This was unexpected. Ben wasn't quite feeling himself. Sure, he was mischievous and a maybe even a little much to handle sometimes, but this was something else entirely.
It had been close to a week since they had returned from the woods and Grandpa Max had told Ben that there was no reason whatsoever for him to use the omnitrix again. He had explained in what seemed like excruciating detail, the amount of self awareness and self control that Ben would require before he was able to control his selection of alien species.
Ben had simply nodded. He had of course already known this having seen it in Grandpa Max's head. He hadn't had time to find out everything that his Grandpa knew, but he had found out enough.
One week later, Ben found that his grandfather had in fact vastly *overestimated* the amount of self -control a hyperactive ten year old possesses.
Gwen was fast asleep. She would wake up in the morning however and when she did, she would *still* be here. The last few days had felt incredibly long and Ben simply couldn't take it anymore. So he had snuck out of the house in the afternoon, just after a heavy lunch, and had found his way to a scrapyard. And here he was. He was hoping to fly around, maybe change into a big serpent, turn invisible, appear out of nowhere again. He could even scare a few passersby. No one would believe them if they went out and told the rest of the world that they had seen a shape shifting monster anyways. Besides, Ben had seen a few older kids in the neighborhood head out to this spot. He usually saw them move in the same way he moved when he didn't want to be seen. Naturally that had made him curious as to what it was that they did here, and he knew he could get a lot of information from them even if he got just a few seconds of their time before they ran away.
He didn't get to do any of that. Instead he found himself feeling, bigger and stuck. *This was unexpected*.
Ben walked with large steps. Each time his foot hit the ground, it made a thud noise as if something heavy were landing on it. It was odd, since Ben didn't feel heavy at all. But the strangest thing of all was this weird feeling he was having on the inside. His heart was beating faster, his health feeling a lot better. It was hard to point out why but Ben knew that he could take a lot more punishment. It wasn't simply an increased endurance that he had. Ben *wanted* to fight. He wanted to hit someone and hit them hard. He *wanted* them to hit back only to fail. It suddenly seemed like the most natural thing in the world.
But the weirdest thing that Ben found himself thinking was how much he loved this scrap yard. He was suddenly overcome by an urge to attach something like a rocket launcher on one of the old beaten down Harley's that he saw lying around and ride her somewhere into the air. The pile of metal surrounding him was suddenly the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life.
"Damn, this is cool" said Ben out loud. As he said it, he realized he wasn't speaking in his own voice anymore. His voice was deep - distinctively so. It felt as if it belonged to middle aged African warlord.
Ben walked around the scrap yard. Maybe he oughtta start building that bike right away before he became ten year old Ben again.
He walked over to the nearest pile of unattended rubble. The biggest part of it was a car that had been half crushed. Ben picked up the car. With one hand.
"Whoa ! This is cool!" Ben said in his new baritone while waving the car up and down for effect. He shook the tangle of metal and plastic in the sir and a seat fell out of it, in much the same way salt and pepper falls out of a salt and pepper shaker. Ben reached out with his other hand and pulled a door off its hinge. He turned it around a couple of times and found the door to still be fairly shiny and reflective.
He looked at his reflection in the door that now served as his mirror. The car door, much like the rest of the car was painted red. But it wasn't a shiny shade of red, and when Ben looked at his mirror, that was the first thing he noticed. I have red eyes, he thought to himself. His hair was long, and erect as if he had stepped out of a commercial for better electrical wiring. His skin was gray and almost scaly. And he had facial hair. An abundance of it. And it was coarse and rugged.
"Who goes there?" came a voice from the far end of the scrapyard. It was an old man with a shotgun in his hand. The gun was double barreled and looked like it belonged in the last century.
"Nobody you oughtta be messing with" replied Ben. *Why did he say that?* Grandpa wasn't going to like this one bit..
"Listen, Old Man. You don't need to worry. I'm the **Main Man** around here."
The man with gun reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone that looked more like a walkie talkie. "We gotta problem. There's an old man with leprosy here. Skin's all gray. I think he's insane too. Better call them coppers."