Marvel’s Omnitrix

Chapter 31: The Watcher's Judgment, and More Mutant Problems

—

The double moons of the mysterious planet Xenon cast odd shadows through the crystalline dome of Azmuth's laboratory. The First Thinker of the Galvan hunched over his workbench, his diminutive gray form dwarfed by the intricate machinery surrounding him. With practiced precision, he made one final adjustment to the quantum stabilizer before him.

"There," Azmuth muttered, setting down his micro-calibrator with a satisfied click. The device hummed to life, its core glowing with self-sustaining energy. "Finally functioning within acceptable parameters."

He leaned back on his hover-chair, rubbing his large eyes. 

This minor invention had taken a mere three hours, barely worth noting in his extensive catalog of achievements, yet by his standards, it was too long. Because his mind remained elsewhere, drawn to the monitor displaying Earth's media coverage.

The Omnitrix. His greatest creation. A device designed to foster understanding between species, allowing beings to walk in another's skin. A tool for peace in a universe growing increasingly divided.

And now it was strapped to the wrist of a hormone-addled human teenager.

"Asperia," Azmuth called, his voice echoing through the laboratory's vast expanse.

"Yes, First Thinker?" The AI's voice responded, flowing like liquid crystal from unseen speakers.

"Display current Omnitrix telemetry."

The main screen shifted, replacing Earth news feeds with a complex array of data streams. Biometric readings, transformation logs, and power levels. All data flowed from a device hundreds of light-years away.

Azmuth sighed. He didn't like spying on people, but he had no other choice since this might as well concern the future of all existence. This was a troubling situation. He'd intended the Omnitrix for Maxwell Tennyson, a human he'd begrudgingly come to respect during the Plumber's distinguished career. Max would have understood the device's true purpose.

Instead, Vilgax's attack on Xylene's transport had sent the Omnitrix hurtling toward Earth as an emergency measure, landing where anyone could discover it. By the whims of fate, Maxwell's grandson, Benjamin Tennyson discovered it.

Azmuth didn't believe in "fate" when he was younger. Now? After knowing entities like the Asgardian existed, a species whose abilities were no less than divine, he wasn't quite sure. As per the request of All-Father Odin, he'd even studied the mechanics of the fated event of Ragnarok and failed to understand why it was impossible to stop.

"About that recent fight, resume the visual feed from Earth media," he commanded.

"Of course, First Thinker," Asperia the AI responded from speakers embedded in the laboratory walls. The air shimmered, and suddenly Azmuth was surrounded by a three-dimensional recreation of a devastated street in what the humans called Harlem.

His compound eyes narrowed slightly as he watched the replay unfold. Two massive gamma-irradiated creatures, quite primitive by Galvan standards, but devastatingly powerful by human metrics, were tearing through the urban landscape like living earthquakes. Buildings cracked under their fury, vehicles became projectiles, and tiny human forms scattered like insects before a storm.

Then came the red blur.

Azmuth leaned forward, his scientific curiosity overriding his usual detachment as he watched the Omnitrix bearer transform into a Tetramand. The execution was flawless. Perfect DNA replication, optimal power distribution, even the combat instincts seemed properly integrated.

But the tactical application...

"Remarkable," he murmured, watching as Four Arms positioned himself between the two gamma-raged monsters with calculated precision. The young human wasn't just throwing punches; he was analyzing, adapting, using the Tetramand's natural combat intelligence to turn two enemies against each other.

The battle played out with efficiency. Where chaos had reigned, suddenly there was strategy. The Omnitrix bearer didn't just fight, he minimized. Every move seemed designed to contain rather than destroy, to redirect rather than amplify the destruction.

Azmuth's initial skepticism began to crack. 

When he'd learned that Maxwell Tennyson hadn't been the one to find the Omnitrix, he'd felt a stab of regret that still lingered. Max was a proven warrior, a seasoned Plumber who understood the weight of responsibility. This boy... this child... had seemed like a cosmic accident.

Perhaps not entirely accidental, he mused, watching Four Arms coordinate with the primitive green giant to subdue their common enemy.

"What is the casualty rate in this fight?" Azmuth asked, leaning forward. "There's a lot of destruction I'm seeing."

"Casualty rate: zero fatalities," Asperia responded. "One hundred twenty-seven injuries reported, eighty-six percent classified as minor."

Azmuth's brow furrowed. "Zero? Impossible."

"Confirmed zero. Presence of additional powered individuals facilitated civilian evacuation while Benjamin Tennyson contained and redirected the primary threats."

Azmuth watched as Four Arms executed a perfect redirection technique, using the larger creature's momentum against it. The boy was learning.

"Run a simulation," he commanded. "Remove Benjamin Tennyson from the scenario. Calculate projected casualties if only the two gamma creatures had engaged. What'd have been the casualty then?"

Asperia's processors hummed. "Simulation complete. Projected casualties without Omnitrix bearer intervention: four thousand three hundred sixty-two fatalities. Confidence level: ninety-three percent."

Azmuth stared at the frozen image of Four Arms catching two devastating punches simultaneously. Slowly, reluctantly, a small smile formed on his lips.

"That's not too bad," he murmured.

The three-dimensional hologram moved to a monitor instead, and the telemetry scrolling beside the video feed. The boy could only use ten aliens so far, as per design. He should unlock more soon, as his adaptation rate has exceeded projections, given his DNA similarity to Maxwell. 

And despite using the device to impress females—Azmuth had registered his distaste at witnessing those encounters—the human had yet to use the Omnitrix for truly selfish purposes.

Perhaps the universe's greatest creation wasn't entirely wasted on Benjamin Tennyson, although it might be too early to say that.

"Stop monitoring him all the time, just keep in check that he remains safe." The First Thinker of Galvan Prime returned to his workstation, but his mind remained on Earth, on a teenager who was starting to prove that sometimes the universe's accidents were really destiny in disguise.

In the distance, Xenon's star began to rise, illuminating the crystalline spires of the greatest scientific civilization in the galaxy. And in his laboratory, Azmuth worked on, secure in the knowledge that his greatest creation might be exactly where it belonged.

****

The Rust Bucket's interior had seen better days, but right now it looked like a disaster zone. Tissues littered every surface, crumpled white flowers of misery that marked Ben's path from the couch to the dinette to his current position. He was wrapped in three blankets like the world's most pathetic burrito.

From her spot at the table, Gwen felt an incredible sense of satisfaction, despite the fact that the entire Archamada spellbook lay open in front of her, its pages scattered by her cousin's latest sneeze that almost sent her bookmark flying across the RV.

"ACHOO!"

The gust of wind sent Grandpa Max's scrambled eggs flying off the stove. The elderly man caught the pan with practiced ease, shooting Ben a look that mixed sympathy with exasperation.

"Maybe you should transform into something that doesn't have a nose, Ben." Gwen suggested sweetly, passing him another box of tissues. She let out a gasp, "Oh wait, that would require thinking ahead. Not really your strong suit, especially after exhausting yourself with... what was it again? A 'perimeter check'?"

Ben glared at her through watery eyes, his voice coming out thick and nasal. "I'b dot sick because of dat!"

"No? So Jessica didn't wear you out?" She tilted her head, feigning innocence. "All that late-night 'hero work' must be really demanding. Tell me, does saving the city always involve staying out until dawn?"

"Gwen," Grandpa Max warned, scraping eggs back into the pan. "That's enough."

But Gwen was on a roll, the lingering hurt from yesterday sharpening her tongue. "I'm just saying, maybe if someone hadn't spent all night doing God knows what—"

"I was makig sure she was okay!" Ben protested, then immediately regretted raising his voice as it triggered a coughing fit.

"Oh, I'm sure you were very thorough in your inspection." Gwen's smile could've cut glass. "Every. Single. Inch."

"Gwed!"

"What? I'm concerned about your health. You're going to be completely useless in a fight now. What if we run into another alien bounty hunter? You'll sneeze on them?"

Ben's eyes flashed with indignation. He threw off his blankets and stumbled to his feet, swaying slightly. "I'b dot useless! Watch dis!"

He raised the Omnitrix, scrolling through the dial with shaky fingers. The holographic display showed Diamondhead's crystalline form.

"Ben, maybe you should—" Grandpa started.

"ACHOO!"

Ben's finger slipped mid-transformation, the sneeze throwing off his aim. Green light engulfed him, but instead of the sleek crystal warrior he'd intended, something else emerged.

The smell hit them first.

Gwen's eyes watered as the stench rolled through the RV like a physical presence. It was indescribable—like wet dog mixed with sulfur, rotting garbage, and something uniquely alien that her brain couldn't process. She gagged, immediately throwing up a telekinetic barrier around herself, filtering the air.

Where Ben had stood, Wildmutt now crouched on all fours. The orange, eyeless alien's powerful muscles rippled under its fur, but any intimidation factor was completely negated by the thick stream of fluorescent green mucus dripping from its enhanced nasal passages.

"Oh my God," Gwen wheezed through her magical air filter. "That's... that's the worst thing I've ever smelled. And I've been in your room!"

Wildmutt whined pitifully, pawing at its face with massive claws. The gesture only spread more of the glowing snot across its fur. Grandpa Max had retreated to the driver's seat, covering his nose with his Hawaiian shirt.

"Rrrf! Grrrowl rrf!" Wildmutt barked, clearly trying to communicate his misery.

"I don't speak sick dog, dweeb," Gwen said, though she felt a twinge of sympathy despite herself. "But if you're trying to say 'I should've listened to Gwen,' then yes, you should have."

The alien sneezed again, and this time the force of it shook the entire RV. More fluorescent mucus splattered across the floor, eating through the linoleum like acid.

"Ben, transform back," Grandpa Max said firmly, his voice muffled by his shirt. "I have an idea, I can fix this."

Wildmutt fumbled with its large paws, trying to hit the Omnitrix symbol on its shoulder. After several clumsy attempts that left snot trails across its fur, the transformation finally reversed. Ben reappeared, looking even more miserable than before.

"How?" he croaked, wrapping himself back in his blankets. "How cad you fix dis?"

Grandpa Max smiled, putting his hands on his hips with the confidence of someone about to share ancient wisdom. "I've got a famous summer cold remedy. My famous san juan yi pian!"

"Ummm." Ben and Gwen exchanged glances. Even sick, Ben looked skeptical.

"Come on, there's a Chinatown nearby, we'll grab the ingredients from there. It'll fix you in no time," Grandpa said, already moving to the driver's seat. "Trust me, I've used this recipe for decades. Cured everything from Plumber flu to Galvan sniffles."

"Plumber flu?" Gwen asked, securing her spellbook as the RV rumbled to life.

"Long story. Involves a Piscciss Volann and some bad sushi." He pulled out of their parking spot, merging into traffic. "But the remedy works on everything. You'll see."

Ben huddled deeper into his blankets, shooting Gwen a pathetic look. "If I die frob Grabdpa's weird alied bedicine, tell Jessica I—"

"That you died as you lived? Making terrible decisions?" Gwen interrupted, but there was less venom in it now. Seeing him as Wildmutt had been genuinely disgusting, but also kind of pitiful. "Don't worry, I'll make sure she knows you went out heroically. 'Here lies Ben Tennyson: He sneezed himself to death.'"

Despite everything, Ben managed a weak smile. "You're de worst."

"And you're an idiot who doesn't know when to rest." She pulled out a tissue and handed it to him, her expression softening slightly. "But you're my idiot cousin, so I guess I'm stuck making sure you don't die from a cold. Hide behind me if Vilgax attacks."

The Rust Bucket rumbled through the streets, leaving the scene of their latest misadventure behind. In the distance, storm clouds gathered on the horizon, promising more than just rain.

****

Miles away from the Tennyson family's tissue-filled RV, the Xavier Institute stood like a beacon of hope against the darkening sky. But inside Cerebro's spherical chamber, hope was in short supply.

Professor Charles Xavier sat motionless in his wheelchair, a metallic helmet covering his head as streams of data flowed across the chamber's walls. Beside him, Jean Grey watched the holographic displays with growing concern, her red hair seeming to glow in the blue light.

"Ah, there it is," Xavier said, his voice echoing in the vast space. 

A news report materialized before them, showing shaky footage from Philadelphia's Chinatown. The camera struggled to focus on what looked like a living carpet of insects flowing through the streets. "Another manifestation. Stronger than the last."

Jean leaned forward, studying the footage. Roaches, flies, and wasps moved with unnatural coordination, forming patterns that spoke of intelligence behind their movements. "The same signature as before. He's escalating."

"Indeed." Xavier's fingers twitched as he navigated Cerebro's interface. A three-dimensional map of Philadelphia appeared, with a pulsing red dot marking the epicenter of the disturbance. "Clancy Wynn. 23 years old. His mutation manifested a few weeks ago during a traumatic event, the demolition of his apartment building."

"Pest control," Jean murmured, reading the data scrolling past. "He can communicate with and control insects within a half-mile radius. That's... actually quite powerful."

"Power without guidance is dangerous, Jean." Xavier removed the helmet, rubbing his temples. "His emotional state is deteriorating. The insects are responding to his anger, his fear. If we don't intervene soon..."

"He could cause a catastrophe without meaning to." Jean finished the thought, already moving toward the door. "I'll assemble a team."

"Choose them carefully," Xavier cautioned. "This requires delicacy. Mr. Wynn isn't a villain, he's a young man in pain, lashing out at a world that's rejected him. We need to show him there's another way."

Jean agreed.

Twenty minutes later, the Blackbird's hangar hummed with activity. Scott Summers adjusted his ruby quartz visor, his jaw set with resolve. Beside him, Kitty Pryde bounced on her heels, her youthful energy barely contained.

"Pest control, Professor Jean?" Kitty wrinkled her nose. "Like, actual bugs? That's so gross."

"It's a legitimate mutation, Kitty," Scott said, though he didn't look thrilled either. "And potentially dangerous. Those insects could carry diseases, overwhelm emergency services, cause traffic accidents..."

"Or he could just be scared," Jean added, joining them in her X-Men uniform. The black leather caught the hangar lights as she moved. "Remember, we're not going there to fight. We're going to help."

"Right." Kitty nodded, trying to look serious. "Help the bug guy. Got it. But if he sends roaches at me, I'm phasing through the floor."

Scott allowed himself a small smile. "Fair enough. But remember your training. This is a rescue mission, not a confrontation. We get in, make contact, and offer him sanctuary. Questions?"

"Just one," Kitty raised her hand like she was still in school. "What if he doesn't want to come?"

Jean and Scott exchanged glances. It was always the hardest question… what to do when someone refused help they desperately needed.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Scott said finally. "Let's move out."

….

In a darkened warehouse that reeked of rust and abandonment, Rogue wrapped another strip of torn cloth around her forearm. The makeshift bandage joined several others scattered across her pale skin—souvenirs from her latest attempt to prove herself worthy of readmission to groups that kept rejecting her.

The old television in the corner flickered with static, its withering speakers crackling as a news report struggled through the interference. Rogue had been ignoring it, focused on her wounds, until certain words cut through her brooding.

"—swarms of insects terrorizing downtown Philadelphia—"

Her head snapped up, green eyes fixing on the grainy footage. Thousands of roaches and flies moved in perfect formation through city streets, responding to some unseen conductor. The camera shook as the reporter backed away from a particularly aggressive cluster of wasps.

"Authorities state this is a natural phenomenon, while netizens believe this is the work of an emerging supervillain—"

Rogue's lips curved into the first genuine smile she'd worn in weeks. A new mutant. Powerful, uncontrolled, and clearly in need of guidance. The kind of guidance only the Brotherhood could provide.

Perfect.

She flexed her fingers, testing the fresh bandages. The pain was manageable, nothing compared to the ache of being cast out, abandoned by the new family she'd made. Magneto's words still echoed in her memory, cold and final. "Don't dare show your face to me again, traitor."

But this... this could change everything.

Rogue stood, ignoring the protest from her bruised ribs. The warehouse around her was littered with evidence of her exile—empty food containers, stolen blankets, the detritus of someone with nowhere else to go. She'd been surviving on scraps and pride for too long.

The Brotherhood thought she'd betrayed them during that Walmart incident. They couldn't understand that she'd been possessed, that some weird ghost freak had taken control of her body and used her to capture Magneto. To them, she was a turncoat who'd chosen the X-Men over her real family.

But if I bring them this bug boy...

This mutant, whoever he was, must be desperate enough to listen to reason now that his issue was being broadcast on Live television. She studied the news footage again, committing the details to memory. Philadelphia wasn't far. A few hours' flight if she pushed herself using Captain Marvel's flight power that still flowed through her veins. 

The Brotherhood needed soldiers. She needed redemption. Bug boy needed a group to protect him from the police. It was simple mathematics.

Rogue gathered her few possessions, shoving them into a battered duffel bag. The warehouse had been home for three weeks, but she felt no attachment to it. Home was wherever other mutants accepted her, and right now, that was nowhere.

But maybe, if she played this right, she could change that.

The television continued its panicked reporting as she headed for the door, but Rogue was already planning her approach. Find the bug mutant. Convince him the X-Men were his enemies. Bring him to Mystique as a peace offering.

Simple.

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Author Note: Tomorrow's going to be week's last chapter, and goal for tomorrow is Top 5. We're Top 7 right now. If we reach the goal, I post 2 chaps at once like today. Start throwing powerstones and happy reading!