Author's Note: Hey guys! Welcome to a brand new story! This is an alternate take on the story of Ben 10, in a world where his universe is intertwined with that of many other heroes. While the story can be read on its own, it is also a part of a greater story, sort of like an MCU movie. More on all of that in my bio: enjoy the chapter!
Phase One, Book Four
Ben 10: Origins
Prologue
December, 1969
As he opened the door to the roadside bar, brushing snowflakes off of his brown leather jacket, the young man took note of the loud rock music from a jukebox, along with the abundant crowd. The man was handsome, with a muscular upper body and a square jaw, but he was no showstopper, and luckily for him, this meant that he could sidle up to the bar top without drawing too much attention to himself. He sat next to a man who was wallowing in drink, with several empty glasses surrounding him, as it was the only spot he could find, and after a moment, the man flagged down the bartender.
"What can I getcha, sir?" She, a pretty blond, said. She was clearly running around a lot, and the man decided not to waste any time.
"I'm looking into some rumors in the area," he said. She quirked a brow. "You heard anything about an 8 foot tall squid man?"
The bartender frowned, a confused expression on her face, and then laughed and shook her head, playing along.
"Heh, no I can't say I have, sir," she said. "Anything to drink, though?"
The man grimaced, and nodded.
"A shotta whiskey," he said.
"I.D.?" The bartender asked. The young man grinned cheekily.
"What, you don't trust me?" He said. She gave him a chiding grin, and he laughed, producing his wallet and handing the card to her.
"Be right back with that, Max," she said, handing the card back and bouncing away.
As she walked off, leaving Max at the bar top, he turned, his back to the bar, and surveyed the room, nodding his head a bit to the song that played. It was one he was familiar with, and he began to mutter the lyrics as he looked at the townsfolk. They seemed to be the average bar goers, some of them with sports attire on. That's right, Max thought, it was game night. He hadn't watched a football game in years.
"It ain't me… It ain't me… I ain't no fortunate one, no," he sang under his breath.
"Hey," the man beside him said, startling Max slightly. He looked down to the disheveled looking man. He was of Asian descent, with pallid, greenish skin, greasy dark hair, and several layers of tattered clothes. He smelled rank. Max tried to give him a polite nod. "You lookin' for weird stuff?"
Max raised an eyebrow.
"Got somethin' you know?" He said, glancing once at the bartender, who was busy dealing with some college students at the far end of the bar. The stinking stranger chuckled to himself, swirling his umpteenth glass and shaking his head.
"Maybe," he said. "You gotta promise me somethin', though."
"Yeah? What's that?"
The man looked at him sidelong.
"Promise you ain't got a badge."
They both went silent, and the music continued to rage in the background. The silence began to last a little too long, as Max pondered what to say next. Luckily, he was saved by the bartender returning, and dropping a shot glass full of liquor down in front of the man in the leather jacket.
"Here you go, sorry it took so long," she said. "Anything else I can grab you? Kitchen's closing soon."
Max turned to give her a smile, but the stranger never took his eyes off of him.
"Actually, I think I'll tab out," he said. The woman nodded.
"Sure, I'll be right back with the check," she said, before disappearing again. Seconds lingered again as she left, until the rank man slammed his glass down suddenly. Max turned to him with furrowed brows.
"Something wrong, pal?" He asked.
The man laughed that wheezing, sickly laugh again, and it turned into a hacking cough part way through.
"It's just you never answered," he said, locking eyes with Max once more. The man's dark gaze sent a chill up Max's spine. "You a fed?"
Max took the shot, wiping his mouth and then turning to face the man with a cocky grin.
"I might be," he said. "Who's asking?"
There was a harsh scraping sound as the man pushed his stool back, standing up to face Max. Max was a tall, muscular, imposing person, and while the other man was nearly his height or taller (he stood stooped) he was gangly and thin beneath his bulky layers of clothing. Max took a defensive shift backwards as the man stood, which made it his turn to grin, with yellowed teeth.
"Name's Clancy," he said, "and you shoulda lied."
Then suddenly, there was a sound like a thousand buzzing flies, and the man's clothing exploded into a dark, flittering cloud. Max threw his arms up to shield his face, stumbling back as the crowd in the bar started to scream in panic and confusion. The cloud, Max quickly realized, was a huge swarm of dark green bugs, and they seemed to be forming a cyclone around the so-called Clancy. As they flew, the gangly man was holding his hand out, claw-like, and shifting his fingers every few moments as if he were controlling their flight.
Max gritted his teeth, reaching into his coat pocket and producing a walkie talkie and a sleek little chrome pistol. He pressed the button on the side of the walkie-talkie, and shouted over the sound of screams and the blasting rock and roll.
"Fenton. Billings. I could use some back-up in here," he called into the speaker. Then, shoving his way through the crowd, he flipped a table, finding shelter behind it, and began to plan his next move. Luckily for him, his back-up didn't take long. From the door behind him that he had come in burst two men. One of them was tall, wide, and sported a mullet. The second was more lithe and shorter, with a crew cut. Both wore partially armored uniforms, and both carried state-of-the-art government tech on their backs.
"Everyone, stay calm!" Billings, the shorter man, said to those who were paying attention to him.
"Diabolical! What kind of boogeyman do we have this time?" Chimed in Fenton.
Both of the new arrivals waded through the sea of fleeing civilians. They watched as one man, who wasn't fast enough, was suddenly engulfed by an entire swarm of the strange insects. Moments later, there was an acrid, burning smell, and they heard screams from inside of the swarm. Then, all too quickly, the screaming stopped, and a puddle of green goo was jettisoned onto the floor. Flinching, Fenton ducked down beside Max.
"Damnit, Tennyson, what did you say to it?" He said. Max looked at him reproachfully.
"I… may have told him I was a fed," he said.
"Why would you do that?" Said Phil incredulously. "Why would you do that?"
"All three of you need to shut up and haul ass," came a voice over Max's walkie-talkie. "Those beetles are gonna have no trouble getting through your little barricade there."
"Wakeman!" Max said, snatching up the communication device. "What's our exit?"
"They're beetles? I thought they were bees!" Fenton said, talking into the radio on his shoulder before suddenly drawing a hose from his strange mechanical backpack and activating it, absorbing a large cloud of incoming beetles as a vacuum does dust.
"What gave you that impression?" Wakeman said over the comms. "Do you see any pollination bristles? Or stingers?"
"Wakeman! Exit!" Max barked again.
"These are important clarifying questions, Tennyson, if we're dealing with bees (or any sort of apidae for that matter) I need to know," Wakeman said, with a hint of distraction and arrogance ni her voice. Then, a moment later: "Employee door. Behind the bar. I'll pull the van around."
"Move move move!" Shouted Max.
The three men bolted, just as a gust of insects sheered through the wooden bar table like some cartoon. Billings looked back in horror as the buzzing cloud suddenly shifted course, and began to track behind them. He shuddered, and turned around, sprinting to the head of the pack and vaulting clean over the bar top in one go. He saw the bartender crouched behind it, and paused, as she reached up to grab his arm.
"Who are you guys? What's going on?" She asked.
"I'm not goin' to jail!" Clancy roared, turning towards the group behind the bar.
"Billings! Let's go!" Max said.
Without hesitation, Billings pulled on the arm of the woman that he already was in contact with, hauling her to her feet and ushering her out of the door with them. She screamed as the swarm of beetles chased after them, but Fenton stood at the door and, with his odd hose, sucked in the first wave that came after them. The others ran past him, towards the unmarked white van that was pulling into the back parking lot with a madcap at the helm. The wheels skidded and screeched on the pavement as the heavy vehicle drifted to a stop. The front window rolled down, and Wakeman, her blond bob-cut bouncing, leaned out from the driver's seat.
"Who the hell is she?" She asked, gesturing to the waitress.
"Had to get her out, no time!" Billings said.
"Yeah, hey, thanks for that, but WHO THE HELL-"
"Listen, lady, we're called Skyway Patrol. We deal with stuff like this, alright?" Wakeman cut her off mid outburst, and the terrified bartender shrunk back. The scientist in the driver's seat sighed, rubbing her face, and then tried again. "You're gonna be safe with us."
The bartender turned to Billings, who gave her a reassuring nod, and Wakeman got out of the van, carrying some kind of metal briefcase. She walked forward, her long, yellow coat blowing in the winter wind, and dropped the case beside the bartender.
"XJ-5, Sentinel Mode," she said.
The moment the command finished, the suitcase began to shift and change. One second, it was a metal box with a handle. The next, it had shifted and morphed into something like a mechanical canine, though it had no eyes to speak of. It gave a simulated, digital sounding bark, and Wakeman suddenly beamed from behind her reflective goggles. She reached down to pet her creation, and then pointed to the bartender. At the hand gesture, the XJ-5 moved to stand defensively in front of her. She looked to the blond woman.
"Full hand sign recognition. Neat, huh? Now he won't let anything bad happen to you," she said. The bartender looked down at the robotic dog skeptically. "Go on, pet him. He's like a guard dog."
"Freaky guard dog…" She said.
"Does anyone have any idea what we're dealing with here?" Fenton said. He was standing, hose at the ready, watching as Clancy slowly emerged from the back door of the bar, now a dozen meters away. He seemed to be keeping his swarm close now, forming a dark, shimmering barrier between himself and the team. Max reached into the back of the van and pulled out a weapon that, to the bartender, seemed like something out of Barbarella.
"Not sure, but do we really need to be flaunting level 12 tech in front of civilians?" Max said.
"Calm down, stickler. I was just about to wipe her," Wakeman said.
The bartender looked to Wakeman in confusion.
"Wait. What?"
The bartender blinked. She was alone, standing at the bar, save for a couple of men sitting at the far end of the bar. She frowned, realizing she had forgotten what she was doing, and then swatted at a fly that buzzed past her face. Shaking her head with a sigh, she decided from then on to get a lot more sleep. No more daydreaming on the job. She stopped in with the two men at the bar. One was muscular and handsome, with a brown leather jacket, and the other was small and lithe, with a short buzz cut. They both seemed a bit sweaty, red in the face and out of breath. Clearly in need of a drink. They both smiled at her as she approached.
"Glad to see you're feeling better, miss," the smaller man said. "You looked pretty out of it for a second there."
The bartender blushed with embarrassment.
"Oh, I do apologize about that. I really just lost track of time… Can i get you boys anything?" She said, glancing at the clock. With a mental curse, she realized that they were about to close. She winced. "I got time for one drink each."
"Done deal. A tall, cold pint of your best, for both of us," the hunkier man said. The bartender smiled at him, and began to make small talk as she poured the drinks from the tap.
"So, what brings you boys to town?" She asked. As she came over with the two beers, the two men swapped glances, and then grinned in unison.
"We're plumbers."