Hell’s Marster]

ik i fixesmd it

Click to shrink...

Are you sure about that

 

[Thegameaholic]

Are you sure about that

Click to shrink...

What mistakes it has? i'll fix it rn

 

[Nihilos]

Heh

 

[Hell’s Marster]

What mistakes it has? i'll fix it rn

Click to shrink...

The text is a very light gray not black so it's very hard to read.
Brockton General Hospital

 

[Thegameaholic]

The text is a very light gray not black so it's very hard to read.
Brockton General Hospital

Click to shrink...

OHHH ok sure lemme get a crack at it when i have the chance

 

[Thegameaholic]

A blinding flash of emerald light flooded the area, forcing Rune to shield her eyes with a frightened squeak. The streamlined, blue-and-black form of XLR8 vanished, replaced by a massive, muscular bipedal feline alien. Orange fur, white chest, long razor-sharp black claws extending from his wrists, and a face locked in an expression of eternal, furious rage.

"LEMME TELL YA SOMETHING, EMPIRE EIGHTY-EIGHT!" Rath bellowed, his voice echoing off the brick walls like a foghorn powered by pure dynamite. "RATH IS NOT TRAPPED IN HERE WITH YOU! YOU ARE ALL TRAPPED IN HERE WITH RATH! AND RATH IS GOING TO USE YOUR FANCY METAL BLADES TO SCRATCH RATH'S BACK!"

"Kill him!" Kaiser ordered, pointing an armored finger down at the orange behemoth.

Purity didn't hesitate. A beam of concentrated, sun-hot white plasma tore through the dark, slamming directly into Rath's massive chest. The kinetic force of the blast blew out the windows of every building on the block and turned the pavement beneath Rath's boots into glowing slag.

When the smoke cleared, Rath was standing in the center of the molten crater. The fur on his chest was lightly singed, looking more like he had stood a little too close to a campfire than taken a tank-destroying energy blast.

Rath cracked his massive knuckles, glowing green eyes locking onto Kaiser. "THAT ALL YOU GOT, GLOW-STICK? RATH HAS TAKEN HOTTER SHOWERS THAN THAT!"

Before Purity could charge a second shot, Kaiser slammed his palms into the stone pillar. Instantly, dozens of four-foot iron spears erupted from the pavement directly beneath Rath, aiming to impale him through the torso.

CRACK! SHATTER!

The iron spikes slammed into Rath's hide and instantly exploded into a shower of useless, twisted metal splinters. Rath didn't even flinch. He reached down, grabbed a foot-thick iron spearhead that had broken against his thigh, casually bit it in half like a pretzel, and spat the iron chunks at Kaiser's feet.

"My turn!" Hookwolf roared.

The white supremacist's body shuddered and dissolved into a ten-foot mass of churning, grinding steel blades, iron chains, and hooked harpoons. The metallic beast lunged forward, a whirlwind of spinning razors capable of shredding armored personnel carriers.

"OH, A PUPPY!" Rath screamed with delight, charging headfirst into the metallic nightmare.

Rath didn't dodge. He dove straight into the spinning blades, his massive, clawed hands reaching into the churning center of Hookwolf's shifting mass. Steel scraped against alien skin with a deafening screech, producing a shower of bright orange sparks, but Rath's thick, hyper-dense hide held firm. Rath grabbed Hookwolf by what roughly passed for a steel jaw and a rear axle-joint, planted his feet into the torn-up road, and began violently wrestling the ten-foot blade-beast.

"LEMME TELL YA SOMETHING, HOOKWOLF!" Rath roared, lifting the multi-ton mass of churning metal clean over his head and slamming him repeatedly into the brick wall of the warehouse. "RATH DOES NOT LIKE DOGS THAT BITE! RATH PREFERS CATS! BECAUSE RATH IS A CAT!"

Hookwolf thritted and snarled, his spinning blades carving shallow, red scratches into Rath's shoulders, but Rath just laughed, his sheer rage completely drowning out any sensation of pain. He pulled Hookwolf into a brutal bearhug, straining the metal monster's inner mechanisms to the breaking point.

"Krieg! Night! Engage him!" Kaiser shouted, panic finally seeping into his metallic voice.

Krieg stepped forward, his expression cold and detached. He raised his hands, and the air surrounding Rath instantly shifted.

Rath suddenly felt like he was moving through thick, frozen molasses. He didn't understand the science of Krieg's power—the way the man unconsciously altered air resistance and kinetic momentum—he just knew that every single muscle movement suddenly felt five times heavier. The atmospheric pressure spiked, compressing against his chest until breathing became a chore. Worse, when a stray piece of flying rebar caught in Krieg's kinetic wave drifted toward him, it accelerated unexpectedly, striking Rath's ribs with the force of an anti-materiel rifle round.

"What is wrong with the air in here?!" Rath growled, his movement slowing to a frustrating crawl.

Before Rath could turn to face Krieg, a terrifying, invisible flurry struck him from behind.

Because Rath was focused on Hookwolf and Krieg, his eyes had drifted away from the alley's dark corners. In that brief window of unobserved darkness, something hit him.

SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

A brutal, lightning-fast assault of deep, broad cuts shredded across Rath's back. It moved with blinding, impossible agility—a chaotic blender of cutting edges that sliced through his thick hide like paper.

Rath roared in surprise, spinning around with a heavy claw strike to smash whatever had hit him. But the second his eyes swept over the corner of the alley... there was nothing there except Dorothy standing under a broken streetlamp. She looked completely human, completely fragile, and entirely unblemished.

Rath blinked, his rage momentarily derailed by utter confusion. He hadn't seen a monster. He hadn't seen a weapon. He had turned his back, gotten shredded by something hyper-agile, and turned around only to find a normal woman looking back at him.

Wait, Ben's tactical brain thought beneath Rath's screaming fury. Is she doing that only when I'm NOT looking at her?! What the heck is she turning into?!

Meanwhile, Rune—hovering high above on her floating concrete platform—panicked at the sight of Rath's sheer resilience and the bloody gashes on his back. Whimpering in fear, she reached out with her telekinesis, grabbing two nearby parked sedans and hurling them haphazardly down at Rath's head.

BOOM!

The heavy cars crushed down on Rath, pinning his upper body under tons of mangled metal and stone.

Before Rath could push the debris off, a thick, gray cloud of acidic smoke rolled over the wreckage. Fog was back. The mist began aggressively seeping down into the cracks of the broken vehicles, aiming directly for Rath's mouth, nose, and ears to melt his internal organs.

Rath felt the corrosive vapor beginning to sting the wet membranes of his nostrils, preparing to force its way down his throat.

"LEMME TELL YA SOMETHING, SMOKY THE BEAR!" Rath's furious voice boomed from beneath the concrete, vibrating the stone structure. "NOBODY ENTERS RATH'S NOSTRILS WITHOUT RATH'S EXPRESS WRITTEN PERMISSION!"

Trapped flat on his stomach, Rath brought his massive, clawed palms together inside the tight pocket of rubble and struck them together with every ounce of muscle in his alien body.

BOOOOOOOOOOM!

A thunderclap of pure, compressed acoustic air erupted from between Rath's hands! The sheer pressure wave shattered the surrounding debris into airborne pebbles and blew the surrounding air outward in a powerful sonic shockwave!

The gray mist of Fog's body was violently blown backward, scattered into thin, wispy vapor across three city blocks, completely disrupting his attempt to invade Rath's body.

Rath burst out of the pulverized rubble like an erupting volcano, his body covered in concrete dust and shallow cuts, but his fury burning brighter than ever. Yet, as he looked around, his sharp tactical instincts began to ring alarm bells.

Purity was charging another massive solar beam overhead. Kaiser was preparing a wall of metal spikes. Krieg's strange kinetic field was making every punch painfully sluggish. Night was lingering just outside his peripheral vision, ready to strike the moment he blinked. Rune was hovering out of reach, telekinetically levitating every piece of loose asphalt on the street, and Fog was already reforming his acidic mist on the wind.

He was getting pelted from every conceivable angle, trapped in a chaotic crossfire against powers he didn't fully comprehend. He needed to break line-of-sight, disrupt their coordination, and change the rules of engagement.

"RATH HAS HAD ENOUGH OF THIS MOB MENTALITY!" Rath screamed.

He drove both of his massive wrist claws deep into the asphalt, flexed his legs, and ripped his arms upward with terrifying strength!

KRA-KATOA!

A massive shockwave tore through the street and erupted upward, hurling huge slabs of pavement, dirt, and pulverized concrete fifty feet into the air. A dense, impenetrable screen of dust and debris instantly enveloped the entire block, blotting out Purity's light and blinding the Empire capes.

Inside the swirling cloud of dust, the green symbol on Rath's chest flashed brightly.

The towering, muscular feline shrank away. In its place, a gelatinous, bright-green, translucent form slithered across the broken street. Floating directly above the green blob was a small, silver, saucer-like device emitting a faint antigravity beam that kept the fluid mass suspended and mobile.

Goop had entered the fight.

Hookwolf was the first to charge blindly through the thick dust cloud. Still trapped in his monstrous form of spinning blades and iron chains, the white supremacist beast roared, searching for the orange fur of Rath.

"Die, you alien bastard!" Hookwolf howled, lunging straight through the dust veil.

He didn't hit fur. He didn't hit flesh.

Hookwolf slammed directly into the center of Goop's body.

Instead of shredding meat, Hookwolf's hundreds of spinning steel blades sank harmlessly into an ultra-viscous, bright green slime. The momentum of his charge carried him deep into Goop's fluid mass, and before Hookwolf could reverse his gears, Ben manipulated his own density.

Goop's slimy form expanded, wrapping completely around Hookwolf's multi-ton metal body like an indestructible, rubbery blanket! The thick, emerald goo flooded into every gear, every spinning blade axle, every chain link, and every structural joint of Hookwolf's metallic form. The friction of the slime instantly seized Hookwolf's internal mechanisms, grinding his spinning blades to a screeching, frozen halt.

"What the—! Get off me!" Hookwolf's muffled voice echoed from deep within the green mass, his metallic form thrashing uselessly against the non-Newtonian fluid.

Inside the green slime, Ben's mind raced.

Goop's body was naturally composed of an incredibly potent, highly controllable acid. If Ben wanted to, he could instantly alter his pH level, turning the green slime into a concentrated chemical bath that would dissolve Hookwolf's steel blades, his iron skeleton, and the human meat trapped inside in less than five seconds. He could reduce one of the Empire's most terrifying enforcers to a steaming puddle of sludge before Kaiser even realized what happened.

Ben hesitated.

No... I can't, Ben thought, his moral compass slamming the brakes on the violent instinct.

If he killed Hookwolf right here, he crossed the point of no return. Director Piggot and the PRT were already looking for any excuse to brand him an S-Class threat. If he started dropping bodies in the streets, Piggot would sign that Kill Order, and the full weight of the PRT, the Wards, and the Protectorate would come crashing down. Worse, they would use it as leverage to target Danny and Taylor Hebert. He couldn't destroy their lives just to win a street fight.

That split-second of hesitation cost him.

Trapped inside the suffocating green mass, Hookwolf panicked. Unable to spin his primary blades, he triggered an explosive ejection mechanism within his power, launching a dozen heavy, six-inch steel harpoons outward in all directions to break free!

THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!

The harpoons tore outward through Goop's liquid body without causing any damage—except for one.

One of the heavy steel harpoons shot straight upward, catching the edge of the floating Anti-Gravity Projector hovering above Goop's head!

CLANG!

The kinetic force of the harpoon struck the small silver saucer, knocking it violently off-balance and launching it across the alleyway!

Because Goop's body was entirely dependent on the Anti-Gravity Projector to maintain cohesion, the moment the saucer flew away, Goop's massive green body instantly lost its structure, melting into an inert, lifeless puddle of goo spread across the asphalt.

"I freed myself!" Hookwolf spat, shaking off the sticky green residue as he emerged from the puddle. "Where did it go?!"

Fifty feet away, the Anti-Gravity Projector skidded across the pavement, beeped urgently, and reactivated its tractor beam. The puddle of green goo on the street instantly converted into a long, liquid stream, flying across the alley at blinding speed to reassemble beneath the projector into Goop's humanoid shape.

"Note to self," Goop muttered, his nasal, liquid voice dripping with annoyance, "protect the shiny floating saucer."

Before he could reorient, the dust cloud was incinerated.

Purity unleashed a wide, sweeping carpet-bombardment of golden plasma from above, scorching the entire street. Kaiser sprouted forest after forest of jagged iron spears from every building wall, while Krieg stepped closer, his invisible field making the air thick and crushing. Rune, growing bolder, telekinetically pelted the green slime with chunks of shattered brick and iron rod.

Goop dodged and weaved, flowing over iron spikes like liquid water and flattening himself into a paper-thin sheet to let Purity's plasma beams pass harmlessly overhead. But every time he tried to maneuver, Krieg's heavy kinetic field caught his liquid form, turning his fluid movements heavy and thick. And in the shadows, whenever Goop turned his attention away, unseen slashes sliced through his liquid body from nowhere, forcing him to waste precious energy maintaining his shape.

Ben's mind was working frantically as he slid beneath a falling dumpster dropped by Rune.

He needed to eliminate their advantages, one by one. And the most pressing, dangerous threat right now was Fog.

He thought back to the wiki entry. Fog's entire power revolved around transforming his body into an acidic gas that eroded living, organic matter. Flesh, muscle, lungs, skin, organs. That's why Fog's mist burned XLR8's skin and tried to suffocate Rath.

If Fog's power relied on eroding living tissue... what happened if he attacked something that wasn't alive? Something that had no lungs, no throat, no internal organs, no blood, and no organic cells whatsoever?

A body made of pure, inorganic, dense mineral crystal.

Diamondhead!

Diamondhead's silicon-based petrosapien physiology was completely non-organic. Fog's corrosive gas couldn't erode Taydenite-hard crystal any more than household vinegar could melt a diamond. And without organs or a respiratory system, Diamondhead didn't even breathe. Fog's primary mode of attack would be completely useless.

The only problem was Fog's gas form made him impossible to hit with normal physical attacks. You can't punch smoke. Diamondhead couldn't crush Fog with a crystal spike if the gas just flowed around it.

Unless, Ben realized, I don't try to touch him. I let him come to me.

Goop flowed across the street, dodging another plasma blast from Purity. He spotted Fog's gray mist rapidly coalescing near the mouth of the alleyway, reforming to block his escape route.

Ben slithered toward his Anti-Gravity Projector, reached up with a liquid hand, and slammed his palm directly onto the glowing Omnitrix symbol on top of the saucer.

A blinding flash of emerald light illuminated the scorched alley.

The green slime and the floating saucer vanished. Standing in the center of the street was a tall, imposing figure carved from flawless, pale-green crystal. Sharply angled jaw, broad chest, black-and-white uniform, and massive, razor-sharp crystal spires protruding from his back.

Diamondhead stood unyielding against the storm.

"Another one?!" Kaiser growled from his steel perch. "It doesn't matter what form you take! Fog, dissolve him! Hookwolf, tear him apart!"

Hookwolf roared, lunging forward with all spinning blades active. At the same time, the thick, gray, acidic cloud of Fog swept across the pavement, rushing straight for Diamondhead's face.

Diamondhead didn't move an inch to dodge. He let it happen.

As Fog's corrosive smoke enveloped his head and upper torso, Diamondhead shifted his stance. He extended his heavy crystal arms, rapidly morphing his hands into giant, broad, spade-like crystal scoops. With a fluid, powerful motion, Diamondhead reached right through the smoke, catching Hookwolf mid-charge between his oversized crystal gauntlets!

Above them, Purity saw the alien manhandling Hookwolf and screamed in fury, unleashing a continuous, heavy barrage of laser blasts straight down onto Diamondhead's back!

ZAP-ZAP-BANG-RICOCHET!

The blinding golden beams slammed into Diamondhead's faceted crystalline back—and instantly ricocheted off his diamond-hard skin in every direction! Beams of reflected laser light bounced wildly off his crystal shoulders, tearing through the brick walls of the surrounding buildings, shattering Kaiser's iron pillars into molten slag, and forcing Rune to shriek and dive for cover on her floating slab as ricocheting plasma singed the air around her!

"Is that the best you got?!" Diamondhead shouted through the rain of bouncing light beams.

Hookwolf's spinning steel blades ground furiously against Diamondhead's arms with a sound that shattered every glass bottle within a mile. Sparks rained down like fireworks, but the Taydenite-hard crystal skin didn't take a single scratch.

"Nice try, doggy!" Diamondhead cracked, his voice deep, smooth, and utterly composed.

With a massive heave of his shoulders, Diamondhead swung his oversized crystal arms and hurled Hookwolf's multi-ton metallic form straight across the alley! Hookwolf crashed violently into Krieg and Kaiser's iron structure, sending both villains tumbling into the rubble in a chaotic heap.

Meanwhile, Fog's gray mist was fully wrapping around Diamondhead's head, trying desperately to find a way inside.

The corrosive vapor washed over the pale-green crystal skin, trying to dissolve the tissue—and failed completely. The acid sizzled harmlessly against the dense, inorganic petrosapien structure like water sliding off a waxed windshield. Fog tried to force his gas down Diamondhead's throat, but Diamondhead's mouth was solid crystal, his throat non-existent, his chest containing no lungs, no heart, and no soft organs to erode.

Inside the mist, Fog was realizing with sudden, creeping horror that his power was completely, utterly useless.

"What's the matter, cloudy?" Diamondhead taunted, his crystalline voice echoing clearly through the dense smoke. "Having performance issues?"

Before Fog could disengage and scatter his mist back into the open air, Diamondhead acted.

He slammed both of his broad crystal palms flat onto the cracked asphalt beneath his feet.

FOOM!

Instantly, massive, thick slabs of pale-green crystal erupted out of the street around them! The crystal walls grew at terrifying speed, curving inward overhead, interlocking with seamless, airtight precision.

In less than a second, Diamondhead built a massive, hollow, completely sealed Taydenite dome around himself and Fog, completely encasing them both inside an impenetrable crystalline vault!

Outside the dome, the alley went dead silent.

"Fog!" Kaiser yelled, picking himself up from the rubble. "Purity, break that thing open!"

Purity flew lower, her glowing eyes flashing as she unleashed her most powerful, concentrated light-beam directly at the apex of the crystal dome. At the same time, Rune hurled five heavy steel girders at the structure, while Night—slipping out of sight behind the dust—slashed viciously at the outer walls in unseen flurries.

BOOM! BANG! SCHRRRRT!

The concentrated golden plasma beam struck the angled facets of the dome—and once again, the laser light ricocheted violently off the crystalline dome! The reflected beam bounced skyward, carving a glowing trench through the clouds, while the steel girders crumpled like paper against the smooth Taydenite surface. The combined assault of the Empire's strongest capes echoed like thunder across the Docks, but when the dust cleared, the pale-green crystal dome stood entirely unblemished. Not a crack. Not a chip. Not even a burn mark. The dense petrosapien structure absorbed and reflected the kinetic and thermal energy effortlessly. They were completely locked out.

Inside the pitch-black, airtight crystal dome, Fog was trapped.

Without an open exit, Fog's gas form was compressed inside the enclosed space. He couldn't reform into his human body without taking a crystal fist to the jaw, and his acidic mist was doing absolutely nothing to the walls or the crystal giant standing in front of him.

"You really thought you were the only one who could play with temperature and states of matter?" Diamondhead said softly in the dark.

Diamondhead raised a crystal hand and brought his thumb down onto the glowing green emblem on his chest.

FLASH!

The pale-green crystal body vanished.

In the pitch darkness of the sealed dome, two glowing green eyes opened. A pair of large, dark-blue moth-like wings unfolded, revealing a frail, ghostly, ice-white figure with long, dark blue antennae and a skeletal, hooded posture.

A bone-chilling, unnatural cold instantly flooded the sealed interior of the vault. The ambient temperature plummeted, dropping toward absolute zero in a fraction of a second. Frost instantly crystallized across the inner walls of the dome.

Fog's gas form slowed down, the molecules of his vapor form shuddering as the extreme cold ripped the kinetic energy right out of his gaseous body.

Big Chill hovered silently in the air, his folded wings giving him the silhouette of a grim reaper in the dark.

"Is it cold in here..." Big Chill rasped, his voice deep, haunting, and echoing with an ethereal, icy whisper, "...or is it just you?"

Fog tried to flee, his gas desperately trying to find a microscopic seam in the Taydenite vault to slip through. But Big Chill didn't give him the chance.

Big Chill spread his massive moth wings, phase-shifted into his intangible phantom state, and glided effortlessly straight through the dense cloud of Fog's body.

As Big Chill passed through the gas, his supernatural frost-breath and extreme endothermic aura washed over every single floating vapor molecule. The absolute-zero cold instantly flash-froze the moisture and gas components of Fog's power.

CRACKLE-CRACKLE-FREEZE!

Inside the sealed dome, a sound like shattering glass echoed through the dark.

Fog's entire gaseous body—every single particle of his corrosive mist—was instantly frozen solid. The gray smoke converted into millions of sparkling frost crystals, which slammed together and fell to the floor of the dome in a heavy, frozen, solid block of ice.

Trapped inside the core of the dense ice block, completely flash-frozen and unconscious before he could even process what had happened, was the shivering form of Fog.

Big Chill slowly drifted back down to the crystal floor, his icy breath pluming in the pitch-black vault. He folded his large wings around his chest like a dark cape, his glowing green eyes staring down at the frozen villain.

He reached out an intangible hand, pressed it against the inner wall of the Taydenite dome, and prepared to shatter the structure to face the remaining six capes waiting outside.

Big Chill's raspy, haunting voice whispered into the quiet darkness of the vault.

"One down... six to go."

The brilliant flash of emerald light died away inside the pitch-black Taydenite vault, leaving only the steady, faint pulse of the Omnitrix faceplate against Ben's chest.

Reverting from Big Chill's ghostly, skeletal frame back to his human form, Ben let out a long breath that instantly bloomed into a cloud of white vapor. The air inside the sealed dome was frigid enough to freeze sweat on his brow, but he paid the cold no mind. Beside him, frozen solid within a multi-ton block of opaque, glinting ice, the unconscious form of Fog remained completely immobile, his gray, acidic mist turned into harmless frost.

Ben dropped down into a cross-legged position on the polished Taydenite floor, resting his elbows on his knees.

Outside the crystal shell, the storm of violence had temporarily ground to a halt. For several minutes, the Empire 88 capes had bombarded the dome with everything they had. Ben had felt the faint, rhythmic thuds of Hookwolf's multi-ton iron mass slamming against the exterior, accompanied by the muffled, high-pitched screech of solar lasers ricocheting harmlessly off the dense crystal facets. But Taydenite was one of the hardest mineral structures in the known galaxy; nothing on Earth Bet was cracking this shell from the outside.

Eventually, the bombardment stopped. A heavy, tense silence fell over the scorched street, broken only by the crackle of burning pavement and distant sirens.

Then, Kaiser's voice echoed through the concrete.

Amplified by a crude metal horn he had shaped directly from his gauntleted hand, the leader of Empire 88 began to speak. His tone was smooth, authoritative, and dripping with theatrical arrogance, designed to echo off the surrounding brick buildings and resonate through the crystal dome itself.

"Listen to me, alien!" Kaiser shouted, his metallic voice carrying a sharp, rhythmic cadence. "You hide behind your crystalline wall, but you have already lost! You bring your illegal alien monstrosities into our city, attacking our people and disrupting order! Step out and face the judgment of Empire Eighty-Eight!"

Inside the dome, Ben rolled his eyes, completely tuning out the pompous lecture.

He didn't know what kind of lies Kaiser had spun to convince Purity to join this raid, nor did he know her real name or personal life. But standing out on the street before he sealed himself away, Ben had been genuinely surprised to see her hovering in the sky. He had spent hours scrolling through public forums on Parahumans Online during his first few nights in Brockton Bay, and the consensus online was that Purity had broken off from the Empire entirely. Seeing her out there, acting as Kaiser's flying artillery, meant Kaiser was posturing for her benefit just as much as his own and that He needed to keep up whatever narrative he'd fed her to keep her on his leash.

So Kaiser kept yapping, his voice droning on about law, order, and alien threats. Inside his dark fortress, Ben's mind was moving at a completely different speed, calculating his options like a chess master analyzing a cluttered board.

Okay, Ben thought, running a thumb along the edge of the Omnitrix faceplate. Let's tally the field.

Fog was out cold beside him, encased in three feet of Taydenite-hard ice. That was one down. Outside, five main threats remained: Kaiser, Purity, Hookwolf, Krieg, Night, and the floating telekinetic girl, Rune.

Ben ran through his roster. Chromastone or Diamondhead could easily handle most of them. Chromastone could absorb Purity's solar beams and feed them right back into Kaiser's metal structures, and Diamondhead's raw crystal generation could match Kaiser blade for blade.

But there's a catch, Ben mused, narrowing his eyes in the dark. Night and Hookwolf.

Night was an absolute nightmare in a crowd control scenario. From the brief, bloody encounter he'd just had as Rath, he knew her Breaker form was terrifyingly fast and absurdly sharp. Her power relied entirely on line-of-sight—she only transformed when unobserved. In a frantic, multi-target brawl where he had to dodge orbital bombardments, avoid Kaiser's floor-spikes, and track flying debris, maintaining uninterrupted eye contact on a single woman standing in the shadow of an alley was practically impossible. The moment he blinked or turned to block a laser, she'd be on his back again.

And then there was Hookwolf. The guy was a multi-ton walking mass of grinding steel, chains, and harpoons. He took an absurd amount of physical punishment, constantly regenerating his metallic mass. Blunt force worked, but it took time—time Ben didn't have while four other capes pelted him from all directions.

I could use Ghostfreak, Ben considered for a split second. Infiltrate Hookwolf's metallic core, possess his body, and use his own strength to clear the field.

He instantly nixed the idea with a sharp grimace.

Again on this world Human Masters—parahumans who could control minds or possess bodies—were viewed with absolute, overwhelming terror. Between the horror stories of villains manipulating minds and driving entire towns mad, mind-control abilities were an absolute taboo. If the PRT or the Protectorate saw Ben possessing people's bodies, any chance of a peaceful resolution would vanish. Piggot would slap an S-Class Master threat rating on his head before sunrise.

To make matters worse, the parahuman wiki entries on Krieg and Night were maddeningly vague. Krieg's power was listed as some form of kinetic manipulation, but standing near him had felt like dragging a body through pressurized mud while stray debris hit like high-caliber rounds. Fighting an unknown kinetic manipulator and a line-of-sight Breaker with incomplete intel was a recipe for getting blindsided.

I need something that controls the battlefield, Ben thought, tapping his chin. Something that doesn't care about line-of-sight, doesn't care about iron walls, can ignore Krieg's kinetic zone by attacking from an angle he isn't watching, and can take down Hookwolf's durability in a single blow.

A lightbulb practically clicked on above his head.

Seismic force.

Ben stood up, brushing the frost off his jeans. He tapped the Omnitrix faceplate. The green interface sprang to life, casting a bright emerald glow across his face. He rotated the digital holowheel, scrolling past the icons of Humungousaur, Four Arms, and XLR8, until he reached the precise silhouette he wanted

The core of the watch popped up with a satisfying mechanical click.

Ben looked at the frozen block of Fog one last time, grinned into the darkness, and brought his palm slamming down onto the dial.

Outside in the scorched, ruinous street, Kaiser was still posturing atop his metal pillar.

"You think your silence protects you?!" Kaiser barked through his iron horn. "Every second you spend cowering in that shell, my men reinforce the perimeter! You will step out and face the justice of Empire Eighty-Eight!"

Beside the pillar, hovering on a jagged slab of concrete four feet off the ground, Tammi—known to the public as Rune—was trembling under her red cape.

Her hands shook so violently that her telekinetic hold on the surrounding debris wobbled erratically. Tammi had never cared about the Empire's hateful ideology. She hadn't joined because she believed in Kaiser's grand speeches about bloodlines or racial supremacy. She was just a teenager who had fled a home filled with controlling, overbearing parents who treated her like a child. When the Empire's recruiters scouted her after her trigger event, they had lavished her with attention, treated her like a capable adult, and offered her a place where she felt important.

Now, standing in a warzone against a shapeshifting alien that had just tanked Purity's full-power solar beam without a scratch, she felt tiny, helpless, and terrified. Tammi never should have joined this group. She just wanted to get away from her parents. She hated this feeling—feeling weak, helpless, and trapped in a nightmare.

Suddenly, a cold shudder ran down her spine.

It wasn't just fear. The ground itself began to hum. A subterranean vibration started deep within the earth, pulsing through the soles of Krieg's boots and rattling the steel plates of Kaiser's pillar. It wasn't a natural earthquake; it was rhythmic, mechanical, and accelerating—like a massive industrial piston pounding against the bedrock beneath the street.

Tammi's breath hitched under her mask. A Shaker power...

The vibration hit a crescendo.

Directly beneath Krieg's feet, the asphalt exploded skyward in a towering geyser of pulverized stone, dirt, and shattered pipes!

BOOM!

Krieg barely had time to widen his eyes before a colossal, bright yellow armored titan erupted from the subterranean breach. The creature was built like a heavy industrial excavator, clad in massive yellow plating, with thick silver hydraulic pistons built into its massive forearms and a heavy, mechanical tail whipping through the air.

Armodrillo!

Before Krieg could activate his kinetic forcefield to cushion the blow, Armodrillo's massive right arm shot upward in a brutal, bone-shattering uppercut.

CLANG-THWACK!

The clawed yellow fist caught Krieg directly under the chin, launching the kinetic cape thirty feet straight up into the air.

As Krieg hung dazed at the apex of his trajectory, Armodrillo didn't pause for a single millisecond. He planted his heavy metallic boots into the torn-up road, pulled his left arm back, and engaged the massive pneumatic piston on his elbow. The mechanism wound back with a high-pressure pneumatic HISSS-CLICK, locking the internal kinetic spring into place.

Armodrillo's glowing green eyes locked onto the airborne cape.

"Hope you like low-altitude travel!" Armodrillo's deep, mechanical voice boomed

He unleashed the punch.

THU-BOOM!

The hydraulic piston fired with terrifying velocity, driving Armodrillo's fist straight into Krieg's exposed stomach while he was still suspended in mid-air.

The kinetic discharge was immense. A visible wave of distorted air erupted from the point of impact. Krieg was propelled horizontally down the street like a artillery shell, blasting clean through the brick facade of a bakery, tearing straight through the back wall of an empty warehouse, and landing with a heavy splash directly inside a stagnant sewage pit down the block. The impact knocked Krieg out instantly.

Two down.

The remaining Empire capes froze in shock.

"KRIEG!" Kaiser shouted, his metallic posture breaking. "Kill it! KILL IT NOW!"

The street erupted into chaos.

Purity descended from the sky, unleashing a rapid-fire barrage of golden plasma bolts. Kaiser slammed his hands together, sprouting a wave of thirty-foot iron spears from the pavement, while Rune, panicking completely, lifted three heavy steel dumpsters and hurled them toward the yellow titan.

Armodrillo moved with surprising agility for a creature built like a tank.

He lowered his heavy shoulders, stepping forward as Purity's plasma blasts slammed into his back. The superheated light scorched his thick yellow hide, but his Talpaedan armor—built to withstand deep-planetary pressure and intense heat—held firm. Iron spears sprouted beneath him, but Armodrillo simply stepped on them, crushing Kaiser's steel spikes into flat metal ribbons under his multi-ton weight.

As he dodged and tanked the incoming projectile barrage, Armodrillo kept his large green eyes pinned firmly on the shadow of a nearby building.

There, standing under the flickering light of a broken lamp, was Dorothy—Night.

She remained entirely human, entirely still, locked in her fragile form because Armodrillo's wide field of vision held her pinned in the dark. She twitched in frustration, unable to transform while his green gaze remained on her.

"Let's see how you handle a little ground instability," Armodrillo grunted, his mechanical voice vibrating through his chest.

Armodrillo flexed his massive hands. His thick, clawed fingers retracted directly into his yellow forearms, forming two smooth, rounded metal spheres. Deep inside his arms, high-frequency kinetic generators whirred to life, sending a sharp hum through the street.

He slammed both vibrating ball-hands straight down into the broken pavement.

KRA-KATOA!

Subterranean seismic waves tore through the earth. Instantly, the ground beneath Kaiser's steel pillar and Rune's position liquefied. A massive sinkhole collapsed inward with a deafening roar, swallowing asphalt, bedrock, and iron spears into a churning pit.

"AH!" Rune cried out in terror.

She instinctively yanked her telekinetic field upward, sending her concrete slab shooting fifty feet into the air to avoid the collapsing trench.

Kaiser wasn't fast enough. His steel pillar lost its foundation, tilting wildly before crashing down into the chasm. Kaiser plummeted into the dark pit, his heavy armor clattering against falling rocks as tons of dirt and gravel collapsed over his legs, burying him to his waist.

"Kaiser!" Purity called out from above.

Seeing her leader buried and helpless, Purity abandoned her aerial assault on Armodrillo, swooping down toward the edge of the chasm to burn away the falling dirt and pull Kaiser free. At the same time, Night, realizing Kaiser was trapped, broke her defensive position and sprinted along the lip of the sinkhole to cover their leader's retreat.

Which left Armodrillo standing alone in the middle of the ruined street.

Facing Hookwolf.

Hookwolf roared—a harsh, metallic sound of grinding gears and tearing iron. The ten-foot beast of blades and chains surged forward, his spinning razors tearing up the pavement as he charged straight at the yellow titan.

"You think armor saves you?!" Hookwolf snarled, his metallic jaws snapping. "I'll turn you into scrap!"

Armodrillo didn't step back. He pulled his right arm back to its maximum limit, winding the silver hydraulic piston on his elbow until the high-pressure mechanism squealed. High-frequency seismic energy pulsed through every plate and hydraulic line in his arm.

Hookwolf leapt into the air, a whirlwind of spinning saw blades, harpoons, and rusted iron hooks aimed directly at Armodrillo's head.

Armodrillo ducked his head, stepped inside the metallic storm, and unleashed the piston.

"Let's see how your blades hold up to structural resonance!" Armodrillo said smoothly, his deep mechanical voice steady despite the chaos.

THU-CLANG!

Armodrillo's piston-driven, seismic-charged fist slammed squarely onto the top of Hookwolf's steel head.

The impact was catastrophic. The seismic energy stored in Armodrillo's forearm detonated like an industrial demolition charge.

BOOM!

A massive shockwave of compressed air and kinetic force erupted outward from the strike. The shockwave tore down the street, expanding in a circular wave that shook the surrounding blocks of the city.

For nearly a mile in every direction, every single glass window on every office building, storefront, and streetlamp instantly exploded outward in a shower of sparkling shards. Car alarms blared in a deafening chorus across dozens of blocks, and the foundations of nearby structures groaned under the sudden tremor.

Hookwolf didn't even have a chance to disperse his mass. The sheer magnitude of the piston strike crushed his multi-ton metallic body directly straight down into the bedrock. His spinning blades flattened, his steel frame crumpled, and his human core was knocked violently unconscious in a fraction of a second.

Hookwolf's collapsed, silent metallic form was driven deep into the solid earth below the street.

Armodrillo quickly extended his claws, jammed his hands into the edges of the crater, and gave his arms a quick, high-frequency vibrate. The surrounding dirt and broken concrete instantly collapsed inward over the crater, sealing the unconscious Hookwolf inside a dense earthen pit, completely trapping him underground.

Armodrillo pulled his arms out of the dirt, stood up to his full height, and casually slapped his heavy yellow palms together with a loud metallic CLACK-CLACK, dusting off the concrete powder.

Fifty feet away, the dust slowly cleared.

Purity hovered near the lip of the sinkhole, her face pale as she held a battered, bleeding Kaiser by his armor. Night stood beside the pit, Dorothy's pale eyes wide with shock. High above, Rune floated on her concrete slab, clutching her knees and weeping silently, completely shaken by the demonstration of raw force.

Armodrillo flexed his massive yellow arms, the hydraulic pistons on his elbows hissing softly as the green Omnitrix badge on his chest gleamed under the shattered streetlamps. He took a heavy, deliberate step forward, his green eyes locking onto Kaiser.

"Night! Kill him!" Kaiser spat, his metallic voice raw. "Take his head while he's slow!"

The shadows beneath the ruined storefronts liquefied. The moment Armodrillo glanced toward Kaiser, line-of-sight broke for a fraction of a second—and Dorothy vanished.

In her place, the monstrous, shifting silhouette of Night's Breaker form erupted into motion.Limbs blurred across the street, tearing up the pavement in a silent, terrifying charge directly at Armodrillo's blind spot.

High above, floating on her trembling concrete slab, Rune squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back tears of sheer panic. Tammi was terrified out of her mind, but seeing Kaiser back on his feet and Night moving forced a surge of desperate adrenaline through her. She couldn't just sit here. Gathering every ounce of her remaining concentration, she locked her telekinesis onto two abandoned sedans and a cluster of heavy brick rubble, hurling them down in a frantic wave of cover fire to pin the yellow titan in place.

Armodrillo spun his heavy upper body, hydraulic pistons whining as he tried to sweep his vision across the street to lock eyes on Night. But she was too fast, weaving effortlessly through the falling debris Rune tossed down, flickering in and out of his peripheral vision every time a flying car broke his line of sight.

"Oh, come on!" Ben grunted, his mechanical voice vibrating with irritation as a flying sedan shattered against his armored shoulder. "Tracking a hyper-agile shadowy monster with two eyes on a bulky frame? Yeah, not happening."

Tired of playing hide-and-seek with a Breaker, Armodrillo slammed his clawed hand directly down onto the glowing green symbol on his chest.

Emerald energy flared out in a brilliant, blinding sphere, swallowing his multi-ton frame and forcing Night to skitter backward as the sheer light threatened to burn her unobserved state.

When the flash faded, Armodrillo was gone.

Standing in his place was a lean, muscular alien with soft tan-and-yellow hide, dark green athletic bands wrapped around his limbs, and a pair of massive, bat-like ears fanning out from the top of his head where his face should have been. But what drew the eye—literally—were the dozens of large, glowing green eyeballs covering his shoulders, chest, forearms, back, and thighs.

Eye Guy!

Ben stretched his arms, every single pupil on his body dilating and focusing simultaneously in a complete three-hundred-and-sixty-degree field of view.

"Eye gotta say," Eye Guy's voice echoed, resonant and slightly layered, "you guys are really starting to get on my nerves! But don't worry—Eye've got my eye on all of you!"

Night froze mid-stride.

With eyes literally covering every square inch of Eye Guy's upper body—including the back of his neck and the palms of his hands—there was no blind spot. There was no shadow to hide in. No matter where she bounded, at least six glowing green pupils were locked directly onto her. Her Breaker transformation slammed to a halt, forcing her back into her fragile, human form.

Dorothy's pale face twisted in desperation. She couldn't transform, but she wasn't completely helpless. Reaching into the tactical pouches at her belt, she pulled two cylindrical canisters, pulled the pins with her teeth, and hurled them straight at Eye Guy's feet.

BANG-FLASH!

A pair of high-grade military flashbangs detonated simultaneously alongside a dense cloud of thick tactical smoke.

"GAHH!" Eye Guy shrieked, instantly clapping his large hands over his head.

While the blinding light did little to bother his multi-directional vision, the deafening shockwave hit him like a physical sledgehammer. Because Eye Guy's face consisted almost entirely of two massive, hyper-sensitive auditory ears, the sound of the flashbangs echoed inside his skull like a concussive bomb, sending a jolt of agonizing pressure through his nervous system.

"My ears! Oh, that was a visionary level of cheap!" Eye Guy groaned, staggering back a step as his vision swam.

Taking advantage of his momentary disorientation, Dorothy drew two combat knives and lunged through the thick smoke cloud, aiming straight for his exposed chest.

Even with his ears ringing furiously, Eye Guy's instinct kicked in. Raising his muscular forearms, he crossed them in front of his torso, the dense, leather-like skin on his arms easily catching and turning away Dorothy's desperate knife strikes. The steel blades sparked uselessly against his hide.

"Nice try, but eye don't think so!" Eye Guy grunted.

Before Dorothy could pull back into the smoke, the center of Eye Guy's right palm split open, revealing a large, gleaming green eye right in the middle of his hand.

ZZZZZZZZ-TAP!

A violent arc of blue, crackling bio-electricity erupted directly from the palm-eye at point-blank range! The high-voltage arc hit Dorothy squarely in the center of her chest, illuminating her skeleton through her clothes as thousands of volts coursed through her body. She let out a strangled gasp, her eyes rolling back as her muscles locked up, before collapsing limply onto the scorched pavement, completely unconscious.

High above, Rune gasped, her eyes widening in horror as Night fell. Panicking even further, the teenage cape frantically directed a massive piece of jagged iron building frame to drop straight onto the back of Eye Guy's head.

"Look out below!" Rune whimpered.

An eye situated right between Eye Guy's shoulder blades blinked open, tracking the falling iron structure instantly.

"Eye see you up there, kid!" Eye Guy called out over his shoulder.

The eye on his upper back dilated, glowing with intense thermal energy, and unleashed a thick, emerald laser beam straight up into the air.

BOOM!

The green laser sliced clean through the heavy iron frame, disintegrating it into harmless glowing cinders. The beam continued upward, clipping the edge of Rune's floating concrete slab. The telekinetic platform shattered into dust, sending Rune tumbling through the air with a terrified shriek. She landed with a loud THWACK directly inside a soft, open industrial recycling dumpster on the side of the street, completely knocked out from the shock and impact.

Eye Guy dusted off his forearms, all his eyes blinking in sequence. "And that's how you keep your eyes on the prize."

Across the street, Kaiser stepped over the lip of the sinkhole, his silver armor dented and smoking, his eyes wide with disbelief as he watched the last of his ground forces crumble.

"Purity!" Kaiser bellowed, his voice echoing frantically down the empty avenue. "Synchronize with me! Now! We crush this monster together!"

Hovering fifty feet up, Purity's golden light flared to brilliant, blinding intensity. She looked down at the street, her expression torn between absolute terror and burning rage. Suppressing her doubts, she aligned her hands with Kaiser's.

Kaiser slammed his armored palms onto the ground, raising a dense, forest of hundreds of razor-sharp steel blades that surged forward like a metal wave. Simultaneously, Purity channeled her full power, unleashing a continuous, town-destroying beam of pure golden solar plasma directly down the center of the street.

The combined attack turned the avenue into a hellscape of flying iron and incinerating heat, rushing straight toward Eye Guy.

Ben looked at the incoming wall of death, then down at the Omnitrix dial on his chest.

"Alright," Ben muttered, his eyes narrowing. "Time to wrap this up."

He slammed his hand down on the faceplate once more.

Emerald light erupted, washing over the street. The incoming solar beam and steel wave collided with the flash of light with an explosive roar.

When the dust settled, the metal blades were mangled heaps on the ground, and Purity's solar beam was being drawn directly into a tall, slender figure standing unharmed in the crater.

The entity was composed of dense, dark violet silicon crystal, studded with vibrant magenta spikes along his shoulders, head, and limbs. A single, glowing green eye sat in the center of his faceted face, and the Omnitrix symbol gleamed proudly on his chest.

Chromastone!

Purity's massive solar beam wasn't vaporizing him—it was flowing smoothly into Chromastone's body. The magenta crystals along his back flared with radiant, prismatic light, humming with absorbed energy as he stored the immense power without taking a single scratch.

Kaiser's jaw dropped beneath his silver helmet. "What... what is that?!"

"My turn," Chromastone said, his voice deep, smooth, and echoing with crystalline resonance.

Chromastone raised both hands, aiming them straight up at Purity. The absorbed solar energy was converted in an instant inside his crystal core, and he unleashed a thick, roaring multi-colored beam of rainbow energy straight into the sky!

FWUUUUUUUU-BOOM!

The prismatic beam slammed into Purity's light-shield with catastrophic force. The raw kinetic and energy output shattered her defensive aura like glass, launching her backward through the sky like a shooting star.

Purity tumbled through the air, groaning as she stabilized herself a hundred feet up, shaking the spots from her vision. She frantically turned her head, searching around for the crystal alien. "Where did he—?"

"Looking for me?" a voice purred directly behind her ear.

Purity's heart stopped. She whipped her head around, her eyes widening in sheer shock to find Chromastone floating mid-air directly behind her, his single green eye staring down at her coldly.

Before she could even raise a hand to blast him, Chromastone leaned back and delivered a brutal, sweeping backhand with his rock-hard crystal arm.

CLANG-THWACK!

The strike caught Purity cleanly across the face. The force of the blow sent her spinning violently out of control, accelerating downward like a falling meteor before crashing straight into the asphalt of the street below!

BOOOOOOM!

The impact tore through the pavement, throwing up a massive cloud of dust, stone, and pulverized concrete. Ben silently offered a quick prayer of thanks to the universe that no civilians were anywhere near this block—the street was completely deserted, leaving only the Empire's wreckage behind.

Down in the crater, the dust slowly cleared to reveal a wide, twenty-foot trench carved into the road. Purity lay at the center of it, her golden light flickering weakly, her mouth stained with blood as she gasped for air, her ribs aching terribly as she struggled to push herself up onto her hands and knees.

A heavy THUD echoed through the trench as Chromastone landed gracefully at the edge of the crater.

He walked forward, his heavy crystalline boot coming down directly onto the center of Purity's chest, pinning her firmly back against the broken asphalt. Purity let out a sharp grunt of pain, her hands clawing futilely at his unyielding violet ankle.

Across the street, Kaiser went pale. "Purity!"

Panicking, Kaiser raised his hands, manifesting dozens of iron spears from the surrounding walls and hurling them frantically toward Chromastone's back.

Chromastone didn't even turn around. He casually extended his left hand, projecting a shimmering, crackling dome of multi-colored energy around himself and Purity. Kaiser's iron spears slammed into the electric forcefield, instantly shattering into bent, useless scrap metal that fell harmlessly to the ground.

Inside the bubble, Chromastone leaned down, his green eye fixing Purity with a sharp, demanding stare.

"Alright, lady," Chromastone demanded, his voice stern. "Why the hell are you back with the Empire? Last I checked on the internet, you defected from these scumbags. What are you doing out here taking orders from Kaiser?"

Purity coughed up a fleck of blood, glaring up at him with fierce, tear-filled eyes, but remained tight-lipped.

Chromastone narrowed his eye and applied a tiny fraction more pressure to her chest with his foot.

Purity winced, gritting her teeth against the pain before breaking down, her voice trembling with raw, venomous rage. "Because of what you did! Kaiser told me everything! He showed me the reports! He said you attacked our people at Brockton General Hospital! He said you swore to purge every cape in this city who doesn't bow to you! That you're occupying the hospital right now, holding our wounded hostage! That you're targeting our children, our homes, our heritage!"

Chromastone froze.

For three agonizing seconds, absolute silence hung inside the energy bubble.

Then, Chromastone threw his head back and let out a loud, booming, crystalline laugh that echoed off the walls of the forcefield. He laughed so hard his shoulders shook, wiping a non-existent tear from his single green eye.

"Holy shit!" Ben wheezed, his voice filled with pure, unadulterated disbelief. "That is comedy gold! Wow. He really laid it on thick, didn't he?!"

Purity stared up at him, utterly bewildered and furious. "What is so funny to you?!"

"What's funny is how completely gullible you are!" Chromastone snapped, his tone shifting back to sharp, deadpan annoyance. "Let me set the record straight: I was at Brockton General Hospital because Kaiser sent a freaking hit squad after me while I was literally just visiting my friends! I killed Othala and Victor because they came after ME in a public place. I lobotomized Alabaster because he was a threat I didn't attack any hospital staff, I didn't take any hostages, and I sure as hell didn't make some evil warlord speech about purging the city!"

Purity gasped, her chest heaving as she processed his words. "How... how am I supposed to trust anything you say?! You're an alien! A monster!"

"Use your brain!" Chromastone shouted down at her. "Look around you! If I was the bloodthirsty, murderous psycho Kaiser claimed I was, why are you still breathing right now?! Why didn't I shoot a hole through your chest the second you hit the ground? Why didn't I pulverize Hookwolf into dog food or shatter Fog? I've only killed two capes from your entire stupid faction—and both of them were trying to murder me first in self-defense!"

Purity went completely still.

The cold, logical truth of his words hit her like a physical blow. She looked up at the towering crystal entity holding her down. He had absorbed her full-power solar beam, beaten her in mid-air, and had total dominance over the battlefield. If he wanted her dead, she'd be a smoldering pile of ash. Kaiser's story—the image of an unhinged, bloodthirsty alien butcher out to slaughter their families—completely collapsed under the weight of reality.

A wave of sick, burning realization washed over her. Kaiser had lied to her. Again. He had used her fear for her child and her city to drag her back into his dirty war as his personal weapon.

Seeing the horror and understanding dawn on her face, Chromastone lifted his boot off her chest and took a step back.

"Seriously, just go home," Ben groaned, throwing his crystalline hands up in total exasperation. "And while you're at it, stop all this racist nonsense! It's so unbelievably stupid! Who the hell condemns other human beings just because of their skin color? Do you have any idea how much of the modern world was built by the people you look down on? Goddamnit, even the TRAFFIC LIGHTS were invented by a Black man!"

Purity lay in the crater, staring up at him in utter, stunned bewilderment. Her mouth opened slightly, completely speechless as she watched a multi-colored alien crystal god stand in the middle of a ruined street, furiously lecturing her on civil rights and traffic history.

Chromastone stopped his rant, rubbed the bridge of his snout, and dismissively waved his hand toward the skyline. "Just get out of here. Go."

Purity hesitated, clutching her bruised ribs as she slowly pushed herself up. She looked at Chromastone, then turned her head toward the forcefield, where Kaiser was still frantically pounding on the energy barrier, screaming her name in desperate, pathetic demands for her to fight.

Disgusted, betrayed, and completely done, Purity ignited her golden light. Without casting a single glance back at Kaiser, she shot straight into the night sky, disappearing into the clouds over the city.

"Purity! No! Come back here, you traitorous bitch!" Kaiser shrieked, his voice cracking with desperation as he watched his strongest cape vanish.

Chromastone lowered his hand, letting the electric forcefield vanish into thin air.

Kaiser's incoming wave of steel blades slammed directly into Chromastone's chest—and instantly shattered into thousands of useless metal splinters on impact.

Chromastone didn't even flinch. He slowly dusted a speck of metal powder off his violet chest.

"And then there was one," Chromastone said softly.

He took a slow, heavy, ominous step toward Kaiser.

Kaiser backed away in total panic, his boots stumbling over the broken asphalt. All his calm, refined arrogance was completely gone, replaced by the naked terror of a man who realized his kingdom had just been dismantled in under ten minutes.

"Stay back!" Kaiser screamed, his hands shaking violently as he drew every bit of his power.

A massive, six-foot iron greatsword materialized in his gauntleted hands, glowing with jagged, razor-sharp edges.

"I am the leader of Empire Eighty-Eight!" Kaiser roared in a desperate, frantic bid for control, charging forward with his sword raised high. "Our blood is superior! You cannot defeat us!"

Kaiser swung the massive iron sword with all his strength, aiming a decapitating strike straight at Chromastone's neck.

CLANG-SHATTER!

The iron greatsword struck Chromastone's crystalline skin and instantly exploded into a cloud of useless metallic dust.

Kaiser stumbled back, staring in horror at his empty, vibrating gauntlets. He looked up into the single, cold green eye of Chromastone.

"Superior huh?" Chromastone said dryly. "Let's see if your armor is superior to THIS."

Chromastone pulled back his right fist, pulling energy into his arm until his fist glowed with a brilliant, pulsing violet light.

He unleashed a swift, brutal right hook straight into Kaiser's silver helmet.

BOOM!

The energy-infused punch hit Kaiser with the force of a battering ram. The impact shattered his silver helmet visor, launching his heavy frame backward across the street. Kaiser crashed straight through the front glass windows of an abandoned coffee shop, tumbling over broken tables before slamming face-first into the wooden counter, completely unconscious.

Silence fell over the street.

Every member of the Empire 88 strike team—Fog, Krieg, Hookwolf, Night, Rune, and Kaiser—lay defeated, trapped, or unconscious.

Chromastone stood alone amidst the smoldering craters, shattered pavement, and broken steel. He let out a long, crystalline sigh, stretching his arms.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-FLASH!

The Omnitrix symbol on his chest flashed a brilliant crimson, and in a flash of red light, Chromastone shrank down, reverting back to Ben Tennyson in his jacket and jeans.

Ben rubbed the back of his neck, groaning as his human muscles settled. "Man... my back is killing me."

Before he could take two steps toward the sidewalk, the loud, wailing sirens of approaching PRT cruisers and police cars began to echo down the block, their red and blue lights flashing against the surrounding buildings.

And over the sirens, a very distinct, deep, mechanical roar of a high-tech motorcycle engine rumbled down the street.

Ben stopped in his tracks, dropping his head into his hands with a heavy groan.

"Armsmaster," Ben muttered, rolling his eyes toward the moon. "Seriously? This is gonna be such a pain in the ass..."

All he wanted to do was wrap this up, get some food, and head back to the hospital to check on Taylor and Danny Hebert.

"Ah well," Ben chuckled softly to himself, adjusting his jacket as the motorcycle headlights rounded the corner. "Such is the life of a hero."

 

[Nihilos]

As usual, the PRT arrives when the real work is already finished. Ben, don't worry. They're not here to help you.

 

[cazador]

If he fights armsmaster I hope he uses jury rigg

 

[Thegameaholic]

The heavy roar of a custom high-performance motorcycle engine echoed off the surrounding brick facades, punctuated by the rhythmic, mechanical thud of heavy-duty suspension slamming over fractured asphalt.

Flashing red and blue emergency lights washed over the devastated street in strobing sweeps, cutting through the swirling dust and smoke left behind by Armodrillo's seismic rampage. Half a dozen black-and-yellow PRT armored containment vans pulled into the intersection, their tires screeching as they formed a tactical barricade. Heavy metal doors slammed open in rapid succession. PRT troopers in full foam-dispensing armor poured out, rifles raised, establishing a perimeter.

At the center of the line, Armsmaster dismounted from his sleek, silver-and-blue motorcycle, his powered armor humming with internal servos. His signature halberd was locked in a low guard, its micro-fusion edge sparking with a subtle electric hum. Beside him, Miss Militia stepped off her own vehicle, her eyes sharp above her patriotic bandana, a shifting green aura of energy hovering around her hands as it materialized into a heavy tactical carbine.

Ben stood in the middle of the empty street, wearing his green jacket and jeans, his hands buried deep in his pockets. He looked around at the dozen foam rifles pointed directly at his chest and let out a long, heavy sigh.

He had assumed the PRT was just responding to the apocalyptic noise of a dozen blocks' worth of glass shattering. But the deliberate, coordinated way the containment troops fanned out—flanking his left and right sides while keeping their distance—made it glaringly obvious.

They weren't just here to clean up the Empire 88 strike team. They were here for him.

Ben groaned, throwing his head back toward the night sky. "Seriously? Do you guys have like a tracking beacon on my bad mood or something? I just finished putting out a five-alarm dumpster fire."

Armsmaster took three heavy, measured steps forward, his mechanical visor sweeping across the ruined avenue. His gaze lingered on the shattered storefronts, the massive sinkholes, the mangled metal spikes, and the lingering smell of ozone in the air.

"Stand down, Tennyson," Armsmaster's synthesized voice boomed through his helmet speaker, stern and devoid of warmth. "Keep your hands where we can see them. You are currently in violation of multiple municipal parahuman containment protocols, participating in an unsanctioned conflict, and engaging high-threat capes in a densely populated zone."

"Oh, please," Ben deadpanned, gesturing vaguely at the empty street. "Look around, Armsy. There isn't a single civilian on this block. And for the record, I didn't start this party. Kaiser and his whole circus ambushed me. I was just wrapping up the guest list."

Miss Militia stepped forward, her voice much calmer than her partner's, though her rifle remained leveled at his midsection. "Where are the Empire capes, Ben? We registered massive seismic output and solar plasma discharges. Where is the rest of the strike team?"

Ben shrugged, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb.

"Well, let's see," Ben began, counting off on his fingers. "Kaiser is currently passed out behind the counter of that coffee shop over there after I put him through the front window. Hookwolf is about forty feet deep under that mound of dirt—he's whole, just buried and knocked out cold. Night and Rune are both out cold over by the alley; Rune's resting in a recycling dumpster. And Krieg..."

Ben paused, scratching his cheek. "Krieg took a direct flight. He got launched about a mile that way into a sewage treatment pit behind the docks. He's probably still unconscious, assuming he didn't drown in the sludge."

Armsmaster's visor flickered with internal readouts as his tactical computer cross-referenced the terrain damage and mapped the potential landing zones.

"And Purity?" Armsmaster demanded, his voice dropping an octave. His helmet's internal lie-detection suite locked onto Ben's facial movements, vocal pitch, and micro-expressions. "Our sensors picked up a massive sustained solar output before it abruptly cut out. Did you execute her?"

Ben kept his heart rate steady, his posture relaxed.If he said he let her go, Armsmaster would press him about it and suspect a villainous collusion.

So Ben spoke the absolute, literal truth.

"Purity flew off and escaped into the sky," Ben stated clearly, looking Armsmaster right in the visor. "She left the battlefield completely."

Inside Armsmaster's helmet, the bio-monitor icon flashed a solid, reassuring green. Truth.

Armsmaster tightened his grip on his halberd, though his posture remained rigid. "And the cape known as Fog?"

Ben pointed his thumb toward the center of the street, where a towering, fifty-foot dome of opaque, translucent green crystal stood completely solid, reflecting the flashing red-and-blue PRT lights.

"Fog is currently frozen solid inside a multi-ton block of ice inside that crystal dome," Ben explained smoothly. "He tried to turn into acid gas, so I gave him the deep freeze. He's fine, just chilly."

Miss Militia let out a quiet breath, her weapon dipping an inch. "No casualties? You neutralized six high-tier Empire capes by yourself without a single fatality?"

"I told you, I'm not a murderer I don't kill senselessly I have restraint," Ben said, rolling his eyes. "Unlike the guys you usually fight."

"Be that as it may," Armsmaster interrupted, stepping forward to reclaim control of the scene, "the sheer scale of structural destruction here is unacceptable. Look at this street. Millions of dollars in municipal infrastructure smashed. Bedrock displaced. Every window within a one-mile radius pulverized by your seismic stunt. You operated with complete disregard for city property and PRT authority."

Ben stared at Armsmaster for three long seconds. His expression shifted from mild annoyance to pure, unadulterated deadpan.

"Are you seriously giving me a lecture about property damage right now?" Ben asked, his voice dripping with dry disbelief. "I just single-handedly wiped out the entire active leadership of Brockton Bay's biggest neo-Nazi gang in under fifteen minutes, and your biggest concern is the asphalt?"

"Protocol dictates—" Armsmaster began.

"Yeah, yeah. Protocol," Ben cut him off.

Before the PRT troops or the two heroes could react, Ben brought his left hand up and tapped the faceplate of the Omnitrix. The green dial popped upward with a sharp, mechanical click. He dialed the interface with a quick flick of his wrist.

"Hold!" Armsmaster shouted, bringing his halberd up to a strike position. "Do not engage that device!"

"Stand down, Ben!" Miss Militia warned, her energy weapon shifting into a heavy containment foam launcher.

Ben didn't even blink. He slammed his palm down onto the watch.

A blinding sphere of emerald light exploded from his wrist, illuminating the entire street and forcing the PRT troopers to shield their visors.

When the green glow faded, Ben was gone. Standing in his place was a stocky, metallic entity built like a antique clockwork automaton. His body was constructed of thick, polished bronze and gold brass, adorned with intricate black gear patterns and heavy metallic rivets. In the center of his chest sat a round, transparent glass portal showing glowing green internal gears whirring rhythmically. A rounded brass key sat atop his head like a mechanical crown, and his face consisted of two glowing green eyes set above a simple, slotted mechanical mouth.

Clockwork!

The PRT troopers flinched, several of them taking an involuntary step back, their foam rifles trembling.

Armsmaster and Miss Militia instantly recognized the form. Videos of this exact alien had gone viral on Parahumans Online only hours ago—the strange, brass time-manipulator who had walked into Brockton General Hospital alongside Panacea, casually reversing massive trauma and healing critical injuries with a wave of his green light.

"He's using the Chronosapien form!" Miss Militia warned, her voice tense. "Armsmaster, stay back! We don't know the full operational parameters of his temporal manipulation!"

Clockwork raised his thick, brass arms. His internal gears began to spin, producing a rhythmic, soothing tick-tock sound that resonated clearly through the quiet street.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

"You guys worry way too much about the small stuff," Clockwork's voice echoed, layered, metallic, and carrying the precise, rhythmic cadence of a grandfather clock. "You want your street back? Fine. Take a look at how a real Master of Time handles property damage."

Clockwork leaned his heavy brass body back. The green circular core in his chest flared with brilliant, temporal energy.

FWUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU!

A thick, radiant beam of golden-green temporal light erupted straight out of Clockwork's chest, shooting high into the night sky!

At the apex of its ascent, roughly three hundred feet above the street, the beam detonated in a silent, breathtaking burst. A massive, shimmering dome of translucent golden-green energy expanded rapidly outward, cascading down like a glowing waterfall until it enclosed a full one-mile radius around the battleground.

Inside the temporal field, time stopped.

Then, with a gentle, sweeping hum, the golden light began to flow backward.

The PRT troopers gasped in absolute shock. Armsmaster's visor HUD flickered wildly, displaying error messages across his entire interface as his internal sensors failed to process the localized temporal anomaly.

Before their very eyes, reality began to rewind.

Across the entire block, millions of shattered glass shards lifted off the asphalt, glowing with faint golden light as they zoomed backward through the air, perfectly reassembling themselves into pristine, unbroken window panes along every storefront and high-rise office building.

The twenty-foot trench carved by Purity's crash landing closed up seamlessly. Pulverized asphalt flowed back into place like liquid black glass, smoothing out into pristine, freshly paved road. Deep underground, shattered water mains welded themselves back together, and crushed bedrock expanded back to its original position.

Kaiser's mangled iron spikes dissolved backward into the air. The brick facade of the bakery that Krieg had blasted through reassembled brick by brick, mortar sealing instantly without a crack. The massive sinkhole created by Armodrillo smoothed over, the dirt rising up to fill the chasm as the road restored itself to absolute perfection.

Even the scorched marks left by Purity's plasma beams vanished, the carbonized paint on the streetlamps restoring itself to factory-new condition.

In less than ten seconds, an entire square mile of catastrophic battle damage was completely undone. The street looked as if the Empire 88 attack had never happened. It was pristine, clean, and perfectly intact.

The golden dome dissolved into sparkling green motes of light that faded into the night air.

Silence settled over the street—a deep, stunned, absolute silence.

The PRT troopers stood frozen, their weapons sagging slightly as they stared at the unbroken windows and smooth asphalt beneath their boots. Miss Militia's jaw dropped beneath her patriotic bandana, her shifting energy weapon momentarily flickering into instability. Even Armsmaster stood motionless, his halberd lowered, his visor rapidly cycling through diagnostic screens in a desperate attempt to find a logical explanation for what he had just witnessed.

Clockwork raised a brass hand, casually tapping the Omnitrix symbol on his chest.

BEEP-BEEP-FLASH!

In a flash of red light, the Chronosapien vanished, leaving Ben standing in the middle of the perfectly restored street in his jacket and jeans.

Ben dusted off his sleeves, looking around at the pristine environment with a satisfied nod.

"There," Ben said, smirking at Armsmaster. "Property damage fixed. No harm, no foul. Brockton Bay city council can thank me later."

However, as Ben looked over his shoulder, his smirk faltered slightly.

Standing right in the center of the newly restored asphalt was the giant, translucent green Taydenite dome he had created earlier as Diamondhead. Inside it, the multi-ton block of ice containing Fog remained completely untouched, frozen solid and perfectly intact.

Ben blinked, scratching his chin. "Oh, yeah... right. I forgot."

Petrospapien crystal was dense enough to possess a timeless atomic lattice. It was naturally resistant, if not outright immune, to direct localized temporal rewinding or fastfowarding. Clockwork's time beam had restored the entire street around the dome, but the crystal shell itself had remained completely unaffected by the temporal wave.

"Hold on a sec," Ben said to the frozen PRT squad.

He tapped the watch again, dialed the interface, and slammed his hand down.

FLASH!

Emerald light erupted, and in his place stood the sharp, towering form of Diamondhead, his dark green jacket-clad torso and pale teal crystalline skin glinting under the streetlamps.

Diamondhead simply raised his sharp crystal hand, snapping his long fingers with a crisp CLINK.

The massive Taydenite dome dissolved instantly into a shower of harmless, sparkling green dust, leaving the frozen block of ice containing Fog resting safely on the street.

Diamondhead tapped the Omnitrix badge on his chest once more, instantly reverting back to human form.

Ben stretched his neck, letting out a satisfied breath as he turned back to face the heroes. "Alright. Now we good?"

Armsmaster took a long, ragged breath through his nose. He visibly swallowed, his throat moving as he recovered from his momentary stutter.

"No," Armsmaster said, his voice strained, tight, and edged with a dark, bureaucratic authority. "We are not 'good.'"

Miss Militia took a step forward, her eyes filled with a desperate, pleading urgency. "Ben, please. You don't understand the situation you've put yourself in."

Armsmaster stepped past her, leveling his halberd directly at Ben's chest once more.

"You possess uncontained, unregistered abilities of an unprecedented scale," Armsmaster declared, his voice cold and uncompromising, reading directly from a PRT internal directive. "You have operated as an unsanctioned vigilante, temporal forces, and neutralized high-ranking parahumans without oversight. Director Piggot has issued a direct mandate."

Armsmaster paused, his visor glowing brightly in the dark.

"You must immediately make a decision," Armsmaster commanded. "You will surrender, submit to PRT intake processing, and join the Wards under full Protectorate oversight. If you refuse to comply right now, you will be officially designated an uncontained S-Class threat. An immediate Kill Order will be authorized, and the full force of the PRT and the Protectorate will be deployed to eliminate you."

Miss Militia's hands tightened on her weapon, her face pale. "Ben, please! Just comply! Don't make us do this! Director Piggot will not back down on an S-Class directive. If you walk away, they will hunt you with everything the government has!"

Ben stood in the middle of the street, his hands still in his pockets.

Inside his head, his mind was racing.

An S-Class rating? A Kill Order? Over property damage and beating up neo-Nazis? Piggot is completely out of her mind.

His first instinct was to laugh in Armsmaster's face. He could turn into XLR8, blitz out of the city in three seconds, and be halfway across the country before Armsmaster could even process the movement. Or he could turn into Humungosaur, step over the PRT barricade, and wave goodbye.

But as Ben looked at Armsmaster's rigid, unyielding posture and Miss Militia's desperate, pleading eyes, a cold, harsh reality set in.

He wasn't just fighting for himself anymore.

He was basically staying with the Heberts at this point. He had spent the last two days sitting by Taylor's hospital bed, helping Danny navigate the worst tragedy of his life. If Ben ran—if he turned into a fugitive with an S-Class Kill Order on his head—the PRT wouldn't just search for him in the dark.

They wouldn't be able to touch them legally, sure. But Director Piggot and the PRT bureaucracy would turn Taylor and Danny's lives into an absolute living hell. They'd freeze Danny's assets under suspicion of aiding an unregistered cape. They'd put Brockton General Hospital under federal lockdown. They'd interrogate a recovering, traumatized teenage girl in a hospital bed, putting relentless legal pressure on the Hebert family until Ben showed his face.

They can't touch me, Ben realized, his green eyes narrowing slightly. So they'll use the system to squeeze the people I care about.

Unless...

A sudden, sharp idea clicked into place. A grin slowly spread across Ben's face.

If Piggot wants a conversation so badly, Ben thought, maybe it's time I gave her one. Right in her own office.

If he went with them voluntarily, under his own terms, he took away their excuse to hunt him. He kept the target firmly painted on his own back, far away from Taylor and Danny. And more importantly, he'd get face-to-face with the person running this circus.

Ben slowly raised both of his hands into the air, palms open, a broad, confident smirk plastered across his face.

"Alright, Armsy," Ben said, his tone casual and completely lighthearted. "Alright, Miss Bandana. You win. Take me to your leader."

---

The cold, sterile fluorescent lights of the Brockton Bay PRT headquarters hummed with a low, oppressive buzz inside Interrogation Room 3.

Ben sat slouched in a reinforced steel chair, his feet kicked back comfortably onto the polished surface of the metal table. Wrapped around his wrists was a massive, heavy-duty pair of Tinker-tech parahuman restraints. The solid metal cuffs were thick, gleaming with reinforced alloy plating, and engineered specifically to encase his left forearm entirely—effectively boxing in the faceplate of the Omnitrix beneath a heavy layer of locking mechanisms and dampening fields.

Of course, the PRT tech teams had already spent the last forty-five minutes trying to remove the watch entirely while Ben sat back and watched them sweat. They had brought out laser cutters, diamond-tipped saws, and specialized Tinker disassembly tools, only for the Omnitrix's built-in defense protocols to instantly flare up. A single microscopic pulse of green plasma had short-circuited their tools, melted their diamond blades into glowing slag, and fried three thousand dollars worth of PRT diagnostic scanners in a fraction of a second. The Level 20 Galvan biotech was fused directly into Ben's genetic code; trying to force it off him was like trying to peel away his skin.

So, they had settled for boxing it in.

Ben didn't mind. He just leaned back on two legs of his chair, whistling a catchy, upbeat tune—the old theme song someone had written for him back in his home universe—letting the bright, rhythmic melody echo off the bare concrete walls.

Through the heavy, reinforced one-way glass window looking out into the holding corridor, Ben watched the defeated remnants of Empire 88 being paraded down the hall in high-security isolation gear.

Hookwolf was locked inside a heavy, armored cage-cart, his body still coated in dirt from where Armodrillo had buried him. Krieg stumbled along with a severe concussion, supported on both sides by armed PRT troopers. Kaiser was stripped of his silver armor, looking pale, bruised, and thoroughly humiliated in standard orange jump gear. Night was locked in a blindfold and heavy restraints, while Rune walked with her head hung low, tear tracks drying on her dirt-smudged face. Even Fog was being transported in a sealed, pressurized containment vessel.

Ben paused his whistling just long enough to flash them a lazy, two-finger salute through the glass before returning to his tune.

A heavy electronic hiss echoed through the room as the magnetic locks on the door disengaged. The thick steel door swung open, and Director Emily Piggot stepped inside.

She was an imposing figure—stern-faced, heavy-set, with sharp, cold eyes that had survived the horrors of Ellisburg and years of managing Brockton Bay's parahuman nightmare. Flanking her on either side was the absolute heavy artillery of the local Protectorate: Armsmaster standing tall with his halberd held at ready; Miss Militia watching with a somber, conflicted expression; and behind them stood Assault and Battery, their arms crossed, looking remarkably tense for a pair of veteran heroes.

Ben didn't even take his feet off the table. He just finished the final bar of his tune, hit a crisp high note, and smiled.

"Nice office," Ben said, nodding toward the concrete walls. "A little gray for my taste, but hey, at least the lighting makes my hair look good."

Director Piggot didn't smile. She walked up to the opposite side of the table and dropped a thick, leather-bound case file onto the metal surface with a loud, heavy THUD.

"Ben Tennyson," Piggot began, her voice a dry, gravelly rasp that carried absolute authority. "Age sixteen. Confirmed extra-dimensional entity, designated by internal department protocol as originating from Earth-Gimel."

She opened the file, running a thick finger down a list of logged transcripts. "According to your public posts on Parahumans Online and your recorded debriefs with Armsmaster, you claim to hail from a universe where human beings co-exist alongside alien civilizations across thousands of star systems. You claim that the device encasing your left wrist—the 'Omnitrix'—was created by an extraterrestrial thinker known as 'Azmuth'."

Ben lazily tilted his head back. "Yep. Standard bio. Got my name right at least."

Piggot slammed the folder shut, leaning her hands on the table as she glared down at him. "Since your arrival in Brockton Bay, Tennyson, you have caused nothing but localized chaos. While I am bureaucratically forced to acknowledge that your neutralization of Jack Slash and the Slaughterhouse Nine spared this city an unimaginable catastrophe..." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "...your actions at Brockton General Hospital were an unmitigated disaster. The summary execution of Othala and Victor violated the fundamental Unwritten Rules that keep this city from falling into absolute anarchy."

She straightened up, pulling a stack of legal documents from her coat pocket.

"You are an unregistered, volatile, extra-galactic threat," Piggot declared coldly. "So here is how this plays out. Option one: You sign these papers immediately, surrender your autonomy, and enter the PRT Wards program under twenty-four-hour armed oversight. Option two: You surrender that device on your wrist to the United States government, and you spend the rest of your natural life in a high-security containment facility."

Ben stared at her for a long, silent second.

Then, he threw his head back and burst into a loud, hysterical fit of laughter.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" Ben wheezed, his shoulders shaking so hard the heavy Tinker-tech restraints clunked loudly against the metal table. "Hand over the Omnitrix she said! Oh man, HAHAHAHA!"

Piggot's face turned an unhealthy shade of crimson. Behind her, Assault shifted his weight uncomfortably, while Battery blinked in sheer shock at the teenager laughing directly into the face of the PRT Director.

Ben finally composed himself, wiping a tear from his eye as he took his feet off the table and leaned forward, resting his cuffed hands on the steel surface.

"Okay, okay, wait," Ben chuckled, gasping for air. "Let me get this straight. You want me to hand over the watch. Tell me, Director... what exactly do you think you'd do with the Omnitrix if I handed it to you?"

"We would confiscate it," Piggot replied without a single second of hesitation, her tone dripping with disdain. "We would entrust it to a properly trained, disciplined, and responsible adult operative—not a reckless, arrogant child who thinks he can throw godlike weight around without answering to a chain of command."

Ben stared at her, blinked once, and then collapsed sideways in his chair, wheezing and pounding his cuffed fists onto the table in another fit of uncontrollable laughter.

"P-Properly trained?!" Ben gasped, pounding the table again. "A child?! Oh, stop, please, my ribs hurt!"

"That is enough!" Piggot snapped, her voice echoing off the concrete walls like a whip crack.

Armsmaster gripped his halberd tighter, his visor flickered with irritation. Miss Militia looked visibly pained, while Assault scratched the back of his neck, muttering under his breath, "Kid's got guts, I'll give him that."

Ben wiped his eyes, leaning back up in his chair as his expression shifted from wild amusement to a cold, razor-sharp seriousness that instantly silenced the room. The casual, teenage goofiness evaporated, replaced by the weight of someone who had carried the fate of worlds on his shoulders.

"First of all, Director," Ben said, his voice dropping into a calm, steady register that cut through the tension, "you don't get to decide whether I'm worthy or not. The guy who built this thing—Azmuth, First Thinker of Galvan Prime, literally the smartest mind in five whole galaxies—already decided I was worthy. And his opinion is the only one in the entire cosmos that actually counts."

He raised his cuffed left arm, tapping the solid Tinker alloy encasing the watch.

"Second of all, don't bother wasting your time trying to get it off me. As your Tinkers just found out when they nearly melted their own equipment, it's bonded directly to my DNA. It might as well be my arm at this point. And even IF you chopped my arm off and managed to bypass the genetic lock, it won't work for you. Azmuth hard-coded the security protocols into the core. It answers to exactly two people in the entire universe: Azmuth himself... and me. Without my genetic signature, that watch is nothing more than paperweight."

Ben leaned forward, staring directly into Piggot's cold eyes.

"Thirdly... who the hell are you to say I'm not worthy?"

Piggot's jaw tightened, but Ben didn't give her a chance to speak.

"I've saved my home planet more times than I can count," Ben said, his eyes burning with quiet intensity. "I've stopped full-scale alien armadas from enslaving humanity. I've saved my entire universe on multiple occasions. I've fought across parallel dimensions, stopped temporal paradoxes from wiping out reality, and stood toe-to-toe with warlords that make your Endbringers look like minor inconveniences. I have saved more lives than every hero in this world—past, present, and future—will ever save in their entire damn careers. And I've been doing it since I was ten years old."

The interrogation room fell into a suffocating silence.

Miss Militia swallowed hard, her eyes wide as she looked at the teenager sitting before them. Assault and Battery exchanged a long, heavy glance, the cocky smirks entirely gone from their faces. Armsmaster remained stoic, but his suit's internal processors were running endless tactical simulations, failing to find a single lie in Ben's vocal patterns.

Piggot ground her teeth so hard her jaw muscles bulged. Her face flushed with fury at having her authority torn to shreds in front of her senior staff.

"If we cannot use your device, Tennyson," Piggot growled through her teeth, her fists trembling on the table, "then we will simply have our Tinkers reverse-engineer it and build another one!"

Ben let out his third laugh of the night—a short, dry chuckle of absolute pity.

"Good luck with that," Ben said smoothly. "You want to replicate Galvan technology? The only guy who ever managed to build a working duplicate Omnitrix using stripped-down alien components was Albedo. And Albedo's mind makes a Cerebrocrustacean look like an amateur. Do you know what a Cerebrocrustacean is, Director? It's an alien species with a calculated IQ of one nonillion. That is a one followed by thirty zeros."

Ben leaned back, flashing a mocking smile.

"Do you have anyone in this city—or on this entire planet—with an IQ of one nonillion? Because if your Tinkers try to poke around a Galvan neural blueprint, their brains will melt before they get past the first line of code."

He pointed to the heavy cuff covering his wrist.

"And even IF by some impossible miracle your Tinkers managed to draft a functional housing, what are you gonna power it with? The Omnitrix runs on Omni-energy—a self-sustaining universal force more potent than Sub-energy, which is already twenty times more powerful than the core of the first star in our sky! Your city's power grid would turn into a nuclear crater before the main core even booted up!"

Piggot stood frozen, her chest heaving, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. She had lost complete control of the room. The bureaucratic legal traps, the threats of S-Class classifications, the intimidation tactics—all of it had shattered against the sheer, ridiculous reality of the entity sitting across from her.

Ben leaned back in his chair once more, crossing his heavy, cuffed hands behind his head with a relaxed, triumphant grin.

"So yeah, Director," Ben said, his eyes sparkling with quiet amusement. "I'm not joining your Wards program. I don't take orders from people who bully teenagers and threaten kids with Kill Orders because they're terrified of things they don't understand."

He lowered his arms, resting his chin on his hands as he looked Piggot dead in the eye.

"However... I do have an offer for you. And trust me, Director... it's an offer you really can't afford to refuse."

Ben leaned back, the thick metal Tinker-tech cuffs clanking heavily against the table as he gestured with his bound hands.

"Your Tinker tech? It's cute, really," Ben said, his tone dripping with casual expertise. "But on a cosmic scale, your entire department is hovering at a Level 3. Maybe Level 4 if I'm feeling generous. You think you're at the bleeding edge of science, but you're throwing rocks compared to what's out there."

He turned his head toward Armsmaster. "Take your motorcycle, Armsy. Give me one afternoon with Grey Matter or Brainstorm, and I could re-engineer that engine to push near-light speeds. I could make it all-terrain, turn it into a deep-sea submersible, or even shield it for orbital space travel. Want a global teleporter built before lunch? Easy. I could snap one together in an hour. Hell, I have a form called Upgrade—a Galvanic Mechamorph—that can merge with any kind of machinery or tech and rewrite its specs beyond your wildest imagination. You want your breakroom coffee machine to double as a plasma charge that could vaporize matter? Done. I could even synthesize old Plumber gear for your troopers. How about pocket-sized nuclear fusion grenades?"

Ben leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto Piggot. "I can upgrade your entire arsenal to make the PRT ten times more effective than it's ever been. And just to sweeten the pot, I'll even offer to train the Wards and overhaul their gear."

Armsmaster's visor flickered, his posture stiffening as his internal Tinkering instincts practically screamed at the mention of light-speed engine schematics and Mechamorph integration. But he forced a rigid, authoritative stance to flex control. "The Wards receive rigorous tactical training from certified Protectorate veterans," Armsmaster declared, his voice tight. "Their equipment is optimized for their safety and operational roles."

Ben snorted loudly. "Rigorous? Is that why Vista is running around in a ridiculous cloth outfit with zero kinetic armor?"

Miss Militia winced, stepping forward to softly interject. "Vista is young, Ben. Her uniform is designed to be approachable and PR-friendly for public morale—"

"So because she's young, you'd rather leave her completely under-equipped on the frontlines?" Ben cut her off, his voice dropping into a hard, unforgiving register. "You put public relations over actual armor, drastically increasing her chances of getting killed in a firefight? Isn't she supposed to be one of your most veteran Ward members? That's not tactics, Miss Bandana. That's gross negligence."

Miss Militia's face flushed as she flinched, looking down. Beside her, Assault silently turned his head away, and whatever scathing rebuttal Battery had been preparing died instantly on her lips.

Ben didn't let up. "You can get them real combat training from someone who's survived warzones across the galaxy. And let's be real—the gangs in this city have you backed into a corner. Brockton Bay is drowning, and you know it. Don't you want to retake this city? Think about what your higher-ups in will say when the PRT suddenly sweeps every syndicate off the map. And the best part? I don't care about your cameras or your press conferences. I'll let the PRT take one hundred percent of the credit for everything I do."

A heavy, suffocating silence descended on Interrogation Room 3.

The sheer weight of Ben's words hung in the air like lead. Director Piggot didn't even realize she had stopped breathing. Cold sweat beaded along her brow, mirroring the visible tension on the faces of every veteran hero in the room. Even Dragon, monitoring the room's feed remotely through Armsmaster's helmet HUD, felt her processing units lock up under the sheer impossibility of the data being presented.

Piggot swallowed hard, forcing her raspy voice through a dry throat. "What's the catch, Tennyson? What do you want?"

"Simple," Ben said smoothly. "First, I'm not joining the Wards. I'm operating as an independent hero, and you will stay out of my way. Second, you are going to arrange an immediate, hassle-free school transfer for Taylor Hebert away from Winslow High and straight into Arcadia. I don't care about going to school myself—screw that—but she deserves a real chance."

His expression darkened, becoming dangerously quiet. "Third, you will leave Taylor and her father, Danny, completely alone. No PRT surveillance vans outside their house, no interrogations, no legal harassment. If Taylor decides she wants to join the Wards later on her own terms, that's her choice. But you don't push her. And like I said... every villain I drop, every crisis I avert, you can plaster your logo on it and take the glory."

Ben stretched his cuffed hands across the metal table, resting his wrists on the steel.

"Do we have a deal?"

In that frozen moment, Piggot and the assembled heroes realized the terrifying truth: this sixteen-year-old kid held every single card in his hands. They had zero leverage. Zero counter-threats.

To Piggot, a suffocating aura seemed to radiate from the boy. His emerald eyes glowed with an unnatural, predatory light in the harsh fluorescent glare, and his sharp smile felt less like a teenager's grin and more like a contract offered by a cosmic entity. It was like standing across from the devil himself—a masterclass in backing an opponent so completely into a corner that compliance was the only path left.

Piggot hesitated, her instincts screaming at her to refuse, to maintain the authority of the law.

Seeing her resolve flicker, Ben delivered the final, inescapable blow.

"Tell you what, Director..." Ben purred, his smile widening. "I'll even let your team study all my forms."

Deep inside his mind, Ben chuckled. Yeah, right. I'm never letting you anywhere near Way Big, Atomix, Gravattack, or Alien X.

Because Ben genuinely intended to let them study some of his safer forms down the line, his statement carried enough fundamental truth to pass Armsmaster's lie detector without raising a single alarm. The suit's HUD flashed a bright, solid green: STATEMENT VERIFIED: TRUE.

Piggot stared at the green verification light on Armsmaster's visor, her last defense collapsing entirely. The kid knew exactly what he was doing.

Ben Tennyson was a hero, but he possessed the terrifying tactical mind of someone who knew how to play the villain's game to absolute perfection. And as Piggot knew all too well from years of managing Brockton Bay... it was always better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

Piggot reached across the table, taking his cuffed hands, and firmly shook them.

"We have a deal."

---

The heavy hydraulic locks on the Tinker-tech restraints disengaged with a sharp, pneumatic HISSS-CLACK, followed by the dull metallic thud of the dampening plates falling away.

Ben flexed his left fingers, rotating his wrist with a soft sigh of relief. The moment the specialized alloy housing pulled back, the Omnitrix's interface instantly flared to life, its familiar hourglass faceplate pulsing with a warm, emerald glow against his skin. The device hummed faintly, performing a rapid internal self-diagnostic that crackled with tiny, harmless green static before settling back into a quiet standby mode. It was like watching a loyal hound stretch its legs after being locked in a cage—eager, alert, and ready for action at a moment's notice.

Armsmaster stepped back, carefully pulling his disassembly tools away while keeping his eyes glued to the watch's interface. His helmet's HUD lit up with a barrage of readouts, frantically trying to scan the alien bio-technology the moment it was exposed, only for his sensors to register complete gibberish—data streams encoded in a logic structure far beyond Earth's current comprehension.

"Fascinating..." Armsmaster muttered under his breath, his voice laced with reluctant, analytical awe. "The energy signature is unlike anything i've ever seen."

"Yeah, and it's not gonna give up its secrets to a helmet scanner either, Armsy," Ben said cheerfully, rubbing his wrist where the heavy metal had pressed against his skin. "I told you, Galvan tech doesn't like being spied on. You're lucky it didn't trigger a failsafe and turn your visor into a toaster."

Director Piggot stood by the open door of Interrogation Room 3, her arms folded tightly over her chest. Her expression remained as hard as granite, but the slight twitch in her jaw betrayed the intense pressure she was under. She had just signed away the PRT's authority over the most powerful entity on the planet, secured an unprecedented tech-upgrade agreement, and agreed to protect two civilians—all because a sixteen-year-old kid from another universe had played her like a grandmaster on a chessboard.

"The paperwork for your independent status and Miss Hebert's transfer to Arcadia will be finalized by morning," Piggot said, her raspy voice completely devoid of warmth. "Miss Militia will personally oversee the security detail to ensure the Hebert family is untouched by both gang retaliations and PRT overreach. But make no mistake, Tennyson—if you break your end of this bargain, if you cause catastrophic civilian casualties, this deal is null and void."

"I don't break my word, Director," Ben replied smoothly, sliding his hands into his green jacket pockets as he stood up from the steel table. "I'm a hero. It's kinda what I do."

"Follow me," Piggot grunted, turning on her heel. "We're escorting you out through the lower containment wing. The main lobby is currently swarming with media, and until our public relations team drafts an official press release regarding your status, you are not to make contact with the press."

Ben fell into step behind Piggot, flanked by Armsmaster and Miss Militia, while Assault and Battery trailed a few paces behind to cover the rear.

They stepped out of the interrogation wing and entered the heavy security corridor leading toward Sub-Level 2—the PRT's high-security parahuman holding facility. The corridor was a fortress of cold, reinforced concrete, lined with blast doors, automated foam turrets, and thick, transparent containment cells reinforced with heavy-duty structural forcefields.

As they walked down the long, echoing hall, the quiet humming of the facility's power generators was suddenly drowned out by a chorus of furious, echoing screams and metallic banging.

Inside the holding cells lining the left side of the hallway, the defeated leadership of Empire 88 was currently being processed for federal transfer.

"You freaked-out alien scum!" Kaiser's voice roared through the cell's speaker grate, raw and unhinged. Stripped of his silver armor, dressed in a bright orange PRT jumpsuit with heavy power-dampening cuffs locking his hands to a waist belt, the supreme leader of the Empire looked less like a noble king and more like a desperate, caged animal. He slammed his body against the reinforced viewing glass, his face contorted in pure, venomous rage. "You think you've won?! You think this city belongs to you?! I'll see you dead! I'll put a price on your head that every cape in the state will fight to collect!"

Right in the adjacent cell, Hookwolf was thrashing furiously against a massive magnetic restraint harness that kept his limbs pinned to the floor. "Let me out of this rig, you alien freak!" Hookwolf snarled, his eyes bloodshot, spit flying from his mouth as he strained against the heavy magnetic locks. "Put me in a ring with you without your little watch! I'll tear your throat out with my bare teeth! I'll grind your bones into dust!"

Further down, Krieg sat on his concrete bench, his head bandaged from the bone-shattering uppercut he had taken from Armodrillo. He glared through the glass with silent, icy hatred, muttering guttural German curses under his breath while clutching his bruised ribs.Fog erratically slammed harmlessly against the thick acrylic walls to get out, while Night sat in total darkness in an isolated isolation cell, her eyes locked onto the floor in cold, sociopathic silence.

Ben didn't even turn his head. He kept walking down the center of the corridor, his hands casually shoved into his jacket pockets, a bored, lazy smirk playing on his lips as the tide of threats and racial slurs washed right over him.

"Man, you guys really need new material," Ben called out casually over the noise, not even breaking his stride. "It's always 'I'll tear your throat out' or 'I'll put a price on your head.' Honestly, Vilgax used to threaten to vaporize my entire solar system before breakfast. You guys are barely a blip on my schedule."

"You subhuman trash!" Kaiser shrieked, his fists beating against the glass. "You ruined everything!"

"Yeah, yeah, save it for your cellmate, shiny," Ben chuckled, tossing a dismissive wave over his shoulder. "I hear the federal prisons have great library programs."

Armsmaster adjusted his grip on his halberd, glaring at the cells. "Ignore them, Tennyson. They'll be transferred to the Birdcage within forty-eight hours." he muttered hopefully under his breathe

"Oh, trust me, Armsy, I'm ignoring them," Ben said, rolling his eyes. "Hard to take a guy seriously when he's throwing a temper tantrum in bright orange sweatpants."

Ben continued walking down the hall, passing the row of furious, screaming villains. But as he approached the very last cell at the end of the block, his footsteps naturally slowed to a complete halt.

Inside Cell 104, there were no screams. There were no slurs, no threats, and no violent banging against the glass.

Sitting on the far corner of a cold, metal bench was Rune.

The teenage cape looked small—far smaller than she had looked while floating high in the sky on her telekinetic platforms, hurling dumpsters and concrete blocks Her dark blue robe was stained with dumpster grime, grease, and street soot. Her blindfold mask was askew, revealing the upper half of her pale, freckled face, where dirt was smeared across her cheeks by the steady stream of quiet tears pouring from her eyes.

She had her knees pulled tightly up against her chest, her arms wrapped around her shins, trembling violently in the cold holding cell. She wasn't an ideological monster like Kaiser, nor a bloodthirsty brute like Hookwolf. She was just Tammi—a terrified, runaway teenager who had fled a controlling home, gotten swept up by the Empire's manipulative recruiters, and suddenly realized that the violent warzone she had stepped into was going to swallow her alive.

Ben stopped dead in his tracks. The arrogant, sarcastic hero persona completely vanished in a single heartbeat.

He stepped away from the escort group and walked directly up to the reinforced glass window of Cell 104.

Inside the cell, Tammi caught the motion in her peripheral vision. She looked up, her wide, tear-filled eyes locking onto the green jacket and the glowing alien device on Ben's wrist. The sight of the boy who had single-handedly annihilated her entire faction sent a jolt of pure, instinctual terror through her frame.

Tammi flinched violently, letting out a sharp, choked gasp. She scrambled backward on the bench, desperately scooting herself as far away from the glass as humanly possible, pressing her back flush against the cold concrete corner of the wall as if trying to shrink into nothingness. She hugged her knees tighter, burying her face in her arms, her shoulders shaking with terrified, silent sobs.

Please don't hurt me... please don't turn into a monster again...

Ben stared through the glass at her for a long, quiet moment. He tilted his head slightly, his eyes softening with deep, genuine empathy.

He had seen this look before. He had seen it on Kevin Levin back when Kevin was a mutated, angry kid hiding in the subway tunnels of New York, convinced the whole world was out to destroy him. He had seen it on young alien refugees and on kids who had made terrible choices because bad people had offered them the only sense of family they had ever known.

Ben let out a quiet breath, straightened his posture, and turned his head back toward Director Piggot.

"Hey, Director," Ben called out, his voice calm, clear, and utterly serious. "I'm adding a clause to our deal."

Director Piggot stopped, her brow furrowing in instant suspicion as she turned to face him. "What are you talking about, Tennyson? The terms are already set."

Ben pointed a thumb back over his shoulder at Cell 104.

"I want Rune in the Wards," Ben declared. "Right now. Full amnesty for tonight's incident, immediate transfer out of holding, and a spot in your juvenile rehabilitation program."

A sudden, suffocating shock fell over the corridor.

Inside the cell, Tammi's sobs choked off in her throat. She slowly lifted her tear-streaked face from her knees, staring through the glass at Ben in complete, unadulterated disbelief.

Piggot's face hardened instantly, her eyes flashing with outrage. "What?! Absolutely not! Are you out of your mind?!"

"I'm completely sane, Director," Ben replied smoothly, crossing his arms over his chest.

"She is an active, confirmed combatant for Empire Eighty-Eight!" Piggot snapped, her raspy voice rising in anger as she stepped closer to Ben. "She participated in an organized, armed parahuman assault on a commercial district! She hurled heavy ordnance at you with clear intent to inflict lethal damage! She is a neo-Nazi terrorist operative, Tennyson! She belongs in a federal juvenile detention facility, if not the Birdcage!"

"She's a kid!" Ben shouted back, stepping right into Piggot's space without a shred of hesitation, his green eyes burning with fierce intensity. "Look at her! Look at her through that glass and tell me you see a hardened terrorist! She's teenager, Director! She's scared out of her mind, covered in dirt, and crying her eyes out in a concrete box!"

"Her age does not absolve her of her actions!" Piggot argued, her knuckles white as she gestured wildly at the holding cells down the hall. "She chose to align herself with a white supremacist syndicate! She flew their colors, she fought their battles—"

"You throw her into a federal supermax, and what do you think happens to her?" Ben demanded, staring down Piggot. "She spends the next ten years surrounded by actual monsters, getting hardened, bitter, and ruined beyond repair. Or worse—she gets recruited by even uglier villains the second she gets out. You don't fix a broken kid by throwing them in a dungeon, Piggot. You fix them by giving them a way out."

Piggot ground her teeth, her chest heaving as she glared at him. "The legal framework for parahuman combatants does not permit casual amnesties for high-tier Shakers! The Department of Justice will never sign off on letting an Empire cape walk freely into the Wards!"

"They will if you tell them it's part of the deal that secured an independent cosmic powerhouse and ten times tech upgrades for the entire PRT East Coast branch," Ben countered instantly, leaning in with a cold, knowing smirk. "You have total leverage here, Director. Call it a high-profile rehabilitation initiative. Call it a tactical asset recruitment. Tell whatever lies you need to tell them to make the paperwork look pretty. But she comes out of that cell, or the whole deal we just made goes right into the incinerator."

Piggot looked as if she were about to burst a blood vessel. "You are blackmailing me for an Empire cape?!"

"I'm giving a scared kid a second chance," Ben said softly, his voice dropping into a quiet, unwavering frequency. "Because where I come from... that's what heroes do."

Silence fell over the hall once more.

Beside Piggot, Miss Militia looked down at the floor, a deep, conflicted sorrow in her eyes. She slowly stepped forward, placing a gentle, gloved hand on Piggot's shoulder.

Piggot closed her eyes, letting out a long, shuddering breath that sounded like grinding stones. She stood there for ten agonizing seconds, the silence stretching so thick you could hear the air filtration units humming overhead.

Finally, Piggot opened her eyes, glaring at Ben with pure, exhausted defeat.

"Armsmaster," Piggot grunted, her voice tight. "Contact the legal department. Draft a provisional probation and rehabilitation transfer for Rune. Place her under Level 4 Wards oversight, effective immediately."

Armsmaster paused for a fraction of a second before nodding smoothly. "Understood, Director. Processing the directive now."

Piggot turned her harsh glare back to Ben, poking a finger firmly into his chest. "If she steps out of line once, Tennyson—if she uses her power offensively against an officer or a Ward—she goes straight to a federal facility, and no amount of alien technology will save her. Am I understood?"

"Crystal clear, Director," Ben said, a genuine, warm smile finally breaking across his face. "Thanks. You're alright under all that grumpiness."

"Don't push it," Piggot barked, turning around and marching toward the exit doors. "Get him out of my sight before I change my mind."

As Piggot, Armsmaster, Assault, and Battery walked ahead toward the security checkpoint, Ben lingered behind for just a moment. He walked up to the glass of Cell 104, looking down at Tammi.

The teenage girl was still sitting on the bench, but her hands had slowly uncurled from her shins. She was staring up at Ben through the glass, her eyes wide, tears still glistening on her cheeks, but the sheer, blinding terror in her face had been replaced by a stunned, fragile sense of hope.

Ben tapped two fingers lightly against the glass, giving her a gentle, reassuring smile and a small, friendly nod.

"Don't blow your second chance" Ben said softly, his voice carrying through the cell speaker. "Welcome to the good guys."

Tammi stared at him, her lips trembling, before she let out a quiet, gasping breath and slowly, tentatively nodded back.

Ben turned around, sliding his hands back into his green jacket pockets, and jogged up to catch up with Miss Militia, ready to take his first real step toward changing Brockton Bay for good.

 

[Sacrad]

Ofc he'd bitch out and try to become PRT lap dog with extra step and fancy words.

 

[Thegameaholic]

Ofc he'd bitch out and try to become PRT lap dog with extra step and fancy words.

Click to shrink...

??? hiw in the world did you get that from this he'd not any kind of lapdog he literally told the prt to stay out of his way he diesn't care about fame or glory so he doesn't mind them taking credit for his acheivements

and he DOES want this place to implrove so upgrading them is logical

 

[InquisitorTobi]

Ofc he'd bitch out and try to become PRT lap dog with extra step and fancy words.

Click to shrink...

As Holic already stated I don't understand how'd you see he ended up their laptop, he's not at their back and call whenever they want. The only thing he's doing is training their kid heros, upgrading tech, and allowing them to study his less powerful forms. Things you can argue he was already doing in the show at some point in time. Like when he trained those alien kids. Unless you thought he'd have a massive throw down with the PRT and take the S rank and kill order. Sorry to say that's not how heros in that show do things.

 

[Sacrad]

As Holic already stated I don't understand how'd you see he ended up their laptop, he's not at their back and call whenever they want. The only thing he's doing is training their kid heros, upgrading tech, and allowing them to study his less powerful forms. Things you can argue he was already doing in the show at some point in time. Like when he trained those alien kids. Unless you thought he'd have a massive throw down with the PRT and take the S rank and kill order. Sorry to say that's not how heros in that show do things.

Click to shrink...

Idk man that's how it all start.. obeying little by little but we will see if that's how it is or different.

 

[Andrewmack]

???

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they got very little reading comprehension i thought it was smart for ben to talk and come up with a deal with the heros

 

[InquisitorTobi]

Idk man that's how it all start.. obeying little by little but we will see if that's how it is or different.

Click to shrink...

I understand your weariness, but I hope as well that Ben doesn't give them anymore than that.

 

[Thegameaholic]

I understand your weariness, but I hope as well that Ben doesn't give them anymore than that.

Click to shrink...

He won't be don't worry