Of Aliens, Magic, and Superheroes

The morning air was crisp, a comfortable breeze rolling through the streets as Ben casually made his way toward school. The world around him bustled with the usual early-morning energy—cars honking in the distance, the scent of fresh bagels wafting from a corner café, and people rushing to start their day.

Everything was familiar. But at the same time, everything felt different.

He passed by a convenience store, barely glancing at the window before stopping in his tracks. His reflection stared back at him.

For a second, he just… took himself in.

The last time he really looked at himself—really looked—was before the merger. He remembered being shorter, skinnier, kind of average. Not out of shape, but not impressive either.

Now? That wasn't the case anymore.

His face had lost the last traces of childish roundness, making his jawline a little sharper. His body had filled out more—he wasn't bulky, but lean and toned in a way that made his clothes fit better. And his height… well, hitting 5'10 over a single summer was definitely noticeable.

No wonder people had started looking at him differently.

Ben smirked slightly, adjusting the strap of his backpack. Well, at least puberty was working in my favor.

Shaking his head, he turned away from the glass and continued walking.

As he walked, he pulled out his phone, scrolling through the latest news. The Shapeshifting Hero was still dominating headlines.

"New York's Vigilante – A Guardian or a Menace?"

"Public Trust in the Unknown Hero Grows."

"Theories Surrounding the Mysterious Being – Mutant? Alien? Or Something Else?"

Ben's smirk widened. Gideon's PR push was definitely working.

He tapped on an article, scrolling through the comment section:

"I don't care what it is. It's saving lives. That's all that matters.""How has the government not tracked this thing down yet? Either they're clueless, or they're hiding something.""Come on, people. Think. Something this powerful just shows up out of nowhere? I'm telling you, it's either an escaped experiment or one of those mutants people keep whispering about.""Nah, it's totally an alien. Why do you think it never talks?"

Ben chuckled to himself. At least no one suspected 'random high schooler from Queens.'

"Dude, you're actually early?"

Ben glanced up to see Ethan Parker, a guy from his chemistry class. Ethan wasn't exactly a close friend, but they had worked on a few projects together.

Ben smirked. "Guess I'm turning over a new leaf."

Ethan gave him a once-over, his amused expression shifting slightly. "Wait… did you get taller?"

Ben shrugged. "Maybe a little."

"No, dude, you—" Ethan gestured vaguely at him. "You look… different. Were you hitting the gym or something?"

Ben just smiled. "Let's just say I had a productive summer."

As they neared the school gates, he caught snippets of other conversations.

"Did you hear? That shapeshifting thing stopped another robbery last night."

"I swear, I saw something on my block a few weeks ago. I think it was him."

"Nah, man, there's no way that thing's human. It's gotta be an alien."

Ben kept walking, the words blending into the background noise.

They had no idea.

-X-X-X-X-X-

Stepping inside, Ben immediately felt the difference.

It wasn't anything obvious—no dramatic gasps, no sudden attention. But people noticed him.

Before, he had been just another student in the sea of faces. Now? Now people actually looked.

Some were subtle, stealing quick glances before looking away. Others weren't.

As he walked to his locker, he caught a few girls whispering among themselves.

"Wait, since when did Tennyson get hot?"

"You're just noticing? Look at his arms."

"What the hell happened to him over the summer?"

Ben hid his amusement, keeping his expression neutral. Well, that was new.

He reached his locker and spun the dial, only to hear an all-too-familiar voice behind him.

"Well, well, if it isn't Tennyson looking all focused and determined. What happened, finally grow a brain?"

Ben sighed, already recognizing the voice—Cash Murray.

And, of course, JT stood beside him, smirking like a second-rate hype man.

Ben didn't react. He just opened his locker calmly and started swapping out his books.

Cash frowned. "Uh—hello? Not even a comeback?"

Ben shut his locker and turned to face them, his expression completely unimpressed.

"You know what, Cash?" he said, smirking. "You're just not worth the effort."

Cash blinked, clearly thrown off. "What—"

Ben walked right past him, completely unbothered.

A few students watching nearby snickered, and even JT seemed at a loss for words.

Mia Carter, who had been standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. "Okay, seriously, what happened to you? First, you actually care about school, now you're dunking on Cash?"

Ben just shrugged. "New year, new me."

Mia looked him over, a teasing smirk forming on her lips. "Yeah, well… whatever you did over the summer, keep doing it."

Before Ben could respond, she winked and walked off.

Ethan whistled under his breath. "Dude. You're, like, two seconds away from becoming the school heartthrob."

Ben chuckled, shaking his head.

This year was definitely going to be interesting.

-X-X-X-X-X-

Ben slid into his seat near the back of the classroom, leaning back slightly as students continued to filter in. The usual morning routine played out—the low hum of chatter, the occasional groan of someone realizing they already hated being back at school, and the rhythmic tapping of pencils against desks.

Despite how ordinary everything seemed, Ben could feel the difference. He wasn't just another student blending into the crowd anymore. It wasn't anything obvious, but he caught the side glances, the quick whispers exchanged between classmates. His sudden shift in attitude, his physical change—it was enough to make people start noticing.

Mr. Reynolds, his homeroom teacher, stood at the front, flipping through a folder as he prepared for the lesson. He adjusted his glasses before looking up. "Alright, welcome back, everyone. I know the first day of school is always rough, but let's shake off that summer brain fog and get back into things." He scanned the room before continuing, "Since we're starting fresh, let's see what you all remember from last year."

A few students groaned, but he ignored them. His eyes landed on Ben.

"Tennyson."

Ben barely reacted as some students turned to look at him.

"What's one of the core themes of To Kill a Mockingbird?"

Before the summer, Ben might have stalled, barely remembering anything beyond whatever the textbook summary had said. But now? He didn't even need to think. "It's about morality and perspective—how people judge each other based on race, class, and upbringing. The novel challenges the idea of right and wrong by showing how justice isn't always fair, especially through the eyes of a child."

The classroom went quiet.

Mr. Reynolds blinked, clearly taken aback. "…That's correct." He tilted his head slightly. "Didn't expect you to answer so quickly."

Ben just shrugged. "I actually paid attention this time."

A few chuckles rippled through the room, but some people weren't laughing. They were still staring. Mia, sitting a few seats away, leaned over. "Okay, what the hell?" she whispered. "When did you become a secret genius?"

Across the room, Ethan shot him a look that clearly said, What happened to you? Even Cash turned slightly, frowning like he couldn't comprehend what he just heard.

Mr. Reynolds flipped to another page in his notes. "Alright then. Let's go deeper. Tennyson, let's see if you can keep this streak going." He tapped the whiteboard. "If the novel explores moral growth through Scout's experiences, what literary device is being used to show her transformation?"

Ben didn't hesitate. "Bildungsroman. It's a coming-of-age story."

Silence.

Even Mr. Reynolds raised an eyebrow this time. "…Correct." He studied Ben for a moment before shaking his head with an amused chuckle. "Looks like someone actually did have a productive summer."

More murmurs filled the room. Ben ignored them, resting his chin on his palm as the lesson continued.

He wasn't surprised by any of this. He wasn't discovering how far ahead he was—he already knew. This wasn't even a challenge. He could be done with all of this in months if he wanted to.

And he did.

Skipping grades wasn't some half-baked thought anymore. It was the plan.

-X-X-X-X-X

The bell rang, signaling the end of the period. Students shuffled out of their seats, some stretching, others already chatting about whatever nonsense they filled their days with. Ben took his time gathering his things, not in any rush.

He had barely done anything, yet he already felt like he was wasting time.

Class had been effortless. No challenge, no struggle—just him sitting through material he had already surpassed on his own. He hadn't needed the teacher's explanations or the textbook's guidance. He knew all of it.

As he stepped into the hallway, the background noise of students chatting, laughing, and slamming lockers barely registered. His mind was elsewhere.

This wasn't going to work.

He had plans—real ones. Things that went beyond high school drama, test scores, or social hierarchies. This wasn't just about hero work either. His mind was bursting with ideas, projects, technologies he could build. His time was better spent elsewhere than sitting through lessons that taught him nothing new.

Then he remembered the bet.

"How about a bet? If I haven't finished high school by the end of this year, I'll do all the house chores for the entirety of next year. But if I do finish, you owe me a favor."

A slow grin spread across his face.

Guess I should start thinking about what favor I want.

Without breaking stride, he pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to Gideon.

Ben: Look up protocols for skipping multiple grades. See what's required and how fast we can push it.

Gideon: Already ahead of you. I'll have the details ready by tonight.

Ben slipped his phone back into his pocket, already feeling the weight of the decision lift off his shoulders.

It wasn't a question anymore.

It was happening.

-X-X-X-X-X-

Part Two–Expanding His Reach

The soft hum of high-powered servers filled the underground base, their quiet whirring blending with the occasional flicker of holographic displays. Screens lined the walls, each one displaying a different section of New York—news feeds, crime reports, heat maps highlighting potential trouble spots. The centerpiece of it all, however, was Ben, lounging on his curved couch, a plate of chili fries balanced on one knee as he casually scrolled through the latest data.

Across the room, Gideon's holographic avatar flickered to life, her voice carrying a distinct edge of sarcasm. "Ah yes, the noble protector of the city, doing his duty with the unwavering dedication of… a man eating chili fries in his pajamas."

Ben popped another fry into his mouth, smirking. "Hey, even heroes need fuel. You wouldn't want me passing out mid-fight, would you?"

Gideon sighed, the artificial display of exasperation almost too human. "At this point, I'm starting to think your true weakness isn't magic or alien lasers—it's grease and processed cheese."

"Damn right," Ben said through a mouthful of fries. He leaned back, eyes flicking between the screens. "Alright, let's see what's on the menu tonight. Anything worth stretching my legs for?"

The largest central screen shifted as Gideon pulled up a live crime feed. "There are multiple disturbances happening across the city. Would you like the low-risk, mid-tier, or 'you're going to get shot at' category?"

Ben grinned. "Surprise me."

A new map appeared, three incidents highlighted:

A convenience store robbery in Brooklyn.

A stolen car being chased by police near Times Square.

A gang confrontation in an alleyway in Hell's Kitchen—high probability of escalating into a shooting.

Gideon expanded the footage for the last one. "This one is already heating up. Tensions are rising, weapons are visible. Police response is estimated at six minutes."

Ben took a sip of his Mr. Smoothy, contemplating. "And how long would it take me?"

"If you take the scenic route? A little under six seconds."

Ben wiped his hands on his pants and stood up, already cracking his neck. "Alright then. Let's show them what a real New Yorker can do."

He activated the Omnitrix, the familiar green glow illuminating his face as he selected XLR8.

With a press of the dial, his body shifted, armor-like plating forming over his skin as his legs extended into sleek, aerodynamic limbs built for one thing—speed.

"Alright, Gideon, keep an eye on comms. If anything changes, let me know."

Gideon gave a mock sigh. "Of course. Go play superhero. I'll be here, making sure you don't become a trending obituary."

Ben smirked, crouching low. "Love the concern. Be back in a few."

And with that, he vanished in a streak of blue.

-X-X-X-X-X-

The city blurred past in streaks of neon and moonlight as Ben raced across rooftops, the world slowing down around him in a way only XLR8 could experience. In this state, everything felt distant—cars moving at a crawl, distant honking drawn out like a lazy hum, even the occasional moth flapping its wings seemed suspended midair.

He reached the edge of a rooftop overlooking the alleyway in Hell's Kitchen where Gideon had marked the gang confrontation. From his vantage point, he had a clear view of the situation.

Two rival groups, ten men total, stood in a standoff, weapons drawn. A few had handguns, one carried a bat, another a crowbar, but the real problem was the one with a sawed-off shotgun pointed at the opposing leader.

Ben clicked his tongue. Way too many guns for my liking.

Gideon's voice crackled in his earpiece.

"Police are still four minutes out. By my calculations, you have about thirty seconds before someone gets shot."

Ben sighed. "Not a lot of time to make an entrance."

"Then don't make one," she suggested. "Not as XLR8, anyway."

Ben smirked as he looked down at the alleyway below. "I was thinking the same thing."

Without hesitation, he mentally commanded the Omnitrix, and in an instant, his body shifted.

The sleek, armoured form of XLR8 dissolved into writhing shadows, his limbs stretching unnaturally, his skin turning deathly pale. His vision altered, shifting into a strange, multi-layered perception as the world around him dimmed.

Ghostfreak.

-X-X-X-X-X-

The alleyway was tense.

The leader of the Black Vultures clenched his jaw, his hand tight around his pistol. "You think you can muscle in on our turf? You must be dumber than you look."

His opposite, the leader of the Iron Fangs, smirked. "That's funny. I was just about to say the same thing about you."

The shotgun-wielding thug cocked his weapon. "I say we end this now."

Then the lights flickered.

A sudden chill swept through the alley, sharp enough to make a few men shiver despite themselves. The air felt wrong, heavy, like something was watching them.

And then they heard it.

A whisper.

Soft, almost playful, like someone standing right behind them.

"You know, pulling a trigger isn't as easy when your hands are shaking."

The shotgun thug whirled around—but there was nothing there.

Another voice, this time near the other group.

"Are you sure you're alone? I could've sworn I saw someone standing behind you…"

A second man cursed, his gun trembling in his grip as his eyes darted around wildly.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just curious how many of you will run before someone actually dies."

The panic spread fast.

One of the gang members had enough, bolting for the exit. Another followed. And then, in the dim lighting, a shape materialized.

A pale figure. Floating, arms stretched unnaturally long, an eerie grin carved into its face.

"Boo."

That was all it took.

Half the men screamed and ran. A few managed to hold their ground, but they were clearly shaken.

One, however, regained his nerve. The shotgun-wielding thug narrowed his eyes. "Screw this ghost crap. I'll blow you to hell!"

He raised the shotgun. Pulled the trigger.

And Ben let it happen.

The blast tore through him, scattering his form into a mass of writhing darkness before pulling itself back together.

For a brief second, there was absolute silence.

Then, Ben tilted his head. "That tickled."

The thug dropped his gun and ran.

The rest soon followed, leaving only the two rival leaders standing there, frozen, too terrified to move.

Ben shifted back into visibility, letting his form become fully solid. "Now that I have your attention," he said, voice even, "let's have a little chat."

The gang leaders didn't hesitate.

They bolted in opposite directions.

Ben sighed. "Yeah, that's what I thought."

He floated upward, watching as the remaining gang members scattered like cockroaches.

Gideon's voice chimed in his ear.

"Minimal violence, maximum psychological damage. I approve."

Ben chuckled, already phasing into the nearest building. "Yeah, yeah. Just let me know if there's anything else before I head back."

"Oh, don't worry, I will. Now go before the police arrive and make you deal with their paperwork."

Ben smirked. With one final glance at the alley, he let the darkness consume him. By the time the sirens arrived, there was nothing left but empty air.

-X-X-X-X-X-

The smell of fresh coffee and toast filled the kitchen as Ben sat at the dining table, lazily scrolling through his phone with one hand while stirring a bowl of cereal with the other. Across from him, his father, Carl, was flipping through the morning newspaper, while his mother, Sandra, watched the TV from the kitchen counter.

On screen, a news anchor was covering the latest Shapeshifting Vigilante incident from last night.

"New footage surfaced from Hell's Kitchen, showing the unidentified vigilante disrupting what police are calling an 'imminent gang-related shooting.' Witnesses report seeing a pale, ghostly figure with one large eye appear in the middle of the confrontation, using fear tactics to scatter both groups before disappearing without a trace."

The screen cut to grainy footage from a shaky phone camera, capturing a brief glimpse of Ghostfreak phasing through a wall. The quality wasn't great, but it was clear enough to show his eerie, floating form and the distinct glowing symbol on his chest.

"While the entity's form seems to change from sighting to sighting, one detail remains consistent—each reported appearance features a strange green insignia somewhere on its body. Experts are still analyzing whether this is a form of identification, a technological marker, or something else entirely."

Carl scoffed, setting down his coffee mug. "That thing again? What is this, the fourth or fifth time it's been on the news this month?"

Ben took a casual bite of his cereal, forcing himself to look uninterested. "Guess people really like a good mystery."

Sandra frowned slightly. "I just don't know how to feel about it. I mean, sure, it's stopping criminals, but… do we even know what it is?"

Carl shrugged. "If it wanted to hurt people, we'd know by now. And between you and me, if it keeps these punks from shooting up the streets, I don't see the harm in letting it do its thing."

Sandra sighed but didn't argue further. Ben, hiding a smirk behind his spoon, stood up from the table. "Alright, I'm heading out for a bit."

Carl raised an eyebrow. "Where to?"

"Library," Ben answered smoothly. "Figured I'd get a head start on assignments."

Sandra beamed. "Look at you, actually taking school seriously."

Ben just grinned and grabbed his backpack. "What can I say? New year, new me."

A short while later, Ben walked into his underground base, his smoothie in hand as holographic screens flickered to life the moment he stepped inside.

Gideon's voice greeted him, carrying that usual blend of efficiency and sarcasm. "Ah, look who finally decided to show up. You're only a few hours late."

Ben smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "Sorry, had to keep up appearances. You know, school, breakfast, pretending to be a normal teenager. The usual."

Gideon's avatar materialized beside him, arms crossed. "Yes, wouldn't want your parents to think you're secretly moonlighting as a terrifying urban legend."

Ben flopped onto the couch, kicking his feet up on the armrest. "Speaking of which, how's the PR situation?"

The main screen flickered, shifting from social media analytics to a live city map, with heat signatures marking crime reports, ongoing police dispatches, and suspicious activity.

Ben took another sip of his Mr. Smoothy, leaning back into the couch as he studied the data.

Gideon crossed her arms. "PR aside, let's get back to the real work. Crime doesn't take a break just because your approval rating is up."

Ben chuckled. "I take one night off and suddenly I'm slacking?"

"I didn't say that. But let's face it—right now, you're a cryptid with a fan club. If you want to be more than just 'New York's weirdest urban legend,' you need consistency."

Ben stretched, popping his neck. "Alright, let's see what's on the menu tonight."

The city map expanded, and three crime reports were highlighted.

Option 1: Attempted Armed Robbery – Manhattan

A group of masked robbers are holding up a gas station. Minimal civilian risk.

Option 2: Illegal Weapons Deal – Brooklyn Dockyards

High-risk arms dealers making an exchange near the waterfront.

Option 3: Gang Tensions Rising – South Bronx

Multiple reports of gang activity. No confirmed fight yet, but police scanners indicate something is brewing.

Ben tapped his chin. "Weapons deal sounds tempting, but…"

Gideon raised an eyebrow. "But?"

Ben cracked his knuckles, already standing up. "I think I'll do all three."

Gideon blinked. "Alright. Overachiever."

He mentally activated the Omnitrix, shifting into XLR8 in an instant.

"Keep the updates coming, G," he said, crouching low. "I'll clear out the robbery first, then move on to the fun stuff."

And in the next moment, he was gone.

-X-X-X-X-X-

The world blurred into streaks of neon and city lights as Ben raced through the streets, his XLR8 form allowing him to cover entire blocks in the time it took most people to blink. The cool night air whipped against his face as he zipped across rooftops, his mind already focused on his first target.

Gideon's voice crackled through his earpiece.

"Alright, Speedy, you're about ten seconds out. I'm pulling up live security footage now."

A small holographic display popped up in Ben's field of view, showing grainy security cam footage from inside the Manhattan gas station.

Three masked robbers stood inside, one pointing a gun at the terrified cashier, while another emptied the register into a duffel bag. The third thug stood near the door, acting as a lookout.

Gideon continued. "Three suspects. One armed with a handgun, the other two unarmed but aggressive. Police response time is roughly four minutes."

Ben smirked. More than enough time to crash the party.

In less than a second, Ben skidded to a stop just outside the gas station. The automatic doors hadn't even fully opened before he was already inside.

To the robbers, it was instant.

One second, they were alone. The next, a blue blur whipped through the store, and suddenly—

The duffel bag full of money? Gone. The gunman? Holding only air. His pistol had disappeared.The lookout? Blinking as his shoelaces were tied together so fast he didn't even notice.

All of them froze, their minds struggling to comprehend what just happened.

Ben stood casually behind the counter, lazily spinning the stolen pistol around his finger before snapping it in half and tossing the pieces aside. "You know, you guys really need to work on your situational awareness."

Gideon, dryly: "And their life choices."

The thugs snapped out of their daze. The unarmed one near the counter cursed, reaching for a knife tucked into his waistband. Ben just sighed, vanishing in a blink of blue—then reappearing behind him.

A single tap to the back of his knee, and the guy collapsed like a sack of bricks.

The second thug tried to make a run for it, but his legs tangled in his own shoelaces, sending him crashing face-first into a shelf of snack foods.

The last remaining robber—the former gunman—stumbled backward, holding his hands up. "H-Hey man, we don't want trouble—"

Ben grinned. "Really? Because you had no problem pulling a gun on an innocent cashier five seconds ago."

The man bolted for the exit.

Ben let him go.

For exactly one step.

Then, with zero effort, he appeared directly in front of him.

"Boo."

The guy screamed and immediately surrendered.

Ben dusted off his hands as the cashier peered up from behind the counter, eyes wide.

"Y-You… you're real," the man stammered.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "That's what you're going with? Not even a 'thank you' first?"

The cashier snapped out of it. "Oh! Thank you! Thank you! I just—" He glanced at Ben's Omnitrix symbol, recognition flickering in his eyes. "Wait… you're that vigilante. The one on the news."

Ben tilted his head, amused. "Yeah? What gave it away?"

Before the cashier could respond, the distant wail of sirens echoed down the street.

Gideon's voice chimed in. "Cops are thirty seconds out. Time to wrap it up."

Ben gave the cashier a lazy salute. "I'd stick around, but I don't do interviews."

Then, in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

By the time the police arrived, all they found were three dazed and tied-up robbers and a cashier trying to process what just happened.

-X-X-X-X-X-

The cityscape blurred past as Ben raced across rooftops, his XLR8 form cutting through the night like a blue streak of lightning. The Brooklyn dockyards loomed in the distance—his next stop.

"Alright, I've got a full layout of the docks." Gideon's tone was smooth, efficient—unfazed as ever. "You're approaching from the west side. The weapons deal is going down near Warehouse 19."

A holographic map appeared in Ben's field of vision, marking the key locations.

"Eight hostiles confirmed. Five buyers, three sellers. Automatic weapons in the shipment. No civilians nearby."

Ben smirked. Perfect.

"Try not to freeze anyone solid this time," Gideon added. "People tend to frown on that."

Ben rolled his eyes. "No promises."

With a simple thought, his body shifted mid-stride, transitioning seamlessly from XLR8's sleek form to something darker, colder. His ghostly wings folded in as he landed silently atop a shipping container. The air around him chilled instantly, an eerie frost spreading across the metal surface beneath his claws.

The lead buyer, a broad-shouldered man in a leather jacket, examined a military-grade rifle in his hands. He let out a low whistle. "Not bad. This is top-tier hardware. Government-issued?"

One of the sellers, a wiry man with slicked-back hair, smirked. "Let's just say it fell off a truck."

A second buyer inspected a crate full of weapons. "This enough to arm our crew?"

The lead buyer nodded. "Yeah. This'll set us up real nice."

"They're wrapping things up," Gideon noted, her voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement. "If you were planning a dramatic entrance, now would be the time."

Ben grinned. "Oh, I was counting on it."

A cold mist rolled across the dock. The air chilled unnaturally fast, turning each exhale into a visible breath.

The lead buyer frowned. "The hell? It wasn't this cold a second ago."

Then the lights cut out.

Darkness swallowed the area as a ghostly blue glow flickered above them. The men barely had time to process it before a pair of glowing eyes materialized in the air.

"Bad news, gentlemen."

The voice sent shivers down their spines.

"This sale is officially canceled."

Then, everything erupted into chaos.

The buyers and sellers scattered, reaching for their weapons—but it was too late.

One of them aimed a pistol at the mist, only for his gun to be ripped from his hands by an unseen force and encased in ice. Another tried to run, but his feet froze to the ground mid-step. The lead buyer yelled orders—only to be lifted into the air by unseen hands and slammed into a stack of crates.

Panic spread.

One man fired wildly into the mist—his bullets passing harmlessly through Ben's intangible form. Another pulled out a knife, swinging at the air—only to find nothing there.

"I think they're reconsidering their career choices." Gideon sounded entirely too amused.

Ben chuckled, phasing back into view as his massive wings unfolded, looming over the terrified criminals.

"Boo."

That was all it took.

They dropped their weapons and ran.

As the last of the gangsters fled, Ben deactivated Big Chill, shifting back to XLR8 in an instant.

He zipped forward, grabbing the duffel bag of money before the crooks could escape with it. "You won't be needing this."

Satisfied, he looked at the weapon crates. With a flick of his wrist, he froze the entire shipment solid.

"Police en route." Gideon's voice had returned to its usual no-nonsense tone. "If you're going to do something dramatic, now's your last chance."

Ben smirked. "Dramatic? Who, me?"

With a blur of blue light, he was gone.

By the time the authorities arrived, all they found were frozen weapons, a pile of unconscious criminals, and a chilling mist still lingering in the air.

-X-X-X-X-X-

Ben moved like a shadow through the city, his XLR8 form weaving effortlessly between buildings as he made his way toward the Bronx.

"G, talk to me," he said, keeping his pace steady.

"The situation is escalating," Gideon reported. "Two rival gangs—about twenty people total, all heavily armed. Knives, bats, and at least three guns confirmed."

Ben frowned. "Any civilians?"

"None yet," Gideon replied. "But if shots start flying, that won't last long."

Ben clicked his tongue. He couldn't afford to let this turn into an all-out gunfight. He needed a form that would shut this down instantly—something that would make them too scared to fight back but still easy to capture.

With a simple thought, he shifted forms mid-stride. XLR8's sleek frame expanded, his limbs stretching into longer, clawed appendages as dark energy crackled over his skin. His muscles thickened, his posture shifting into something both spectral and beast-like, with tattered wisps of ectoplasmic energy flickering around his form.

The moment his transformation completed, a deep, guttural growl echoed from his throat.

Ghostwolfer. (Ghostfreak + Blitzwolfer)

By the time he reached the rooftop overlooking the parking lot, the gang members below were already on the verge of violence.

The two groups stood face to face, their leaders only inches apart, radiating hostility.

"You're in the wrong neighborhood," the leader of the first gang snarled, gripping a crowbar. "You think you can just walk in here and take our business?"

The rival leader scoffed. "That's funny. 'Cause last I checked, you don't own the Bronx." He gestured to his crew, all armed and itching for a fight. "Either you walk away, or we settle this right now."

The tension was razor-sharp. One wrong move, and this would explode into violence.

Then, the streetlights flickered.

The air grew unnaturally cold.

A shadow loomed over them, stretching across the pavement like some monstrous specter.

A single, distorted voice cut through the silence.

"You boys sure you wanna do this?"

The gang members whipped around, weapons raised—

But there was nothing there.

Then, from the darkness, two glowing, predatory eyes opened.

Ghostwolfer descended.

The moment they saw him—his ghostly, wolf-like frame, his razor-sharp claws curling with energy, his body shifting between solid and intangible like a nightmare given form—panic ripped through them.

"What the hell is that?!" someone shouted.

One of the gunmen immediately raised his pistol and fired. The shot rang out—

And passed straight through Ben's body.

The gang froze.

Then, he howled.

The sound wasn't natural. It wasn't just a noise—it was a wave of pure, primal terror, layered with an unnatural, spectral distortion that rattled the very bones of everyone who heard it.

The effect was instant.

The first gang broke. They turned and ran, shoving past each other in sheer panic.

The second gang leader tried to hold his ground—until he locked eyes with Ben and immediately lost his nerve.

One by one, they all panicked.

But this time, Ben didn't just let them run.

The leaders of both gangs turned to escape—only to be yanked back by invisible tendrils of ghostly energy.

They thrashed, but their bodies were paralyzed in mid-air. Ben phased behind them, his spectral claws glowing faintly.

"Not so fast," he growled.

The other members tried to help their leaders, but before they could get close, Ben unleashed another howl, shaking the entire lot. The sheer force knocked them off their feet, sending their weapons skidding across the pavement.

One by one, they all fell unconscious from the overwhelming fear and sonic shockwave.

Ben released the gang leaders from his ghostly grip—just long enough for them to collapse into unconscious heaps.

Satisfied, he let the eerie glow in his eyes fade.

"Gideon, send a tip to the police," he muttered, shifting back into XLR8. "Tell them there's a nice little delivery waiting for them here."

"Already done," Gideon replied smoothly. "And for the record, that was terrifying. I'm impressed."

Ben grinned. "Fear works."

Without another word, he disappeared in a streak of blue light, leaving behind nothing but whispers of a phantom beast that haunted the Bronx.

-X-X-X-X-X-

Ben moved like a ghost through the city, the faint hum of his XLR8 form blending into the ambient noise of New York. His work for the night was done—three separate incidents, three successful takedowns. The streets were safer, and the city's so-called Shapeshifting Vigilante had further solidified his presence.

But even with all that, he wasn't done yet.

"Status check, G," he said, zipping past a red light before it even had the chance to change.

"No new alerts," Gideon responded. "No major crimes in progress, no emergencies requiring immediate intervention. Congratulations, you've effectively given New York a reason to reconsider committing crimes at night."

Ben smirked. "I try."

"Though," Gideon continued, her tone shifting slightly, "there has been an increase in online speculation. The more you show up, the more people are trying to figure out what you are."

Ben raised an eyebrow, skidding to a stop atop a building and looking at one of the holographic screens projected from his Omnitrix. Gideon pulled up forum posts, news reports, even conspiracy theories. Some people still thought he was a government experiment, others were convinced he was an alien—some were even suggesting that he was a mutant.

"Anything solid?" he asked, taking a sip from his half-empty Mr. Smoothy cup.

"Nothing that connects to you," Gideon assured him. "They recognize the symbol on your chest, but no one knows what it means."

Ben exhaled, relieved. "Good. Let's keep it that way."

He finished the last of his drink and tossed the empty cup into his hammerspace, then stretched. "Alright, heading home."

"Need me to set up an alarm if anything happens?" Gideon asked.

Ben grinned. "You're already doing that, aren't you?"

Gideon chuckled. "You know me too well."

With that, he blurred out of sight, heading back toward home as the first hints of dawn started touching the horizon.

Another night. Another mission accomplished.

And tomorrow?

He'd do it all again.