CHAPTER 3 : Theft

Now that my work was done, I transformed back to human form. The mental exertion of Grey Matter's heightened intelligence left my stomach growling in protest. Processing that much knowledge in such a compressed timeframe burned calories at an alarming rate.

I descended the stairs and found my sister sprawled across the sofa, eyes fixed on the television. A documentary about Captain America played on screen—heroic montages of the star-spangled icon battling HYDRA forces across Europe. If only they knew the full truth behind those carefully curated propaganda reels.

"Mooom, I'm hungry," I called out, leaning against the doorframe.

Her voice drifted from the kitchen. "Just a minute, it's getting ready."

My sister's gaze shifted from the screen to me, lips curling into that particular smirk reserved exclusively for annoying younger brothers.

"Oh, look who decided to show his face," she teased.

I struck a theatrical pose. "Yours, one and only handsome brother."

"More like a scarecrow."

The casual jab stung more than it should have. Despite fourteen years in this body, my memories of my previous life included a healthier physique than this undernourished teenage frame.

"Just you wait," I retorted. "Before college starts, I'll have ten packs."

She snorted. "I've heard about six packs and some saying eight. Where did you bring the extra two from, bro, you dummy?"

"Well, my dear sister, unlike you, who we adopted, I have our family genes, which can give ten packs." The words tumbled out before I could stop them—a reflexive sibling barb.

"Moooommyy!" she wailed immediately.

My mother's voice carried the precise timbre of parental warning. "Ben, stop it, or I'll tell your father."

A chill raced down my spine at the threat. My father's disappointed expression was somehow far worse than any punishment.

"Mom, I won't say it again. Please don't tell Dad."

"You better behave."

My sister's triumphant laughter filled the room. I rolled my eyes and retreated to the dining table.

"Mom, Dad hasn't come home yet?"

"No, Ben. There was a fire in a house, so he's running late."

I should explain—my father serves as a firefighter in our community. We live in a modest two-story home, nothing extravagant but comfortable enough. The household income covered necessities, but little else. All the more reason my manga publishing scheme needed to succeed.

My sister's attention turned to my wrist. "Brother, when did you get a watch, and why don't I see any time on it?"

My hand instinctively covered the Omnitrix. "That's my style," I responded lamely.

"Dummbo!" she scoffed before turning her attention to dinner.

If you knew what this actually was, you wouldn't be so dismissive, I thought, just as the front door swung open.

My father's broad-shouldered silhouette appeared, still in his uniform. My sister abandoned her meal, launching herself toward him with the unrestrained enthusiasm of her ten-year-old self.

"PaPa!"

He scooped her up with practiced ease. "Oh, my sweet darling."

I remained at the table, offering a more restrained greeting. "Welcome home, Father."

"HaHa, so how was the day?" he asked, setting my sister down.

"Just like every day," I replied with a shrug.

My mother appeared from the kitchen, bearing the final dish for our meal. "Okay, enough talking, you two. Honey, you should wash yourself."

"Okay."

Once we were all seated around the dining table, I seized my opportunity. "Dad, I want to build a computer."

My father's fork paused halfway to his mouth as he assessed me with surprise. "Ben, we don't have enough money to build a computer."

"Oh, no worry, Dad. I can build it through my savings," I assured him. "There are parts thrown out here and there. I can build from those."

His forehead creased. "When did you learn that?"

I grinned. "I'm smart, Dad."

After a moment's consideration, he nodded. "Okay, do whatever you want."

"Thanks."

"Just be careful."

"Yes."

Later that night, back in my room, I collapsed onto my bed. "Tomorrow's gonna be a big day. Let's get some sleep."

I woke at six the next morning, determination coursing through me. "Yeah, six. Gotta make a body."

After washing my face, I dropped to the floor and attempted push-ups. Though my body was skinny, I wasn't completely out of shape—playing football (soccer) regularly had built my cardiovascular endurance. But strength? That was another story entirely.

I collapsed after the fifth push-up.

"Yeah, shit body."

For the next half hour, I cycled through basic calisthenics—sit-ups, primitive ab exercises, and whatever other movements I could perform in my limited space. By the end, every muscle fiber screamed in protest.

But I had an ace up my sleeve. The Omnitrix provided an unexpected shortcut in the form of its biological recalibration process. Each time I transformed back from an alien form, the device healed minor injuries and fatigue. It wouldn't work after intense battles where energy was thoroughly depleted, but for accelerating recovery from workout-induced muscle damage? Perfect.

In theory, I could break down muscle tissue through exercise, transform, then revert to human form with expedited healing. No lingering soreness, no extended recovery periods—just rapid muscle development.

Aren't I a genius? (When I want to be lazy.)

Four hours later, I discovered the harsh reality behind my brilliant plan. The Omnitrix didn't provide free energy—it merely accelerated natural healing processes. And accelerated healing? It fucking hurt.

So much for being a genius. I guess the old adage held true even with alien technology: no pain, no gain.

After showering and wolfing down breakfast, I grabbed my bicycle and pedaled into town. Today's mission: acquire the necessary components for my computer build—through both legitimate and... alternative means. I couldn't steal from small businesses where the loss would devastate the owner. No, I needed a large retailer, one with insurance and deep pockets.

Why do I feel I'm becoming not a hero but an anti-hero?

I pushed the thought aside. It's for the greater good. My greater good, at least.

After two hours of reconnaissance (admittedly distracted occasionally by attractive passersby), I found my target—a high-end electronics store with lax security around their storage area.

First, the legitimate purchase. I entered through the front door, approaching the elderly man at the reception desk. I'd hoped for a female attendant who might be charmed by awkward teenage fumbling, but no such luck today.

"Can I help you?" he asked, peering over half-moon spectacles.

I purchased a graphics card with my saved allowance—every last cent gone in one transaction. While completing the purchase, I carefully noted the layout of the store, particularly where they kept their inventory. Not on the sales floor, obviously, but in a warehouse area accessible through a staff-only door.

Graphics card in hand, I left the store and ducked into a secluded alley. The Omnitrix illuminated as I scrolled through alien options, finally selecting one particularly suited for this mission.

"It's hero time," I whispered ironically.

As the emerald light enveloped me, my physiology underwent another dramatic transformation. My skin hardened into a sleek, dark blue exoskeleton with black racing stripes. My feet elongated into wheel-like appendages, perfectly engineered for velocity. My hands morphed into three-fingered claws—fewer digits but enhanced dexterity and grip strength. A prehensile tail extended from my lower back, providing counterbalance for high-speed maneuvers.

A protective visor formed over my now reptilian face, shielding aerodynamic features designed to minimize wind resistance. My eyes—now vertically slitted like a cat's—glowed with the characteristic green energy of the Omnitrix.

Every cell in my body hummed with kinetic potential. I had become XLR8, a Kineceleran—a species evolved for one purpose: speed.

"Alright, time to move like a blur!"

I darted back into the store, moving so rapidly that security cameras would capture nothing but a momentary streak of motion. Within seconds, I located the warehouse, identified the components I needed—RAM modules, DDR memory, cooling systems—and extracted them with surgical precision. Another heartbeat later, I had returned home, depositing my ill-gotten gains in the storage room beside the legitimately purchased graphics card.

Taking out an old monitor and PC case from storage, I arranged everything together. Then, employing XLR8's incredible speed once more, I applied oil paints to the electronics, artificially aging their appearance.

"Yep, gotta show it's second-hand," I muttered to myself.

After collecting the remaining components needed for my build, I reverted to human form in the same alley. Standing there in my ordinary teenage body, the weight of what I'd done suddenly pressed down on me.

"Damn," I whispered. "I'll transfer some millions into his account when I'm rich. I swear!"

Cycling back home with my bag of stolen goods, I encountered my mother as I carried the disguised computer equipment up the stairs.

She eyed the aged hardware skeptically. "Where did you get this trash? Does it even work?"

"Yes, Mom. I can make it work."

In the privacy of my room, I assessed the haul. XLR8's painting skills had proven remarkably effective—everything looked authentically weathered and second-hand.

I began with the processor. The standard CPU wouldn't provide the computational power needed for my AI development plans. Instead, I would create something revolutionary—a Quantum Fluid Processor built from modified parts.

Using Grey Matter's intelligence, I had conceived a design where conductive liquid would flow through microscopic channels etched into a custom motherboard, functioning both as coolant and as a medium for computational operations. The liquid's quantum properties would enable processing speeds impossible with traditional silicon-based architecture.

Working methodically, I modified the motherboards I'd collected, delicately soldering new pathways and creating microfluidic channels with surgical precision. I formulated a specialized conductive liquid using common household chemicals, then cooled the mixture to enhance its quantum coherence properties.

While I worked, I caught my mother peeking through the doorway, shaking her head with the resigned expression of a parent witnessing their child's inexplicable obsession.

She probably thought I'd gone completely nuts. Little did she know I was building technology decades ahead of its time—with knowledge borrowed from a species five galaxies away.