CHAPTER 2 : Hero Time

As I groaned and woke up, my head throbbed with a dull ache. "Ahh, shit, my head is spinning. The fuck, it hurts."

Then it all came flooding back—the memories, the accident, the bizarre encounter with death itself. Fourteen years had passed since that fateful day outside the movie theater. I pulled myself upright, taking in my surroundings with fresh awareness.

The bedroom was modest—a simple bed, desk, and shelves overflowing with books. Not my collection, though. My sister's. She was the academic overachiever in the family. I ran my fingers along the spines of physics textbooks and chemistry references, a strange feeling settling in my stomach as realization fully dawned on me.

Marvel. Of all the possible universes in existence, that cosmic traffic accident had deposited me here—into the world whose stories I'd spent my childhood consuming through glossy comic pages and overpriced theater tickets.

Some might consider it a dream come true. Superheroes soaring through the skies, genius billionaires crafting miracle technology in underground workshops. But I understood the darker truth behind this seemingly fantastical world. I had lived here for fourteen ordinary years as a normal teenager with a loving family, blissfully unaware of what was coming. Now I remembered everything—including the looming shadow of a certain titan with a penchant for collecting shiny stones and a twisted philosophy about population control.

A purple tyrant would eventually snap his fingers, and half of all life would vanish. Possibly including my family. The weight of foreknowledge pressed down on my shoulders like a physical burden.

"I'll deal with that later," I muttered, approaching the mirror mounted on my closet door.

The face staring back wasn't half bad—strong jawline, clear complexion. But my body told a different story. Skinny limbs, narrow shoulders, the archetypal teenager who'd never bothered with physical training. My eyes were a striking emerald green, eerily reminiscent of a certain cartoon hero from my previous life. My hair was jet black, inherited from my mother's Asian genes, contrasting with my father's blonde heritage.

But the cosmic irony didn't end there. My name—Benjamin Kirby Tennyson. The cosmic bureaucrat with the drinking problem had apparently possessed a twisted sense of humor when arranging my reincarnation.

At least he'd kept his word about the artifact. The thought had barely formed when I felt a sudden weight materialize in my palm. No flashy inventory system, no game-like interface—just the simple appearance of an object that shouldn't exist in this universe.

The Omnitrix. The most powerful device in its native universe, capable of transforming its wielder into countless alien species. It resembled the classic version I remembered from childhood cartoons—bulky, primarily white with black accents and that unmistakable hourglass symbol at its center.

As I held it, the device suddenly illuminated with an inner green light. A mechanical voice emanated from within: "DNA detected. DNA matched."

My heart hammered against my ribs, sending electric tremors down my spine. This was the fantasy of countless children, myself included—to possess the power of transformation, to become something beyond human.

The device floated from my grasp as if possessed by its own consciousness, hovering momentarily before attaching itself to my left wrist with a decisive click. A holographic interface projected upward, and before I could even select a form, the dial rotated of its own accord.

"The fuck—"

An explosion of emerald radiance consumed my vision. My entire physiology began to shift—bones elongating, muscles expanding exponentially. My height nearly tripled, reaching an imposing twelve feet. My skin hardened and transformed to a deep crimson, like cooling magma. With a sensation both painful and exhilarating, extra limbs erupted from my torso—a second pair of massive arms, each pulsing with raw strength.

My voice emerged as a resonant bass when I instinctively named the form: "Four Arms."

The transformation had bent me into a half-crouch, and as I attempted to straighten, my new bulk caused the floorboards to creak ominously.

"Ben, what are you doing up there?" My mother's voice carried from downstairs. "What was that noise?"

Panic surged through me. I could hear her footsteps approaching the staircase.

"Ben!" she called again, closer now.

I frantically slapped the Omnitrix symbol centered on my chest just as the doorknob turned. The green flash subsided precisely as my mother entered the room.

"What was that green light?" she asked, eyebrows drawn together in suspicion.

"Nothing, Mom," I replied, trying to sound casual while my heart threatened to burst from my chest. "Just my watch if that's what you mean."

"Hmm, when did you get a watch?" She studied the device on my wrist with curiosity.

Sweat beaded on my forehead. "Oh, that—I bought it with my savings."

"Hmm, okay." She seemed satisfied, if not entirely convinced. "But don't make any more noise, alright?"

After she descended the stairs, I collapsed onto my bed with a relieved exhale. "That was close."

What kind of watch activated automatically? Apparently mine did. I needed to understand its functions before causing more suspicious incidents.

I grabbed a notebook from my desk and began cataloging my thoughts:

• Hero work? Absolutely not—at least for now. In this universe, flying around with superpowers would immediately put me on S.H.I.E.L.D.'s radar. Their surveillance network was extensive, and if they discovered me, HYDRA wouldn't be far behind. Too dangerous.

• Resources and influence. In any world, money and connections determined what was possible. I needed both.

This universe, for all its advanced technology in certain areas, was still culturally underdeveloped compared to my original world. It was 2004—Tony Stark was still manufacturing weapons, four years away from his life-changing captivity. Major cultural phenomena from my previous life didn't exist here: no Harry Potter, no Game of Thrones, no massive gaming industry.

The opportunity was obvious. I had foreknowledge of entertainment properties worth billions. But execution would be challenging—I couldn't draw manga or code games myself.

Then it hit me: artificial intelligence. In my previous life, AI was on the verge of revolutionizing creative industries with tools that could generate art and animation from text prompts. I just needed to build something equivalent here—a considerable technological leap.

But the Omnitrix offered a solution. I began scrolling through its interface, searching for the right alien form. There it was—Grey Matter, a Galvan, member of one of the most intellectually advanced species in five galaxies.

I activated the transformation without hesitation. "It's Hero Time."

My body contracted rapidly, shrinking down to mere inches in height. My skin shifted to a smooth grey-blue texture, almost amphibian in quality. My cranium expanded proportionally to accommodate the enhanced brain capacity, while my eyes grew larger, providing exceptional visual acuity even in low light. My fingers elongated into slender, dexterous digits perfect for precision work.

In this form, my cognitive abilities expanded exponentially. Complex equations solved themselves almost subconsciously. Engineering principles that would have taken years to master seemed intuitive. I could analyze and deconstruct any technology with a glance.

I immediately began drafting plans for a quantum fluid processor that could handle the computational demands of AI image generation. The components would include:

• A custom motherboard with integrated microfluidic channels

• Advanced DDR memory and expanded RAM

• Modified power supply unit

• A cooling system cobbled together from an old fish tank pump, radiator, and fans

• High-performance graphics card

Some parts I could purchase legitimately with my savings. For the rest—well, ethics would need to take a temporary backseat to necessity. The irony wasn't lost on me: my first act with this power would be theft, not heroism.

But I had bigger concerns than petty larceny. Somewhere across the galaxy, a mad titan was already collecting infinity stones. And unlike the fictional universe I'd watched from theater seats, this reality had no script guaranteeing a happy ending.