—Protector of Earth—
"Standby for Security Protocols."
An intrusively loud aftershock shakes the walls.
Groans and hisses echo through the darkness. Alarming red lights flash, accompanied by a repetitiously annoying sound, gradually waking every living being.
"Sunshine! No! No! Turn it off! The stars, they burn!" one crazed inmate yelled frantically, crying and laughing, pounding against the blue-lined ray shields of his cell.
An uproar of inmates demanding explanations filled the soundscape. A ferociously shouted command echoes through the cell block: "Settle down!" But no one complied.
"Standby for security protocols." There it was again. Just as the automated system spoke, another loud crash echoed through the Main Cell Block, shaking the facility.
"Shut that thing up!" — "What is it this time?" — "Did Vulkanus break out again? That guy doesn't give up!" Various voices shouted amongst each other in confusion.
A ruckus erupted in the prison quarters. The main corridor outside the blue-beamed cells was soon overflowing with a dozen Plumber Agents, hurrying down to the end of the block, establishing barricades.
Quarter Master: "I want four on top on each side, barricades secured. Are the upper turrets operational?" he barked into his commlink.
"Sir, security systems remain compromised. We're all that's left on Cell 102," another agent replied.
The Quarter Master didn't respond, but his disbelief was clear even through the visor of his helmet. Yet his expression was cut short.
On the other side of those doors, conflict could be heard. The sharp sounds of blaster fire and the struggles of fellow agents were silenced as quickly as they had started.
Quarter Master: "Set those weapons for termination. Nothing gets in, and nothing gets out!"
The sounds of weapons being recalibrated filled the room.
A dozen agents braced themselves, locking into their defensive positions.
Tensions rose, thick in the air. A metallic scraping sound, followed by molten sparks, began to etch across the large doors, forming a circular shape.
The agents could only stare, feeling unready for infiltration. The heat from the molten sparks began to fill the air, causing a few of them to shift uneasily as the acrid scent of scorched metal crept into their helmets.
"Standby for security protocols."
Crash!
The mangled fifteen-foot door debris fly straight toward two agents, crushing them and rendering the frontal barricade useless.
"Open fire!" The agents unleash a barrage of blaster shots at the opening, but nearly all are deflected by the red-glowing surface of a weakening shield. Behind the artificial wall of protection, pushing forward into the main block, was a darkened, helmeted figure, clad in brace-like, red-accented armor and bristling with technological combat accessories.
The shield flickers and fades. The infiltrator swiftly throws a smoke-filled flash grenade, stunning several agents on the ground. Those unaffected continue to rain fire, though their attacker quickly takes advantage of their own barricades to shield himself.
He presses buttons on a device strapped to his forearm. The open encapsulation releases several projectile darts, targeting agents on the upper level, neutralizing them instantly.
The infiltrator moves with terrifying speed and precision, leaving the Plumbers no time to react. As the Quarter Master regains his heads-up display, he sees the infiltrator dodging two shots from a fellow agent. The assailant grabs the agent's arm, forcing him to fire at another comrade, and then finishes the act with a swift, merciless headshot. Two more perfectly aimed shots down other agents before the infiltrator ducks behind a nearby barricade.
Blaster fire continues to rain down on his position. In response, the infiltrator activates a plasma blade that slides out from his forearm contraption.
The remaining agents watch him charge toward them, returning fire as they backpedal down the block. They manage to land a hit on his armor, but it proves ineffective. The infiltrator cuts them down mercilessly, granting them a quick death.
One last agent, hiding in the shadows, leaps out and fires a shot at the infiltrator's upper back, stunning him. But this only triggers an instinctive reaction. The infiltrator activates the first weapon in his internal armory-a blinding jet of flame bursts from his forearm, incinerating the valiant guard. His final cries are silenced as his vocal cords turn to ash.
Briefly tired, the infiltrator is pulled back into full awareness by the muffled sound of cheering. He realizes there's one remaining obstacle in the block. Too late, he reacts to the deafening battle cry of the Quarter Master. The superior officer charges, physically overpowering the infiltrator, slamming him into a nearby cell's ray shield, burning the back of his armor.
Frantically, the Quarter Master fires his blaster into the infiltrator's stomach while simultaneously smashing his head into the burning ray shield. The armor holds, but barely-it begins to weaken, bending inward, causing visible pain to the infiltrator. Fueled by rage, the Quarter Master is distracted long enough for the infiltrator to strike back, impaling him with a plasma blade, burning through his abdomen.
The Quarter Master collapses to the ground, still but seething with rage. The infiltrator, exhausted, raises his weapon for a final blow.
In a last surge of fury, the Quarter Master gathers his remaining strength and charges. He grabs the infiltrator's arm, twisting it brutally enough to force a groan of pain. The plasma blade deactivates.
With the agent so close, the infiltrator instinctively headbutts him, brutally cracking part of the Quarter Master's helmet, exposing half of his alien face. The infiltrator activates his levitation equipment, sending the Quarter Master hurtling into the air before slamming him into the ceiling. But the move proves reckless-both combatants plummet several floors below, crashing onto the stainless steel floor.
Both remain there in the wreckage. The Quarter Master groans in agony, suffocating from the pain, while the infiltrator barely manages to stand.
Gathering himself, the infiltrator hears the dying agent attempt to speak.
"Please." The agent somehow manages to gain the strength to slowly sit up. "Grant me..." He removes his helmet, his breath labored as green blood floods through his lower armor plates. "A warrior's death."
The infiltrator stares at him, nodding in grim acknowledgment. He activates his plasma blade and, for a moment, catches his own reflection in its glowing surface. A shadow of hesitation flickers in his eyes, unnoticed even by himself. Then, without further delay, he decapitates his enemy in one swift motion.
For a brief second, the silence is almost deafening—before the distant cheering returns, echoing through the halls. The infiltrator stoops to retrieve the agent's access card, his muscles heavy with fatigue. He begins to drag himself toward the Main Cell Block control panel at the far end of the corridor, passing by the rows of cells.
The inmates stir, and a low murmur fills the block. Slowly, they begin to chant—a rhythmic, alien term rising in unison, growing louder with every step he takes.
They chant, and they chant, driving him forward until he finally reaches the panel. His hand trembles, but he presses, swipes, and the mechanism groans to life.
With a deafening metallic roar, the ray shields deactivate. The chaotic clamor of cheering and chanting erupts into a cacophony as the inmates surge out, free at last.
The infiltrator removes his helmet, wiping a streak of dark violet blood from his face. His expression is hard, grim, his body battered—yet his lips twist into a devilish grin.
The inmates, now unleashed, stare in recognition. They begin to chant once more, this time calling his name.
"Psyphon."
—TITLE CARD—
Earth's Upper Atmosphere
Falling ever so slightly into Earth's gravitational pull, the Orbital Correctional Institution was under siege. Vilgax's lackeys had hacked its systems, attacking with two frigates locked in a firefight against a High Union Flagship, operated by the Plumbers.
The Plumbers had arrived, scrambling to send reinforcements and prevent the station's fall—and more crucially, the escape of the galactic conqueror—but they were met with fierce preparation from their adversaries.
High Union Flagship - Bridge - Interior
A dark, spherical room was illuminated by countless holographic monitors, each displaying chaos. Agents worked frantically to maintain the ship's defenses as the shields absorbed repeated impacts, each blast subtly shaking the bridge and amplifying the suffocating tension.
Suddenly, the rhythmic stomps of heavy footsteps echoed through the metal flooring, cutting through the atmosphere. Agents nearby looked up as an imposing eleven-foot silhouette strode toward the center of the bridge. The towering figure lowered into the oversized captain's chair, their dark blue, scaly skin glinting faintly under the dim lights. Grand Magister Tol—a Highbreed of formidable presence—now commanded the scene.
He gazed out at the orbital station caught between enemy fire and shield-busting laser shots. His deep, commanding voice finally broke the silence.
"Report."
A Dracosian Plumber agent descended from a crane-like chair and approached, standing at attention.
"Grand Magister Tol, sir. Intel indicates the attack is being led by Psyphon and Doctor Psychobos." The agent displayed holographic profiles of the two. "We also suspect a third ship, docked somewhere outside the station, but our scans are jammed."
Tol remained expressionless.
"Should we continue to send more agents?" The tension in the room thickened as eyes turned to the Grand Magister, awaiting his verdict.
"No. We cannot afford to lose more agents," Tol said, his voice like stone. "Order the remaining Plumber Starfighters to retreat."
The command was issued instantly. A brief pause followed.
"Activate Project Cosmo."
Orbital Correctional Institution - Central Recreational Sector
Stun shots and shock grenades erupted from all directions. Hundreds of inmates flooded the area, scrambling toward the nearest hangar or escape pod. Plumber agents and guards made a desperate final stand atop a pile of debris, guarding one of the large bay doors. Inmates charged relentlessly, climbing toward them, driven by raw survival instincts. The agents fought back, raining down shock-fire—but they were being overrun.
"Fall back! Fall back!" a guard shouted, motioning to others scattered around the chaos. Before the retreat could begin, a blur shot past them, nearly knocking them off balance as an intense gust of wind followed.
—XLR8—
In an instant, the inmates climbing the debris pile were knocked out cold. One guard, moments away from being crushed by a Tetramand escapee, blinked as he was suddenly saved.
Kicks, shoves, and uppercuts flashed through the battlefield at a speed too fast to register. Guards were pulled to safety, though some felt nauseous from being moved so quickly. Inmates scattered, realizing who they were up against.
With the green glow of the Omnitrix on his chest, Ben Tennyson—now XLR8—had cleared the entire first floor in seconds. He even managed to toss some inmates back into their cells.
But as he came to a sudden halt, a massive pile of debris was hurled straight at him.
—AMPFIBIAN—
Ben transformed mid-dash, becoming intangible as Ampfibian. The debris phased through him, but a sudden invisible force yanked him to the ground, pinning him. He struggled, eyes darting around, wondering if it was some kind of Mana or magic. A figure floated above him.
The being was humanoid, with thorn-like protrusions on his head, pitch-black eyes, and dry, greyish skin. An eerie, almost orchestral tone seemed to fill the air with his presence.
Inmate: "At last, we meet again, Tennyson! I have prepared for this moment! You took everything from me! Prepare for—"
Ben: "Hey, hey, timeout!" Ben struggled under the crushing force, lifting his head with difficulty. "Who are you?"
The inmate froze, visibly baffled.
Inmate: "What? It is I, Varlon Nakyura! Master of the eldritch arts! Rightful ruler of Proxima Quentari! Conqueror of—" He paused, his voice rising. "What do you mean, 'who am I?'!"
Ben: "Uh... right, yeah..." Ben stared, then casually lay back, still being crushed but unfazed. "Doesn't ring a bell, man. Sorry."
Varlon was in stunned disbelief.
Varlon: "But our battle! It was legendary! I trained my entire life for this! How dare you forget me!" He was genuinely hurt.
Ben: "Dude, do you have any idea how many bad guys I deal with? I can't remember everyone!" Ben zapped Varlon with a jolt of electricity, freeing himself from the villain's grip. "I'm only human... half the time."
Varlon staggered back, enraged. He summoned his full mystical powers, causing the facility's lights to flicker and dim.
Varlon: "Then I will refresh your pathetic excuse of a memory, in a second!"
—FEEDBACK—
Ben: "Make it ten." With a smirk, he transformed into Feedback, cracking his knuckles as electricity arced between his fingertips.
Both combatants launched themselves at each other, power charging as they collided.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Interior - Control Room
The blast door to the station's control room began to be swiftly cut through by an orange blade, concealed from the other end. After the effort, two pairs of feline-like hands struggled to push the door open.
Once slid open entirely, a slightly older, but still valiant Rovonnahgander stood at the doorway, scouting the half-lit room. It was Magister Rook.
Rook: "Command. I have reached the control room. I believe the emergency protocols have not been initiated. The flight crew is offline." He spoke through comms, beginning to reactivate the automatons.
Tol: "Magister Rook Sha. Has Ben Tennyson secured the facility and detained the inmates?" His tone was sharp, though controlled.
Rook wrinkled his face, aware that Ben was likely distracted from the primary objective. The room powered up after his tampering, and one of the monitors lit up, showcasing surveillance of the station. Ben's ongoing battle with Varlon could be seen as the two wreaked havoc across the facility. Meanwhile, several groups of inmates had already begun to abandon the station in pods.
Rook: "Grand Magister, sir. Ben is currently occupied with Nakyura—" He was abruptly cut off by his superior.
Tol: "As expected. Once again, Tennyson proves to be... insubordinate and inefficient." The grand magister's fingers tapped against the side of his chair, the irritation in his voice barely masked.
Rook said nothing in return, knowing better than to argue.
Tol: "We have sent in reinforcements."
Rook's brow furrowed as he lifted his head from the holo-monitor, curiosity mixed with concern.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Distributional Hallways
"I- I remember now, there's a pod room this way! Hurry up, we haven't got much time!" one of the prisoners shouted to the group behind him, made up of various alien species. They swarmed through the corridors, reaching a sealed door. Just as they were about to breach it, the sound of metal groaning echoed through the hall.
Two robotic hands tore the door open with brute strength, effortlessly sliding it aside. Smoke billowed into the corridor as the lights flickered overhead. The inmates surged forward.
From the mist emerged a tall, metallic figure coated in white paint, adorned with the Plumber's insignia and glowing blue lights. Its body was humanoid but resembled the form of the dnaliens of the High Breed. Without hesitation, it grabbed one of the inmates by the collar and electrocuted him into submission. More of these robotic enforcers emerged, moving with mechanical precision, overwhelming the prisoners.
The convicts attempted to fight back, but the skirmish was abruptly interrupted by a violent rupture from the floor beneath them. In an instant, whatever had broken through punched upward again, breaching the ceiling above in a whirlwind of debris. It was Ben Tennyson and Varlon, locked in fierce combat. Their silhouettes smashed through several levels until both crashed upwards onto a hangar. Varlon groaned as he hit the ground.
—HUMUNGOUSAUR—
Ben, now in his massive Humungousaur form, wasted no time, slamming his fist down at Varlon. But the villain was quick, conjuring a shimmering magical shield that absorbed the blow.
Ben: "Wait! I remember now!" He kept pounding on the shield, each strike pushing Varlon backward. "You're the guy who tried to blow up the moon on Magnus Centuri!"
Varlon: "What?! I'm from Transyl, you moron!" Varlon pushed back, his shield surging with energy.
Ben continued his assault, and with a final, thunderous punch, the shield shattered. Varlon stumbled, dazed by the impact.
Ben: "Hey, at least I'm trying to remember, okay?" He readied a colossal finishing blow.
But Varlon was faster. Summoning a massive illusionary fist, mirroring Humungousaur's, he uppercut Ben before the blow could land, sending the hero reeling.
Ben (groaning): "Why is it always the space wizards that land the toughest hits?" he muttered, lying on the cold steel floor.
—SPIDERMONKEY—
In a blur of motion, Ben transformed into Spidermonkey, letting out his characteristic simian screech. He flipped and dodged as Varlon sent a barrage of energy blasts in his direction.
Varlon: "Aha, I see it now!" His voice crackled with fury as he hurled wave after wave of energy. "You're pretending to have forgotten me!" One of his blasts missed Ben and obliterated a nearby ship, causing a massive explosion.
The shockwave launched Ben toward Varlon. Dazed, Ben glanced up as Varlon floated above him. The villain descended, planting his feet firmly on the ground.
Varlon: "Agh- Your ego simply won't allow you to admit that I am your fiercest enemy!" His voice echoed through the hangar, filled with righteous indignation.
Ben (chuckling): "Dude, no." He barely dodged another energy blast, somersaulting out of the way with Spidermonkey's agility.
At the other end of the hangar, one of the large doors was forcibly wrenched open. A wave of inmates barged in, their eyes set on escape pods. Distracted by the commotion, Ben didn't see the next blast coming. It struck him hard, sending him flying into a pile of supply crates, splintering them into pieces.
"Ben." No reply. He shakes his head.
"Ben!"
"What?!" He taps his commlink.
Rook: "I hope you have finished enjoying your customary antics. We have a situation. I have regained control of most of the station's systems."
While webbing up countless inmates to prevent their escape to the pods, Ben also contended with Varlon's murderous intentions. "Hit me with the bad news."
Rook: "Psyphon has entered Cell Block 99."
Ben dodges blaster fire and narrowly avoids a blast of Varlon's magic. "Alright, alright, fun time's over. Got it."
Rook: "And I must add: Grand Magister Tol is very displeased."
Ben hisses in response. He unleashes a rapid barrage of webs, ensnaring most of the inmates, including temporarily trapping Varlon. Then he transforms again.
—GUTROT—
"Alright, nighty night!" He releases a thick, rampant mist that engulfs the hangar, plunging it into a foggy chaos. Anyone who breathes it in— instantly falls asleep.
Varlon breaks free from the webbing and ascends above, evading the mist. Ben looks up, preparing for another clash.
Varlon: "Pitiful... it will take more than that to put a Nakyura back in chains!" He begins to charge his energy.
Just then, a pair of chain-like inhibitors are launched, latching onto Varlon and rendering him stunned and immobile. Below, by the entry doorway, a group of robots—identical to those from the lower levels—stands ready.
A slightly more mature Ben stood before the group of synthetic soldiers. He was still the same lean, scrawny guy, but his style had changed. He wore attire reminiscent of his first future counterpart, the one he had encountered in his childhood. Latched onto his arm was a version of the Omnitrix nearly identical to the one his variant possessed. Tennyson was now all grown up—a young adult.
Ben: "Phew- thought I was gonna have to face off against Mysterio here again." He joked at the expense of the entrapped villain.
Varlon: "My name is Varlon Nakyura, and I will have my revenge!" An awkward silence followed his dramatic declaration.
Ben: "Jeez, you bad guys all follow the same cheesy script. See you next season, Dracula." He turned away from the villain, who continued to shout but was ignored.
"It's Nakyura!" He shouted angrily, as he was taken away by two of the robots.
Ben glanced at the tall, shiny automaton and poked it. "I am getting a sense of déjà vu with that design." He adjusted his hair, using the robot's reflection as a mirror, but was interrupted.
One of the robots projected a live feed from Grand Magister Tol. Ben's previously upbeat demeanor quickly shifted to one of disdain; he did not greet his superior.
Tol: "Do not waste another second, Tennyson. The Cosmobots will cover the areas you have sluggishly failed to secure. Complete your objective at once. Perhaps one of your transformations could grant you the power of... responsibility." The projection ended.
Ben completely ignored the encounter, tilting his head in annoyance.
The robots began to retreat, regaining control of the unconscious inmates scattered throughout the station, though most had already escaped. They efficiently grouped the inmates and took Varlon away to his cell.
Ben: "Right. See you later, terminator." He whispered with a hint of fatigue. Just then, his commlink buzzed.
Rook: "Ben. I understand that you have a distaste for the current administration of the Plumbers, but Grand Magister Tol is still your superior. It is unwise to continue acting as you have, regardless of your reputation." He advised his friend through the commlink.
Ben: "Come on, Rook, the guy is a total control freak. He hates me just cause I don't play by the book... When have I ever messed up on a job?" As he spoke, Ben began to leave the hangar, running past various robots.
Rook remained silent.
Ben: "Okay, okay, when have I ever not flawlessly fixed a mess I made on the job?" He argued.
Rook: "If my memory serves me right, that would be numerous times." He sighed.
Ben: "Correcto!" He tweaked the Omnitrix.
—FASTTRACK—
Ben: "Now, you just worry about getting this station back in orbit. I'll deal with the rogues gallery."
Tennyson was now focused on his objective, phasing into a speeding silhouette and disappearing into the hallways.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Cell Block 99
A massive pair of sliding doors parted, releasing a cloud of fog. Psyphon staggered inside, visibly worn from the trials he'd faced to reach this level. His movements were stiff, and his condition betrayed the struggles he'd endured.
The station's defenses were still offline. Automated turrets hung idle, facing downward, while security automatons remained in sleep mode. For the moment, he was safe.
Cell Block 99 housed the galaxy's most dangerous threats, from local menaces to intergalactic warlords. Cells built to contain them lined the block: the Vreedles, Doctor Animo, Vulkanus, and countless others. At the very heart of the structure was Vilgax, locked away with other high-priority inmates, like Darkstar—sealed in a Carbonite Sarcophagus, bound by powerful magic.
Vulkanus noticed Psyphon's arrival. "Psyphon? Of all the maniacs in the universe, you're the last one I expected to see here."
Psyphon could barely muster a response, but he gave a nod in acknowledgment—a gesture of mutual respect.
Vulkanus grunted, observing his condition. "Wake up, everyone! Our time here's done!" His fists hammered against the walls, the booming echoes rousing the rest of the block's inmates from their tortured slumber.
Psyphon dragged himself to one of the control panels as dozens of eyes fixed on him, anticipating freedom.
A voice crackled in Psyphon's ear through his commlink, filled with irritation.
"Why waste time freeing these lesser beings?" The voice of Doctor Psychobos oozed with contempt.
The doctor was safely hidden aboard Vilgax's personal shuttle, which was docked covertly near the station's core.
Psyphon gritted his teeth. "Because we need distractions. Tennyson's already breached the station, and that Rovonnahgander is with him. The boy's too cocky to realize how much potential he's wasting."
Psychobos sneered. "Excuses. I care not for your affection toward these insignificant prisoners. Focus on freeing our master—before we lose the chance to abandon ship." He slammed his control panel in frustration.
Psyphon's temper flared. "Another reminder, Psychobos—you are not in charge here."
Psychobos chuckled derisively. "Perhaps not, but I am certainly the brains of this operation." His crab-like claws snapped twice. "Vilgax's chamber code is 122-72-005. I trust your so-called 'grand intellect' can handle the rest of the chain code's firewall." With that, the line cut off.
Biting back his frustration at having to work with the insufferable Cerebralcrustacean, Psyphon began typing commands into the secondary console. Despite his exhaustion, he worked swiftly and soon, the locks on the block disengaged.
With a deafening chorus of metal grinding on metal, countless cells opened. The prisoners wasted no time fleeing into the corridors, desperate for freedom.
Vulkanus bellowed as he stormed past. "I owe you one, Psyphon! See you on Bar Oppah!" His massive form quickly disappeared among the throng of escaping inmates.
Psyphon continued toward the central cell to free Vilgax. As he did, a figure paused and studied him intently.
Inspector 13, the former weapons master of Techadon, scanned Psyphon's cybernetic body with cool curiosity, making a record of his schematics. Then, without a word, he resumed his calm, measured walk away from the chaos, arms folded behind his back.
Plumber Flagship - Bridge - Interior
The Orbital Correctional Station was hurtling toward the planet's atmosphere, on the verge of disaster. Grand Magister Tol reviewed the situation with a cold, calculating stare.
Plumber Agent: "Sir, seven minutes until reentry. The station's propulsion systems cannot be recovered in time. Additionally, Cell Block 99 has been breached—Tennyson is in pursuit. What are your orders?"
Tol remained silent for a moment, his expression unreadable.
Tol: "Initiate Protocol Nine on the Cosmobots."
A hushed gasp rippled through the bridge. Some agents hesitated, clearly uneasy about the order. Others, more loyal to Tol, quickly keyed in the command.
Tol sat motionless in his captain's chair, his face devoid of emotion as he stared ahead.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Interior
Ben sped through the facility like a blur, phasing in and out of sight with near-sound-breaking speed. In his Citrakayah form, he had cleared dozens of levels, rounding up runaway prisoners and tossing them back into their cells in the blink of an eye.
But something felt off.
He glanced to his side just in time to see several Cosmobots' visor lights shift from a calm blue to a menacing red.
The Plumber automatons, designed to neutralize threats with stun weaponry, suddenly activated lethal armaments.
Time seemed to slow as Ben watched them prepare to fire, not at him—but at the inmates. His eyes widened in shock and confusion. "What the—?"
There was no time to think. His instincts kicked in as he surged forward, moving at breakneck speed to pull the prisoners out of the line of fire. Deadly blaster shots tore through the air, narrowly missing the inmates, but leaving Ben with no choice.
He gritted his teeth and tore through a group of Cosmobots, disabling their internal units in a flurry of movement.
As the danger cleared, the rescued prisoners—shaken but grateful—hurried back into their cells willingly.
But then Ben heard it—the echo of mechanical whirs and the ominous red glow intensifying from the levels above. The protocol had activated everywhere.
Ben: "That's no good..."
He realized there were too many robots, too many inmates. Even at his speed, he couldn't save them all. Not unless...
—CLOCKWORK—
Time nearly came to a standstill as Ben transformed into Clockwork, his mechanical form clunking into action. He analyzed the situation, his gaze slowly moving upward. Six levels above, the same chaos was unfolding.
He moved clumsily but methodically through each level, freezing time as he relocated every inmate into their cells. One level, then the next, then the third.
On the fourth, he spotted Solid Plugg, sitting calmly and playing chess by himself while twenty blaster shots zeroed in on him. Surrounded by Cosmobots, the blasters inches from his face, Plugg seemed entirely unbothered.
Ben shrugged. "He'll be fine." He moved on, knowing Plugg's durability would suffice.
Levels five and six were handled with ease, though Clockwork's ability was beginning to wear thin. At that moment, Ben got an idea, seeing all the Cosmobots lined up...
As time resumed, blaster shots fired—but instead of striking their targets, the bolts found only metal.
Ben smirked as the Cosmobots' shots ricocheted off each other, damaging their own ranks. He had used the remaining effects of his ability to move the robots so that they'd all face each other in aim. By the time the malfunctioning automatons had obliterated themselves, Ben, now transformed as Fasttrack again, was already racing toward Cell Block 99—though considerably delayed.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Cell Block 99 - Central Area
The station groaned as steam hissed from pipes and machinery clanked into motion. Toxic liquid spilled from a massive containment cell, flooding the floor in sickly green pools. Thick mist obscured the area, but Psyphon stood in awe, knowing what was about to emerge.
Two heavy, deliberate footsteps echoed.
Vilgax.
Psyphon immediately dropped to one knee, bowing before the warlord.
Vilgax straightened his massive frame, his movements slow but powerful. His eyes, bloodshot and irritated, snapped open. His first words cut through the silence, his voice deep and disembodied.
Vilgax: "How long..." His voice echoed with eeriness.
The question reverberated through the chamber.
Psyphon: "Far too long, Master... The galaxy believes you dead." His voice quivered with both reverence and fear. "Some of your conquered worlds have forgotten their loyalty to you."
Vilgax's face twisted in rage. With a guttural roar, he slammed a fist into the tank that had held him captive, cracking the reinforced glass. His fury palpable, he turned toward Psyphon, inspecting his servant's ravaged, cybernetic body.
A scowl formed on his face.
Vilgax: "You're in a worse state than I am, Psyphon."
Psyphon: "The cost of saving you, Master." Psyphon bowed his head lower. "Our ship is nearby, but we don't have much time."
The station shuddered violently, systems rebooting as the alarms for atmospheric reentry blared. Emergency lights flashed red.
Psyphon: "No! It's too soon!" he yelled as the facility's automated defenses kicked back online.
Turrets reactivated, swiveling toward them. Vilgax didn't flinch. He tore a metal panel from the floor, split it in half with his bare hands, and hurled the pieces at the nearest turret. The impact disabled it instantly, sparks flying from its frame.
Vilgax: "Psyphon! Get us out of here!" he ordered, his voice thunderous. He tried to regain his strength.
Without hesitation, Psyphon led the way, dragging them from cover to cover, dodging a hail of blaster fire from the remaining turrets. At the entrance to the cell block, two towering robotic guards blocked their path. The automatons advanced, weapons ready, but they were no match for two of the galaxy's most dangerous duo.
Vilgax moved first. He grabbed one of the robots by its leg, hoisting the massive automaton into the air with ease. It crashed into the second guard like a toppling tower of metal, both machines collapsing in a heap.
Seizing the opportunity, Psyphon lobbed the last of his implosion grenades into the pile.
The two villains sprinted out of the cell block, racing through the door just as the grenades detonated behind them. A deafening boom followed, obliterating the entrance and the wreckage of the robots within.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Interior - Control Room
Rook worked tirelessly, reactivating the piloting droids as they scrambled to regain control over the propulsion systems. But deep down, he knew time was running out. The station was on the verge of entering the atmosphere.
The commlink crackled.
Commlink: "Co- In- Rook." The signal was weak, cutting in and out.
Rook: "Ben, the signal is failing. I have done all I can, but the station is about to enter reentry." He paced around the room, trying to find a better connection.
Ben (Commlink): "It's not over yet, partner. I'm closing in on Psyphon and Vilgax. Tol has some explaining to do as well."
Rook: "What happened?"
Ben: "I'll explain when this is over. You focus on keeping this thing from crashing—we need a safer landing. I'll handle putting that squid back in his tank." Ben cut the commlink, picking up speed as he raced through the halls.
Plumber Flagship - Bridge
The Plumber flagship glided through the debris of Vilgax's shattered frigates, their remnants floating as lifeless rubble in space. The scene outside was one of complete destruction.
The bridge was eerily quiet, the tension palpable. Only the low hum of the ship's systems broke the silence.
Grand Magister Tol stared ahead, his expression cold and unreadable.
Tol: "You may fire when ready..."
Orbital Correctional Institution - Central Hangar Corridor
Vilgax and Psyphon moved as quickly as they could manage, their steps heavy with exhaustion.
Psyphon: "Master, the ship is just beyond these walls. We should be—" His voice trailed off as they both came to an abrupt halt.
Standing at the far end of the corridor, Ben Tennyson—transformed as Fasttrack—waited, still and resolute.
Ben and Vilgax locked eyes. The air was thick with tension. Only twenty feet separated them, yet the weight of their history made it feel like miles. The silence was oppressive, broken only by their steady breathing.
—ATOMIX—
In an instant, Ben shifted forms. The massive and glowing figure of Atomix now stood in the corridor, ready for a fight.
Vilgax and Psyphon braced themselves, trying to steel their nerves in the face of Ben's overwhelming power.
A few seconds passed, but it felt like an eternity, the corridor becoming a crucible of animosity. The space between them was charged with hatred and history.
Then, Vilgax grinned—a slow, menacing realization dawning on his face.
Vilgax: "What a predicament you find yourself in, Tennyson. Soon, this station will be nothing but stardust. Your tiresome moral code puts everyone—your friend included—in danger. We both know you will not let that happen."
Ben's fists clenched tightly. He remained silent, his fury simmering just beneath the surface.
Vilgax: "So, which will it be, hero? Me in a cage... or a thousand souls, turned to ashes?"
The ultimatum hung in the air, chilling and cruel.
Before Ben could respond, Psyphon staggered.
Psyphon: "I... no... something is wrong—"
Suddenly, Psyphon's body convulsed violently. His cybernetics malfunctioned, sending bolts of electricity surging through him. With a pained cry, he collapsed to the floor, his form writhing in shock.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Control Room
Rook stared out at the stars, a creeping sense of dread filling him. His face paled as a blinding flash of light filled the room, illuminating everything with an intense, unnatural glow.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Central Hangar Corridor
The entire facility shuddered violently as an explosion tore through the structure. The central hangar began to collapse. Ben tried to fly straight toward Vilgax, but the ruptured hallway between them split wide open, separating the two adversaries. Across the station, remaining escape pods and stolen ships launched in desperation, fleeing the impending destruction.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Control Room
Rook recovered from the impact, lifting himself from the floor. His scanners detected two incoming projectiles, moving too fast to intercept. They would annihilate the station and everything aboard.
Rook: "Activate all shields now!"
The piloting droids swiftly complied, and the station's shields flared to life just as the projectiles struck. The shields deflected the blows, but the kinetic energy of the explosion sent the station spiraling downward. The uncontrolled force pushed the facility into the planet's atmosphere.
The Orbital Correctional Institution was now hurtling towards Earth. Frantically, Rook attempted to regain communication with the Plumber flagship.
Rook: "This is Magister Rook to Plumber Flagship. What is the meaning of this?! Do you copy? I repeat, do you copy?"
But there was only silence. Rook looked up through the viewport, his face falling as he saw the station's exterior beginning to burn upon reentry.
Rook: "Sweet Amber Ogia..." He whispered in disbelief before shouting to the droids. "Activate Emergency Recovery Protocols!"
The droids reacted instantly. Sealing breached sections of the station, deploying extinguishers to the affected areas. Though damage control was active, the station continued its uncontrolled descent towards the planet below, accelerating every second.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Destroyed Central Hangar Corridor
Through the wreckage of the station, a sharp cutting tool pierced a hole in the wall. Moments later, Dr. Psychobos emerged. The station trembled violently as it began to fall apart.
Dr. Psychobos: "Lord Vilgax, we must leave at once!" he cried, desperation in his voice.
A few of Vilgax's minions rushed in to aid their master, but Vilgax waved them off as he slowly stood, his eyes cold and calculating. His gaze fell upon the unconscious Psyphon at his feet, his once-loyal servant. For a moment, Vilgax stood unmoved, then bent over Psyphon's lifeless form. Without a word, Vilgax opened a compartment at the back of Psyphon's head, revealing the neural mainframe that powered the cybernetic being.
With mechanical precision, Vilgax extracted a small microchip from Psyphon's brain. As the chip was removed, a faint whirring sound echoed. Psyphon's body grew pale, the dim light of life fading from his eyes. His body went limp, his energy extinguished.
Vilgax dropped Psyphon's now-useless body without a second thought, leaving him behind like discarded scrap.
He turned and walked toward the breach in the wall, stepping aboard his waiting ship with his minions. Dr. Psychobos paused for a brief moment, glancing back at Psyphon's still form. With a cruel smirk, he laughed and then sealed the opening behind them, erasing any trace of their departure.
For several seconds, the corridor was silent, the debris settling around Psyphon's lifeless body. Then, out of the darkness, a pair of long, delicate mechanical arms appeared, carefully lifting Psyphon and pulling him away from the wreckage.
As Vilgax's ship detached from the Orbital Correctional Institution, it sped away from the doomed station. Once a safe distance was reached, the ship jumped into hyperspace, vanishing from the system and leaving the station behind to its fate.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Control Room
Chunks of the station broke free bit by bit as the exterior burned up. Rook was doing all he could, alongside the piloting droids, to steer the ship, but to no avail; the ship was nosediving into the planet.
Rook: "Computer, are there any casualties in any of the cell blocks?" he asked, worried.
Piloting Droid: "Negative. Scans indicate that all remaining inmates have suffered mild injuries from the event."
It was relieving news for Rook.
Rook: "Ben, do you copy? I could use your improvisational skills right about now!" he yelled through his commlink.
Orbital Correctional Institution - Destroyed Recreational Area
A little insect-like alien squirmed through debris, navigating the destroyed sections of the station.
—NANOMECH—
Ben: "Don't stress, Rook. I have a plan." He spoke through the commlink.
Rook: "A plan? You have a plan? I hope that it involves everyone leaving this station alive." He sighed.
Ben: "Dang, how'd you know?" He joked. "Can a Galilean take the beating from reentry?"
Rook: "Keplorr does have a thousand times the gravity of Earth, which means that, theoretically, yes."
Ben: "Alright, well, since this place is—Oh—woah!" The station tilted, causing debris to fall towards him.
—BIG CHILL—
He became intangible. "As I was saying, since this place is literally nosediving, I will use that momentum to tilt us, using gravity to glide us down to Earth, landing in the ocean." He was on his way to leave the station.
Rook: "I am impressed. For once you have properly conveyed a plan. Good job, partner."
Ben: "Y'know, it is hard to tell sarcasm off of Rovonnahganders. Ready up."
Rook prepared what was left of the station to maneuver a dangerous glide. Ben was nearly outside, phasing through walls. He arrived at a ravaged hangar.
—GRAVATTACK—
Ben: "Alright, about to feel the heat of a few suns right up in my face. Just another normal day at work!" He approached a computer and set the hangar bay doors to open. As the doors opened, the intense effects of reentry began to affect the hangar.
Ben started running toward the opening. He jumped, immediately being dragged upwards, screaming as he hit various parts of the station. He held onto a ledge, but it was torn off, sending him flying.
Tennyson regained his composure and began to manipulate gravity to his advantage.
Rook: "Ben, levitate towards the frontal tipping end of the station, below it. You must centralize yourself to the mass of the station, equalizing your own gravitational field with it. This will create an artificial directional effect that allows you to assist me in steering."
Ben: "Awesome. Now say it in English for the folks back home, please." He joked, guiding his gravitational pull downward.
A large external piece of the station suddenly peeled away, almost taking Ben with it. A few Cosmobots flew out of the torn segments. "Uh, Rook...?"
Rook: "Do not worry. All remaining inmates were relocated to the main cell block at the upper levels of the station." He paused, urgency rising in his voice. "Hurry. We do not have much time left. We will impact the ground in one minute and thirty seconds."
Ben: "Had me worried there." He quickly maneuvered to the end of the station and began the gravitational alignment.
With a groan, he strained under the immense weight of the station and the crushing gravitational pull. After an intense effort, he finally managed to take control and began to tilt the structure.
Ben: "Beam it up, Scotty!" Rook promptly activated all propulsion systems in the station.
The combined force of the propulsion and Ben's gravitational tilt caused the entire station to angle upwards, gliding at high speed towards Earth.
Ben: "Turn it off!" He screamed as the station surged forward. Rook immediately cut the propulsion. The entire structure shrieked in protest as pieces continued to be torn away.
Using Gravattack, Ben struggled to slow their descent, each second bringing immense pain.
Rook: "Ben? How are you holding up?"
Ben: "Oh pretty great! Feels like giving birth to Saturn! No biggie!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth, his voice strained with effort.
What remained of the Orbital Correctional Institution soared over the Earth twice before finally reducing its momentum enough to crash into the Atlantic Ocean.
A massive splash erupted.
Ben was forced to revert to his natural form, sinking into the water, unconscious. The remaining inmates and crucial parts of the station were saved. Amidst the debris, a dark sarcophagus floated slightly away from the wreckage. Everything faded into darkness.
Later...
The Plumber flagship, along with several other Plumber ships, landed on the ocean next to the wreckage of the fallen station. Plumber Agents and Cosmobots worked tirelessly to rescue and relocate the inmates still trapped inside. The scene was chaotic.
Grand Magister Tol strode through the disaster area, flanked by two Cosmobot guards. His eyes fell on Magister Rook, who was receiving treatment for his minor injuries. Tol approached him, casting a shadow over the injured Magister.
Tol: "Magister Rook Blonko," he stated, his voice steady and authoritative.
Rook took a moment to respond, his expression momentarily reflecting his frustration before he composed himself. He saluted. "Grand Magister Tol, sir."
Tol: "I apologize for the lack of communication during this dire situation. I received direct orders from the High Council to eradicate the station."
Rook listened, withholding any immediate judgment. He had expected context for the orders, but the realization that he would not receive any left him disappointed.
Tol: "You did what you could, and I commend your efforts." His tone remained emotionless, as if reading from a script.
Rook saluted again, concealing his true feelings. "What are these automatons? Are they Plumber-issued?" He changed the subject, hoping to redirect the tension.
"They're your replacements!" a squeaky voice piped up. Two tiny hovering platforms zoomed in, revealing the Galvan scientists, Blukic and Driba.
Driba crossed his arms. "Don't listen to this guy; he'll just sugarcoat it." He gestured dismissively at Tol.
Blukic chimed in, "The High Council has mandated an artificial authoritarian approach for most security matters. Hope you enjoy paperwork, because you and everyone else are getting promoted to certified office workers."
Grand Magister Tol visibly bristled at their presence and waved them away. "I assure you, they are merely assistive tools for our future endeavors. The Cosmobots were designed to replicate the physical and intellectual capabilities of any on-field Plumber Agent." He tapped one of the Cosmobots to demonstrate.
Tol continued, "A formidable combatant, they will help save lives on both fronts..."
"Yeah? Like you care about lives so much, right?!" a voice shouted, cutting through the air.
Everyone turned to see Ben striding forward, fury etched across his face.
Rook muttered, "Uh-oh," with a sigh.
Ben charged directly toward Grand Magister Tol, undeterred by the difference in their stature.
Ben: "You! I've had it with you! What's your problem, man?! You're out here talking about saving lives while you cling to your damned bureaucratic mindset. You know what my grandpa or Patelliday would've done? They would have ignored that order and done their best to save lives because that's what Plumbers do!" He poked a finger at Tol's chest. "We're not here to fill in a quota! We're here to protect and serve, and you would've only served yourself blood!" He shouted, voice rising.
Tol stood silent and stoic, unaffected, while onlookers watched the unprofessional spectacle unfold.
"Y'know, it's your fault Vilgax got away! I had him right in front of me. If you hadn't followed that order—if you hadn't attempted mass genocide! Because that's what it would've been, might I add!—we'd all be calling it a day. So I ask again, what is your problem?!"
Tol paused, weighing his words carefully before responding, perhaps anticipating another outburst from the reputable hero.
Tol: "My problem, Tennyson, is that you are a god playing amongst mortal men."
Ben was taken aback. "What did you say?"
Tol: "You possess the power of gods, the ability to bend the universe to your will. Make it so none of this could ever happen. Where was that infamous Celestialsapien transformation when we needed it? You could've put the prisoners back in their cells with a thought, fixed the station with a wave of your hand, or turned the infiltrator into a Gorän Centipede for all I could imagine. What is your excuse for meddling in the affairs of mere mortals?"
Ben's expression shifted, clearly disturbed by the insinuation.
Tol: "My duty is to do as the High Council demands. The treaty made by the High Council of Interplanetary Systems states that the Plumber Agency must answer their calls. I follow orders, something you clearly don't do—not because you cannot, but because you do not wish to. Why wouldn't you?"
Ben's gaze fell to the ground, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
Tol: "I have followed your career with great interest, Tennyson. Years ago, you saved my people from their misguided views of the universe, granting us our position in this galactic hierarchy, and for that, I will always be thankful... But the objective truth still stands." He paused for emphasis.
Ben listened closely.
Tol: "You will always be one bad day away from bending reality to your will..."
Silence enveloped the area, the only sounds being the distant clash of metal and the gentle lapping of waves.
Ben sighed, defeated. "I quit." He dropped his Plumber badge over the railing and began to walk away.
Tol remained unmoved, while Rook and everyone else onboard were left in stunned silence, disbelief etched on their faces.
—JETRAY—
A familiar flash of green light erupted, temporarily blinding those on deck. Ben took off, leaving before anyone could respond to his decision.
As the sun began to set over the ocean, it marked the end of another day—and the start of a new chapter in Ben Tennyson's life.
—END CARD—