Benjamin Tennyson always acted like he was indestructible. Maybe the fool thought he was. Give a guy some power and he thinks he's untouchable. It doesn't matter whether its politicians or playground bullies. It's always the same sad story, no matter how it's played. These people are ignorant; complete idiots.
That's why people like Him existed.
God, he loved his job. It was so exhilarating to wipe the confidence off someone's face. There was no other way to put it. It was hilarious. People spend most of their lives that wouldn't turn into blocked memories acting like king, and at his hands, they turn into children. It's rich.
Everywhere he went, plants withered, children cried, and places just gain a general feeling of cold dread. Some people could even train themselves to tell when he's coming. Not that it would do them any good.
It's rather difficult to describe what he was, much less whom. Most people describe him as the embodiment of fear itself. He agreed, except for the embodiment part. He wasn't allowed to have a body.
At the moment, Ben was experiencing the second favorite time of the day for a person other than himself: the calm. Either things are very tranquil, or a series of fortunate events have been played out for the person. Things are well, and their heads are in the clouds. He enjoyed their blissfulness, their cluelessness, while it lasted. For He was the rock thrown in calm waters, the shout in the silence, the fist through the spider web….
He sighed. Time to start his job before things got too poetic.
Ben was sitting on a bench, cross-legged with a smoothie in hand. It's the symbol of tranquility. And such an expression he was wearing! The confidence and relaxed demeanor spoke volumes about him. He had conquered every challenge he faced. He knew not of failure except for..."knew not"? Again with the poetry. This boy's calmness was so stimulating. It was as if he was begging to be broken.
And oh, can he break people. He could turn the strongest will inside out; uncover every skeleton in the closet.
Suddenly, the boy spoke: "Hey, Rook." He was using a cellphone, which was a recent invention for the planet. "Yeah, I know… Well, you said there was nothing there, so why don't you take a break? …If something does, let someone else find it…"
Tut tut tut. He simply could not make an entrance like this. He was intoxicated by irony. He needed some to make a proper introduction. Then, finally:
"Well, if anything like that pops up, we can handle it. You're a police officer, and I'm a superhero. It's not as if some random guy is going to take us down that easily."
Perfect! Too perfect! Time to make an appearance.
He oozed through the cracks in the cement under him. The boy sprang into action, selecting an alien from his dial.
"Hey," the black ooze said. It had a smooth, deep voice. "Us blobs have rights, too, you know."
Ben put down his arm. "Who are you?" he asked.
The thing molded itself into the vaguest shape of something hunched over. Two small, boney arms popped out of its front, and a white mask with basic features and a bored look rose from the head like litter in water.
"I am that I am," he said.
"Huh?"
"I am that I am. Don't you know what that means?"
"Not really, no."
"Don't you read the bible? It's one of the most famous quotes."
"I don't believe. How do you know about a bible on earth?"
"I know a lot of things. I just thought the quote might be fitting, considering your name."
"What about my name?"
He sighed. "Your name is Ben 10. Benjamin is Hebrew for 'son of'. Ten means god."
"How does 10 mean god?"
He rolled his hand and turned his head to the side. His mask could form expressions. "Some… numeric value or… something… I don't know. It just does."
"Oh. Well, why are you here? How do you know so much about earth?"
"I know so much about everything. I'm several billion years old, and I sort of border on dimensions."
"Huh. Do you need my help?"
"No. I came here to torture you."
The brunette looked at him quizzically. "Alright. Let's see you try." He reached for his dial.
The boy gasped in surprise and pain as the thing whipped his ice-cold arm around his watch. Ben's world became dark as He enveloped him, and the only thing in his vision was the thing's mask.
"What are you doing?" The boy asked. "Where am I?"
The mask became level to Ben's face. "Alright, I'm not going to torture you right away. Wait—I never told you my name. It's Faceless."
"Where am I?" the boy urged.
"You're in some sort of pocket dimension that is me. I don't really know."
"Well, you're not keeping me here!" Ben chose an alien on his dial and slapped his hand down dramatically. Nothing happened, of course. Equally as predictably, he began to blame everyone but himself.
"What did you do?"
"What did I do?" Faceless asked. "What did you do? You're selfish as hell, you're overpowered and deluded, and when the pressure of your responsibility mounts, you run from it. You're a coward. I'm here to make you face your fears. I'm here to teach you to be someone."
"I am someone! I don't need your help!"
"Oh?" The thing closed in on him. "Listen, buddy. It's my job to wake up people with power. You'll never be a good leader with an incredible advantage and no discipline."
"Then why not take the Omnitrix from me?"
"Then who would bear it? Someone who'd act exactly the same. No, it's all about character."
"But wait," the boy said. "You have a ton of power, too. Probably more than anyone you've ever faced. Isn't that kind of hypocritical?"
"No." He edged in closer. "Do you know what the difference between us is?" Ben the creature's empty eyes bore into him like a cold knife. "I can't fall. But you can."
The next few moments were ones of sheer terror and agony. He wasn't sure if it had been minutes or days. It was the most horrible, indescribable, horrifying thing he had ever gone through. Faceless racked through his mind and resurfaced his worst memories. But he didn't stop there—he picked out the good memories, memories of horror movies, fears he'd had his whole life, and jumbled them all together. He lived through everything that Faceless created. It was torture. There was no other word. Faceless did this over and over, and every time he did it, Ben craved death like nothing he'd ever wanted in his life.
Ben woke with a start.
"Oh," he said. "It was a dream?" His voice was shaky, and he was shivering. He glanced at the clock.
"4:03AM," he mused. "Maybe Rook's up. I could tell him about this, and we could laugh it off—!"
A face, white as death, jumped at him from the darkness. Its eyes, beady and unblinking, bore into him like a cold knife. Jagged teeth silently threatened to act upon unholy fantasies. All around him, blackness surrounded him, enveloping him in a cover of cold emptiness.
He screamed.