As the elevator doors opened, Rook and Hope slowly supported Ben as they walked down the corridor. They stopped in front of a door and Rook opened the doors to his apartment to let Ben and Hope in.
They helped Ben lay down on the couch as Ben grunted in pain. As Ben laid down, Hope instinctively asked him.
"So. We know Vilgax is gonna do his next plan, but we don't know what, where, and when. What do we do now?"
Ben remained silent. Hope raised an eyebrow, then looked at Rook. There was a palpable tension of grief and loss in the air. The mood and the temperature of the room dropped as the room felt a little gloomier and darker. Rook shook his head.
"Ben?" Hope asked the second time.
"I don't know, okay?" Ben snapped in frustration.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Hope started. "So this is it? This is how it all ends? The world's falling apart, and we're just supposed to sit here and do nothing? Just a few days ago, you dragged me out of that hellhole I was rotting in—offering me redemption, showing me what it could mean to be a good person, how to confront my own demons. And now you want to give up? I actually thought I was making a difference, that maybe someone like me could get a second chance. But no, I guess second chances aren't for people like me. They're not for villains, are they?"
She paused, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation.
"And you, Ben… you're still haunted by the deaths of Grandpa Max, Gwen, and now 've become so small. The hero you once were… that kid who stood up to anything, who was fearless… he's gone. You've fallen so far, and it breaks my heart. I used to envy you, but now… I pity you. You're a shadow of the hero you used to be, crippled by guilt and pain, too afraid to even try. You brought me here, showed me what it meant to be better, but all I see now is someone who's lost his way. And what does that mean for someone like me?"
Rook tried to intervene to dissipate the tension. "Hope, I don't think-"
"Don't you dare to dismiss me, Rook Blonko." Hope interrupted him, her voice full of bitterness and accusation. "If anything, you brought me into this as well." She gnashed her teeth.
She turned back to Ben. "You can't escape your guilt, can you Ben?" Hope continued. "But this—this wallowing in self-pity—it's not what they would have wanted for you. Grandpa Max raised you to be strong, to do the right thing no matter how hard it got. And Gwen? She always believed in you, always believed that you could rise above anything. Kevin… he trusted you with his life, and now, you're just going to throw all that away because you're too scared, too tired, to keep fighting?"
Her voice grows more intense, each word charged with emotion.
"Do you think they'd be proud of you now? Seeing you like this? Grandpa Max, Gwen, Kevin—they all wanted you to be better, to stand tall no matter what. And what are you doing? Hiding, giving up… sinking into self-pity like it's a warm blanket. They wouldn't recognize the hero you used to be. Hell, I barely recognize you, and I never even knew the real Ben Tennyson. The hero I've heard about… he wouldn't just lie down and let the world burn."
Ben punched the floor and rose to his feet. Hope instinctively fell silent.
Ben glared at Rook. "Coming to me was a mistake," Ben told him, shaking his head.. "I told you that the man you were looking for was long gone." Ben slowly trudged to the toilet.
Not knowing what to do, Rook rubbed his head.
"I– uh, I'm gonna run and get us some stuff," Rook told Hope. "There's clean clothes in my closet. Pick any. I'll be back in twenty."
She nodded and Rook disappeared behind the door.
Hope walked over to Rook's bedroom and opened his closet. After going through his clothes, Hope picked a black tank. She stripped off her robe, revealing her small, petite figure. There were multiple scars and bruises across her body, the permanent marks a silent reminder of her past.
She got into the black tank which was a few sizes above her. From the toilet, she could hear Ben struggling over his breaths, coughing and wheezing repeatedly. She grabbed a clean white shirt and walked to the toilet.
The toilet door was unlocked, so Hope peeked inside. Ben was standing in front of the sink, his back turned against her. She spotted a few towels on the floor, riddled with blood stains all over them. She hurriedly glided to Ben who was hunched over the sink.
"Hey, you okay?" Hope asked worriedly.
Ben wiped his mouth with another towel as more blood marks stained the towel.
"I'm sorry for what I said," Hope looked down. "I guess I was just frustrated."
Ben nodded slowly as he reached for the pill bottle he had placed at the end of the sink. He twisted the cap open and popped 3 pills into his mouth and washed it down with tap water.
"You're sick," Hope pointed out. "You're dying." Ben remained silent. Hope examined the burnt and worn out Omnitrix resting on his wrist. The area of skin around Ben's wrist was burnt, the surface of his skin rough.
"It's the Omnitrix, isn't it?" Hope called out.
Ben glanced over to Hope. "How'd you know?"
"It doesn't take a genius to figure that out, Ben." Hope sat at the toilet. "You have been avoiding the Omnitrix. The Omnitrix is glued to your wrist which doesn't look any better. My question is-" she stopped. "Why'd you keep it? Couldn't you have dropped it years ago?"
Ben remained silent for a while. "When my father died, I thought, he left me nothing. No clue, no message, no hint. He was just- gone. All I could remember from my childhood is that he was never really there," he finally said. "But then, I discovered the Omnitrix. It's my father's life work so I thought, this is his legacy." Ben brandished the Omnitrix.
"He encoded his DNA inside this thing, thus making it the only thing I have left of him." He reminisced as he smiled. "And which kid didn't dream to be a hero? With the Omnitrix, the little kid from Bellwood could grow up to become a hero." He continued proudly. "It's as if the Omnitrix is a huge responsibility my father had left me."
"But there was always more than to the story itself." He sighed. "I slowly recognized the very own legacy my father had left me- is killing me." He raised the Omnitrix.
"I kept giving and giving. But the Omnitrix, it doesn't stop. My father. Grandpa Max. Gwen. Kevin." He stopped as his voice was filled with resentment. "I even threw my childhood and future away, for fuck's sake." He squeezed the corner of the sink as anger piled up in his throat.
"Not a single day went by that I never stop regretting picking up the Omnitrix." Ben closed his eyes. "But I held onto it, because it's the only reminder for me of my father. The simpler times when I was happy. And to imagine such power to fall in the wrong hands-" he stopped. "Just like how my father chose the Omnitrix as his burden, I chose this as my burden too. He had passed the burden to me because he knew that I have the strength and will for it."
Hope was left speechless. She never imagined Ben's overwhelming burden and duty. She struggled to pick the right words.
Finally, she let out an ironic chuckle. "It's shit, isn't it? Trying to escape who you are." She shrugged. "Days ago, I thought I'd be stuck in that god-forsaken shithole, living a mediocre life. And I hated myself. But look at me now," she paused, giving Ben a moment to absorb her words. "I'm back in this same old life." She raised to her feet.
"I guess we can't really escape who we are. We can't run away from destiny forever." She took a deep sigh.
"Ben, I know… I know you're not invincible anymore. I can see it—the way your body's breaking down, the way the disease is eating away at you. Every step you take looks like it hurts, and every breath you draw feels like a battle you're slowly losing. I can't even imagine the kind of pain you're in—physically and mentally." She paused, her eyes reflecting a deep empathy.
"I see the toll it's taken on you… the way you've isolated yourself, letting the depression seep into your bones, drowning in all the guilt and regret. It's like you're carrying the weight of the world, but your shoulders are buckling under the strain. You're not the same Ben Tennyson you were back then—immortal, untouchable, the hero everyone counted on."
"But Ben… that doesn't change who you are at your core. You're still that kid who put the universe on his back without a second thought. I know you're tired, I know you're scared, and I know that every cell of your body is screaming at you to just give up, to just let it end. But heroes… heroes don't get to choose when the fight ends."
This might be the last fight you'll ever face, and yeah, it might be asking more of you than anything else ever has. But you were born to be a hero, Ben. And sometimes, being a hero means making the ultimate sacrifice. I'm not saying it's fair—it's not. But if anyone can do it… if anyone can make that choice and still find some shred of peace in it, it's you."
"You've spent your whole life saving others, Ben. And now… maybe the only way to save everyone, to really make a difference one last time, is to do what only a true hero can do. Maybe it's time to stop running from your pain, to stop letting it control you, and to face this final challenge head-on. For them, for us… and maybe, just maybe, for yourself too."
"You've got one more fight left in you, Ben. And as much as I hate to say it… this is the one where you need to give everything. Because that's what heroes do."
"I want you to do the right thing, Ben. Not for me. Not even for you. But for them—for Grandpa Max, for Gwen, for Kevin. They gave everything for you, and now it's your turn to do the same. You owe it to them, to their memories, to be the hero they believed in."
She reached for Ben's hands and grabbed them. "We'll figure this out together, won't we? Just like how you always do." Ben looked up to Hope and smiled weakly as he nodded.
After a quiet, sombre dinner, Ben, Rook, and Hope each drifted into their own isolated routines. Rook, ever the disciplined soldier, moved from the dinner table to his station of computer monitors, eyes scanning for any trace of Vilgax. The soft hum and flicker of the screens pulsed in the background like a heartbeat, pulling him deeper into his work, his face illuminated by the cold, blue glow.
Ben, however, remained on the couch, lost in the tumult of his own thoughts. His gaze was distant, unfocused, as if he were seeing something far away—or maybe trying to forget. The weight of Kevin's death and Gwen's demise by his own hands—pressed down on him like a suffocating blanket. His body was still, but his mind was a whirlwind of grief and guilt, every breath he took reopening the raw, gaping wounds of their loss.
Hope sat at the table, fidgeting uncomfortably. She didn't know what to do with herself in this atmosphere of quiet mourning. The air in Rook's modest apartment was heavy, dense with unsaid words and the crushing weight of recent events. Her thoughts were hollow, and the silence only made the emptiness inside her echo louder. Restless, she rose from her chair, pacing the room in an attempt to escape her own mind.
That's when she saw it—an old guitar leaning against a chair in the corner. It was well-worn, its scuffed wood and frayed strings telling the story of countless nights it had been played, perhaps offering comfort or companionship to its owner. The sight of it tugged at something inside her, a distant memory stirring in the back of her mind.
"May I?" Hope asked softly, breaking the silence for the first time in what felt like hours.
Rook glanced up from his screens, his expression unreadable at first. But after a moment, he nodded, a faint, almost nostalgic smile crossing his face. That guitar had seen many quiet nights, held in the hands of fallen comrades, the music a rare solace in a life filled with battle. It wasn't something he shared lightly, but he understood her need. "Go ahead," he said quietly.
Hope picked up the guitar with careful hands, running her fingers over the strings, testing their tension. It had been so long since she'd played—too long. She used to sing to herself during her years in prison, the songs offering a brief escape from the cold, lifeless walls around her. And later, after her son was born, she'd sing to him, lullabies softening the edge of their harsh reality. Now, with everything she had been through, playing felt like reaching back into another life.
She strummed a few tentative chords, the sound cutting through the stillness of the apartment. The music was soft, almost hesitant, but it was enough to draw the attention of both men. Rook's gaze lingered on the guitar, memories flashing across his features, while Ben's brooding silence wavered, if only for a moment, as the melody reached his ears.
Hope began to sing, her voice quiet but filled with an aching vulnerability.
"Talking away, I don't know what I'm to say, I'll say it anyway..."
Her voice was like a whisper to the room, a fragile thing carrying more emotion than words could ever convey. The song was simple, but in the small space between them, it felt raw, almost too intimate. Each strum of the guitar seemed to pull a little more of the heaviness from the air, even if just for a fleeting moment.
"Today's another day to find you. Shying away, I'll be coming for your love, okay?"
The music seemed to reach out to Ben, though his body remained tense, his gaze fixed on something far away. Yet, as the song continued, there was a subtle shift in him. The walls he had built around his grief didn't come crashing down, but they cracked, ever so slightly, the melody seeping through.
Hope's voice grew stronger as she moved into the chorus, though the fragility in her tone remained.
"Take on me, take me on, I'll be gone... in a day or two..."
Her fingers moved deftly across the strings, though her touch was gentle, as if not to disturb the ghosts the guitar might still carry. She thought of her son, and how she used to sing to him in the darkest nights, holding him close in a world that seemed determined to take everything from them. Now, her song filled this space, offering a moment of solace to Ben and Rook, both burdened by loss in their own ways.
Rook sat silently at his monitors, the usual sternness of his face softening with each note. That guitar had belonged to his fallen comrades, warriors who had fought beside him, and now Hope's song brought those memories flooding back. There was pain in it, but there was also something else—a reminder of the bonds they had formed, of the moments when music had been their only escape from the horrors they faced.
As Hope sang the final verse, her voice grew quieter, her fingers slowing on the strings.
"Things that you say... Is it life or just to play my worries away?"
The final note lingered in the air for a long moment before fading into silence. Her hands stilled on the strings, letting the last note linger before the sound disappeared entirely. The silence returned, but it felt different now—softer, less suffocating. Hope's gaze dropped to the guitar, her fingers brushing over the worn wood. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.