This is just a fan work. I don't claim to be an expert, so don't expect too much. I'll try my best.

This isn't a regular Omnitrix. It's a better version. I'll tell you its name later.

Secondly, the story will be set in the world of anime. I'm more of a Ben 10 fan than a Pokémon fan, so I'll take Ben 10 over Pokémon any day. However, I'll try to learn more about Pokémon.

I started this fanfic because I haven't found anything like it, and there won't be anything like it. I also want to see an adult MC. The MC is a middle-aged man who is incredibly strong and will live Pokémon with his bare hands. :)

All warnings have been given.

"Ugh.. "

A long, weary groan echoed through the forest, emanating from a man sprawled in the undergrowth, enveloped in misery. He was a striking figure, with a short beard and an impressive stature, dressed in an eye-catching ensemble. His deep purple shirt peeked out from beneath a dark trench coat, paired with equally dark pants and expensive shoes. A pair of dark gold glasses dangled from his shirt pocket, adding a sophisticated touch to his appearance.

Standing at a staggering 8.5 feet tall, he was among the tallest men in history—a fact that might inspire awe or discomfort, depending on one's perspective.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered again, his voice strained as he raised a hand to his head, rubbing his temples. "I feel terrible…" he groaned, slowly scratching the top of his head as he tried to gather his wits.

He blinked, and the blurred canopy of leaves above him gradually came into focus. "Hmm? A tree?" he asked himself, confusion coloring his words. "There shouldn't be any trees here." He blinked again, but the sight remained unchanged.

Clenching his hand, he felt the earth and grass beneath his fingers—a sensation that took him by surprise. He needed to stand up, not just to shake off the dirt but to keep his beloved trench coat spotless.

As he tried to sit up, feeling slightly weak, he noticed something unusual—a weight on his chest that hadn't been there before. He was sure he hadn't been wearing anything under his coat the last time he checked. Slowly lowering his gaze, he discovered a breastplate or perhaps a bulletproof vest strapped over his shirt. It was modern, dark, and lightweight, yet substantial enough to make its presence felt. What drew his attention was a peculiar badge protruding from the center of his chest. "Hmm, what is that?" he wondered aloud, puzzled.

He stood up, still examining his new attire with a confused look. Despite his impressive height, his body was anything but frail. His broad shoulders and sturdy neck reflected the hard work and discipline he had invested in maintaining his physique—efforts that had surely bordered on grueling.

Though the body armor was heavy, it didn't restrict his movements. "Hmm, light enough, and pretty big if they found one in my size too," he mused aloud.

He dusted off his pants, relieved to find they hadn't turned green from the grass. With his pants cleaned, he ran a hand down his trench coat, brushing off the dirt. As he reached the pockets, he felt something familiar. "Hmm?" he murmured, pulling out his hand to reveal his favorite pair of glasses.

A smile spread across his face as he admired the dark gold glasses. The iron frame was solid, and the dark tint with gold accents lent them a classy, expensive air. He enjoyed the weight of the glass and metal, appreciating the craftsmanship and quality of the piece.

He instinctively placed the glasses on his forehead, savoring the familiar weight and comfort they provided.

"Okay, back to our situation. Is this some kind of simulation again, or are the guys making another video for their YouTube channel? I get moving me to another location while I'm asleep, but during the intermission of my show? How did I even lose consciousness in the first place?"

He was referring to an old prank his friends had pulled on him. His buddies, who ran a popular YouTube channel, once decided to surprise him with a birthday party. The day before, they visited him under the guise of a friendly get-together and slipped a potent sleeping pill into his drink. As a result, he didn't wake up when they carried him, bed and all, to some remote location in the dead of night. He only regained consciousness the next morning, greeted by loud shouts of "Surprise!"—which promptly led to the nearest friend getting punched in the face. It turns out it's never wise to startle a highly-trained, muscular boxer. They learned their lesson that day.

But now, no one was yelling in his ear, and it wasn't his birthday.

"The fuck am I wearing? And why is this thing so comfortable? And where the hell am I?!" he muttered, referring to the strange body armor he was now clad in. Curious, he wanted to get a closer look at the dial situated in the center of the armor. He reached into a pocket he had discovered while cleaning his clothes and pulled out his cell phone. Swiping the screen, he switched to the camera function.

"Here we go," he said, taking a picture of his chest with the front camera. As he studied the image, a sense of recognition flickered in his mind. "Weird." He opened the photo, staring at the design.

"Hmm, isn't this… What's his name… Tren, Gren, Gwen… Ben… Yes! Ben 10," he murmured, sifting through his memories. He knew exactly what he was thinking of. Though the show had faded into the recesses of his mind, it was still a fond memory from his younger days. "Even though I'm 31, I wouldn't mind watching that masterpiece from the 2010s again. Those were good times," he reflected with a smile.

But one thing puzzled him. "That kind of armor wasn't in the cartoon, if I remember correctly… or did they add it in later seasons?" he wondered, raising an eyebrow.

As he looked at the dial and recalled how Ben Tennyson would use it to transform into aliens, a childhood dream stirred within him. "Ah, fuck it," he said, giving in to his curiosity. He placed his finger on the edge of the dial and pressed it.

[Beep]

"What?"

To his surprise, a screen materialized in mid-air, a hologram hovering before him with no visible source. "A projector?" he muttered, perplexed. He knew a projector needed a surface to display an image, yet here was a screen suspended in the air. It took him a few seconds to process what he was seeing—and to read what it said.

[Wielder : Rockwell Callahan

Location : Earth-011997

Task : At the sole discretion of the Wielder ]

Rockwell Сallahan—that was the man's name. Rockwell scanned the floating screen, he immediately noticed the 'Location' marker. It was clearly Earth, but what puzzled him was the numerical designation. "What is this number? Has the scientific world made some discovery that requires numbering the planet? And this is definitely a projector… or maybe a new invention I'm not aware of?" he mused.

"Pika-Pikachu?"

A thin voice suddenly sounded behind him. Rockwell spun around, and with his movement, the flying screen retracted as well. Without fully processing who the voice belonged to or what was said, he instinctively dropped into a ready stance. He suspected there might be hidden cameras filming him, so he made sure to look his best while staying prepared for whatever was coming.

Rockwell Callahan's gaze narrowed as he witnessed a peculiar sight emerging from the dense foliage: an oversized, mouse-like creature with vibrant yellow fur. Its form was unmistakably reminiscent of a character from his distant memories—Pikachu. Could this be another hologram, like the Omnitrix?

When the creature cautiously advanced, Rockwell observed its movements with a mix of fascination and wariness. Each slow, deliberate step it took made him feel as if it were assessing him, just as he was scrutinizing it. The entire scene was surreal, a bizarre blend of reality and fiction that gave Rockwell an unsettling sense of déjà vu.

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Rockwell found himself strangely drawn to the creature. His eyes were locked onto its every movement, filled with a mix of curiosity and apprehension. He had never seen such a realistic Pikachu, even though Nintendo was always coming up with new ways to advertise their products. But this was something else entirely—something that seemed far beyond any marketing gimmick. "Amazing... I hope they're recording all this,"

Pikachu drew nearer, and Rockwell remained rooted to the spot, his expression shifting between bemusement and intrigue. His rational mind struggled to comprehend the spectacle before him, yet his curiosity gnawed at him relentlessly. Succumbing to its pull, he slowly lowered himself to one knee, extending his hand tentatively toward the Pikachu-like figure before him.

"Screw this," he muttered under his breath, a wry grin forming at the corners of his lips. Despite being almost certain that the creature was merely a projection, he couldn't resist testing its reality, if only to satisfy his own curiosity.

As his fingertips grazed the air where the Pikachu stood, a twinge of self-consciousness crept in. What if this was just an elaborate prank, captured on hidden cameras for his friends' amusement? The thought of being caught in their trap triggered a mix of annoyance and amusement, but Rockwell was prepared to play along, ready to laugh it off as a momentary lapse in judgment.

Hand hovered closer to the Pikachu parody, his excitement growing with every inch he moved toward the creature. He extended his fingers, eager to feel whatever illusion lay before him.

"Pika-Pika?" the small creature chirped, its voice slightly louder this time. Despite being a projection, it didn't seem frightened by Callahan's imposing height—a stark contrast to the way most small animals usually reacted to him.

Rockwell's towering form loomed over the Pikachu, and he watched intently as it sniffed the air, its tiny nostrils twitching with each breath. Then, in a sudden motion, Pikachu leaned forward, its small nose brushing against Rockwell's outstretched hand. He felt a gentle puff of warm air against his skin, a sensation so real it startled him.

His eyes widened in astonishment, and his face mirrored the shock of this unexpected encounter. It was a surreal collision of reality and fantasy that left him momentarily speechless.

For a brief moment, everything around him seemed to freeze. Rockwell slowly withdrew his hand, his mind racing with questions and possibilities. He still stood rooted to the spot while Pikachu continued to sniff him, its little head rising to meet his gaze with beady, curious eyes. A million thoughts swirled in his mind, struggling to make sense of the situation.

How could a mere projection exhibit such lifelike behavior? Was this Pikachu some kind of advanced animatronic, meticulously designed to mimic its fictional counterpart? But if that were true, why did it feel so real, right down to the gentle rise and fall of its chest with each breath?

Rockwell's attention was captured by the subtle details that defied logical explanation. The slight moisture on Pikachu's nose, the twitch of its ears, and the glint of curiosity in its eyes were all attributes that shouldn't exist in a simple projection or animatronic.

Skepticism washed over him, leading him to consider the possibility that this Pikachu was some kind of hybrid creature, engineered by scientists as part of an elaborate prank or experiment. Perhaps hidden cameras were recording his every reaction, waiting to broadcast the spectacle to an unsuspecting audience.

Or was there something more?

A nagging doubt crept into Callahan's mind. Could this entire scene be an elaborate setup, orchestrated purely for the amusement of hidden cameras in the underbrush? The thought gnawed at him.

"My show went to a commercial break, and I headed to my restroom," he recalled, mentally retracing the familiar routine of his daily life. "Drank water from bottle, sat down in my chair, and then..."

His thoughts stumbled over the memory of an inexplicable sensation in his chest, a fleeting discomfort that he couldn't quite place. "And then I woke up here," he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible.

Rockwell rose to his feet, pulling his hand away from Pikachu. The creature responded with a curious tilt of its head and a soft, questioning "Pika-Pi?" that seemed to linger in the quiet of the forest.

That squeak he ignored.

Shifting his focus, Callahan scanned the surrounding landscape, taking in the lush foliage and the vast expanse of the sky above.

"Oh god..."