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Chapter Text

The Plumber base beneath Bellwood was quiet that afternoon. Ben Tennyson had just finished a routine patrol with his partner Rook Blonko, and was now stretching back in a chair, feet propped up on the console as he flipped through channels on the central monitor.

"I believe I will file our report now." Rook said, ever the professional. "Unless you would prefer to do the honors?"

Ben snorted, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Nah, you go ahead. You know how much I love paperwork."

"Your sarcasm is duly noted." Rook replied with a small smile. "Perhaps I should mention how you defeated that minor criminal by accidentally tripping over your own shoelaces while transforming?"

"Hey!" Ben sat up straight. "That was a tactical maneuver! Besides, I got him, didn't I?"

Their banter was interrupted by a sudden blaring alarm. Red lights flashed throughout the base as the computer announced: "ALERT: UNIDENTIFIED SPACECRAFT ENTERING EARTH'S ATMOSPHERE. TRAJECTORY: BELLWOOD."

"So much for our quiet afternoon." Ben sighed, already on his feet and moving. He activated the Omnitrix, cycling through alien forms as Rook grabbed his Proto-Tool.

"The spacecraft signature appears to be..." Rook's eyes widened slightly as he looked at the scanner. "Incursean."

Ben froze mid-stride. "Incursean? Please tell me it's not—"

"The royal vessel." Rook confirmed, looking uncomfortable. "It appears Empress Attea is paying Earth an unannounced visit."

"Great." Ben muttered, shoulders slumping. "Just what I needed today."

Meanwhile, on the outskirts of Bellwood, a sleek green ship descended from the clouds, landing with surprising stealth in a clearing within the forest. The ship's ramp extended down with a mechanical hiss, and a figure emerged from the steam.

Princess, self-proclaimed Empress, Attea stomped down the ramp, her expression thunderous. She was dressed in her typical black and green bodysuit that hugged her amphibian form, a royal cape fluttering behind her.

"Stupid, worthless, good-for-nothing Tennyson!" she snarled, kicking a nearby rock with enough force to embed it in a tree trunk. "I've been waiting for MONTHS!"

Two Incursean guards nervously followed her down the ramp, exchanging worried glances.

"Your Highness." one ventured cautiously, "perhaps we should announce our presence to the local authorities—"

Attea whirled around, her tongue shooting out and wrapping around the guard's weapon, yanking it from his hands.

"Did I ASK for your opinion?" she snapped, tossing the weapon back at him. "No? Then SHUT IT! I'm not here on some diplomatic mission. I'm here to find my fiancé who seems to have FORGOTTEN our arrangement!"

The guards wisely fell silent as Attea pulled out a small device and tapped it. A holographic map of Bellwood appeared, with a blinking dot showing Ben's location.

"Still using that Plumber badge, Benny-boy?" she smirked. "Makes you easy to track." She tucked the device away and straightened her shoulders. "Stay with the ship. This is personal business."

"But Your Highness, your father—"

"My father." Attea cut in, her voice dropping dangerously low, "is still recovering from his last humiliating defeat. I'm in charge now, remember? And what I say GOES!"

Without waiting for a response, she leapt into the air, her powerful Incursean legs carrying her into the trees. She moved with impressive speed and agility, jumping from branch to branch as she headed toward downtown Bellwood.

"Ben Tennyson." she muttered to herself, a mixture of anger and anticipation in her voice, "you and I have some unfinished business."

Downtown Bellwood was experiencing what passed for a normal afternoon when an explosion rocked the shopping district. Civilians scattered as debris rained down from a partially destroyed storefront.

Ben and Rook arrived on the scene moments later in Rook's Proto-TRUK, screeching to a halt as they assessed the situation.

"Looks like someone's doing some aggressive window shopping." Ben quipped, activating the Omnitrix. "Going hero!"

In a flash of green light, Ben transformed into Diamondhead, his crystalline body gleaming in the sunlight. "Let's wrap this up quick. I was planning on hitting Mr. Smoothy's after patrol."

"Ben." Rook pointed toward a shadowy figure moving inside the damaged building. "I believe that is—"

"EightEight." Diamondhead finished, recognizing the Sotoraggian bounty hunter's distinctive armor. "Great. What's she after this time?"

EightEight emerged from the smoke, her purple armor covered in dust. She carried what appeared to be an alien artifact under one arm, her weapon systems fully activated in the other.

"Whatever it is, she's not leaving with it." Diamondhead declared, stepping forward. "Hey EightEight! Don't you know the mall has regular business hours?"

EightEight responded with a barrage of energy blasts from her wrist-mounted weapons, forcing Diamondhead to create a crystal shield to block them.

"I will attempt to flank her." Rook said, diving behind a nearby car and configuring his Proto-Tool into sniper mode.

Diamondhead nodded, then charged forward, shooting crystal shards to counter EightEight's continuous fire. The bounty hunter dodged with impressive agility, her helmet emitting angry mechanical sounds that translated roughly to: "Tennyson!"

"Yeah, yeah, good to see you too." Diamondhead replied, rolling to avoid a small missile that exploded behind him, taking out a hot dog cart in the process. "Look, can we make this quick? I've got places to be."

The battle continued across the shopping district, with EightEight's weapons causing substantial collateral damage. Civilians had mostly evacuated, watching from a safe distance as the hero and bounty hunter crashed through storefronts and parked vehicles.

Diamondhead managed to pin EightEight against a wall with crystal formations, but she broke free with an electromagnetic pulse from her suit that temporarily disrupted Ben's control over his crystals.

"She appears to have upgraded her systems since our last encounter." Rook observed, firing precision shots that EightEight narrowly avoided.

"Tell me something I don't know!" Diamondhead shouted back, reforming his arm into a blade and charging again.

The fight had reached a stalemate when a new voice cut through the chaos.

"Are you FREAKING KIDDING ME right now?"

All combatants froze, turning toward the source of the voice. Attea stood atop a damaged fountain, hands on her hips, her expression livid.

"I travel halfway across the galaxy." she continued, her voice rising with each word, "dodge THREE Plumber patrol ships, and when I finally find you, you're playing tag with this BUCKET-HEAD?"

"Attea?" Diamondhead blinked in surprise. "What are you doing here?"

EightEight used the distraction to ready another weapon, but before she could fire, Attea drew her own blaster with lightning speed and shot the bounty hunter's weapon, causing it to short circuit in her hands.

"Back OFF, you glorified trash can!" Attea snarled, leaping down from the fountain and advancing on EightEight. "He's MY fiancé, so whatever bounty you're hunting, you can just shove it up your exhaust port!"

EightEight's helmet translated: "Contract."

"I don't give a FROG'S ASS about your contract!" Attea fired another shot that grazed EightEight's shoulder armor. "Find another target!"

Diamondhead stepped between them, hands raised. "Whoa, whoa! Time out! First of all, Attea, I am NOT your fiancé. That was a temporary arrangement to stop your father, remember? Second, you can't just show up and start shooting people!"

"Oh?" Attea's eyes narrowed dangerously. "So you're defending this mercenary scum now? What, is she your new girlfriend or something?"

"What? No!" Diamondhead protested as the Omnitrix timed out, returning him to human form. Ben continued, "EightEight is a bounty hunter who stole something from that electronics store. I'm trying to stop her!"

"Prototype." EightEight's translator managed, clutching the device protectively.

Rook approached cautiously, Proto-Tool still raised. "Princess Attea, your presence on Earth without diplomatic clearance is a violation of—"

"Save it, fuzzy-face." Attea cut him off, not even sparing Rook a glance. Her eyes were fixed on Ben, a mixture of anger and something else in her gaze. "I'm not here on official business."

"Then why ARE you here?" Ben asked, genuinely confused.

Attea's tongue flicked out briefly in agitation. "You PROMISED me, Tennyson. Or did that slip your puny human mind? We had an AGREEMENT!"

Ben ran a hand through his hair, looking increasingly uncomfortable. "Attea, that was just... I mean, we were in the middle of a crisis, and I was trying to—"

"To what? LIE to me?" Attea stepped closer, jabbing a finger into his chest. "I've been waiting, Ben. The Incursean Empire has been preparing for a royal wedding for MONTHS! My father even bought a new suit, and he HATES formal wear!"

Rook and EightEight exchanged bewildered looks, the bounty hunter momentarily forgetting her stolen prize as the drama unfolded.

"Wedding?" Ben sputtered, his face turning pale. "There was never going to be an actual wedding! That was just to stop you from invading!"

"SO YOU ADMIT IT!" Attea's voice reached a new volume. "You LIED to me!"

Before Ben could respond, EightEight seemed to remember why she was there and made a break for it, activating her jet pack.

"She's getting away!" Rook called out.

Attea, without looking, drew her blaster again and fired a perfect shot that damaged EightEight's jet pack, sending her spiraling into a nearby fountain with a splash.

"I'm not done talking to you, Tennyson." Attea hissed, grabbing Ben's wrist with surprising strength. "And I'm not leaving until we sort this out!"

EightEight pulled herself from the fountain, water dripping from her armor as her systems sputtered. Her helmet translated a series of mechanical noises into a single word: "Vengeance!"

"Oh, put a muzzle on it!" Attea snapped at her. "Can't you see we're having a private conversation here? Honestly, no manners whatsoever."

Ben looked between the furious Incursean princess and the water-logged bounty hunter, his expression a perfect picture of helpless confusion.

"Um, Rook?" he called weakly. "A little help here?"

Rook, ever diplomatic, cleared his throat. "Perhaps we should all return to Plumber Headquarters to discuss this situation calmly?"

"No way!" Attea tightened her grip on Ben's arm. "I'm not letting him out of my sight until he makes good on his promise. I didn't come all this way for a committee meeting!"

EightEight raised her functioning weapon, aiming it squarely at both Ben and Attea. The translator sputtered: "Both... pay."

"Try it, bucket-head." Attea challenged, raising her own blaster. "I've taken down tougher Sotoraggians with my eyes closed!"

Ben looked skyward, as if searching for divine intervention. "This day just keeps getting better and better."

The standoff continued, tension building as civilians watched from behind cover. Rook kept his Proto-Tool trained on EightEight while trying to calculate a way to defuse the situation without further property damage.

Finally, Ben sighed deeply. "Look, if I go with you to talk, Attea, will you stop causing a scene?"

Attea's expression immediately brightened. "Now you're speaking my language, Benny-boo."

"Don't call me that." Ben muttered, then turned to EightEight. "And you – whatever you stole, put it back. We can settle this another day."

EightEight's helmet emitted a series of angry clicks and beeps that needed no translation.

"Or." Ben continued, activating the Omnitrix again, "we can do this the hard way."

For a tense moment, it seemed like EightEight would choose the hard way. Then, with what sounded like a mechanical huff, she tossed the device toward Rook, who caught it deftly.

"Next time." her translator managed before she activated her damaged jet pack, which sputtered but managed to lift her away in an erratic pattern, smoke trailing behind her.

"Yeah, yeah, looking forward to it." Ben called after her, then turned to find Attea's face uncomfortably close to his.

"Alone at last." she said with a grin that showed too many teeth.

"We're literally surrounded by people and property damage." Ben pointed out, gesturing to the gathered onlookers and destroyed storefronts.

Attea waved dismissively. "Details. Now, about our wedding—"

"There is NO wedding!" Ben exploded, then immediately regretted raising his voice when Attea's expression darkened. "Look, I'm sorry if you misunderstood, but I never seriously agreed to marry you."

"Misunderstood?" Attea's voice was dangerously quiet. "I have it on RECORD, Tennyson. Want me to play it back for you?"

Before Ben could respond, Rook intervened. "Perhaps this discussion would be better continued somewhere more private."

"Fine." Attea conceded, still glaring at Ben. "But he's coming with ME."

"I don't think—" Ben started.

Attea's tongue shot out, wrapping around Ben's wrist where the Omnitrix sat. "That wasn't a request."

Ben looked down at the sticky appendage encircling his wrist and grimaced. "Gross."

"Attea." Rook said carefully, "harassing a Plumber is a serious offense—"

"Oh please." Attea retracted her tongue, but kept a firm grip on Ben's arm with her hand. "Like I care about your stupid regulations. Besides, this is a personal matter between me and my betrothed."

"I am NOT your betrothed!" Ben insisted.

"We'll see about that." Attea replied with unsettling confidence. "Now, I'm hungry. This planet has to have SOME edible food. You're taking me to dinner."

Ben looked pleadingly at Rook, who seemed equally at a loss. "Rook, buddy, help me out here."

Rook considered the situation tactically. "Perhaps... it would be wise to cooperate temporarily. I will report to headquarters and explain the situation."

"What? You're abandoning me?" Ben couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Tactical retreat." Rook corrected. "I will gather reinforcements."

"Smart cat." Attea smirked. "Run along now. Ben and I have catching up to do."

As Rook reluctantly backed away, looking genuinely apologetic, Ben found himself being dragged down the street by the determined Incursean princess.

"This isn't a date." Ben said firmly as they walked. "Just so we're clear."

Attea's smile was predatory. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, Benny-boo. Now, which way to the food? And it better not be bugs. I'm royalty – I have standards."

Ben sighed in resignation. "There's a chili fries place around the corner."

"Chili fries?" Attea's nose wrinkled. "What kind of delicacy is that?"

"Trust me." Ben managed a small smile despite himself. "They're worth trying."

As they walked away from the scene of destruction, civilians began to emerge from hiding, phones raised to capture footage of Ben Tennyson being pulled along by the alien princess.

"So." Attea said conversationally, as if she hadn't just caused an international incident, "you still seeing that Julie girl? Or was it Kai? I can never keep your little human flings straight."

Ben groaned. This was going to be a very long day.

Chapter Text

The Burger Shack was having a relatively quiet afternoon until Ben Tennyson walked in with an Incursean princess still clutching his arm. The few patrons present immediately took notice, some subtly raising their phones to record the unusual sight.

"What is that SMELL?" Attea grimaced, her nostrils flaring. "It's like someone burned petroleum products and animal fat together."

"That would be the chili fries." Ben replied, attempting to regain some dignity as he approached the counter. "Trust me, they taste better than they smell."

The cashier, a bored-looking teenager whose nametag read 'JAKE,' barely glanced up until he realized who was standing before him. His eyes widened, darting between Ben and the alien princess.

"Uh... welcome to Burger Shack. Can I... take your order?" Jake managed, clearly trying to act normal despite the extraordinary circumstances.

"Two large chili fries and two chocolate shakes." Ben said, pulling out his wallet.

"Make mine a MEGA size." Attea interjected, eyeing the menu with suspicion. "And what is this 'shake' substance? Is it some form of weapon?"

Ben couldn't help but chuckle. "It's a drink. Frozen dairy product with flavoring."

"Hmph. On Incursean Prime, our drinks are still MOVING when we consume them." Attea boasted, but she didn't object further.

Jake rang up their order, his eyes never leaving Attea. "Is that... is she..."

"Princess Attea of the Incursean Empire." she announced proudly. "Soon to be Empress AND Mrs. Tennyson."

"We're NOT getting married." Ben said through gritted teeth, handing over some cash. "She's just... visiting."

Jake wisely decided not to pursue the topic further, taking the money and retreating to prepare their order.

Attea finally released Ben's arm to hop onto a nearby stool, her webbed feet dangling as she spun around once. "So this is where Earth's greatest hero eats? No wonder your species is so primitive."

"Hey, don't knock it till you try it." Ben defended, taking the seat beside her. "And can you maybe tone down the 'superior alien' act? People are staring."

Indeed, every patron in the establishment was watching them, some more subtly than others. Attea seemed to notice for the first time, and rather than being embarrassed, she straightened her posture regally.

"Let them stare! They should feel honored to be in the presence of royalty." She flicked her tongue out briefly, tasting the air. "Besides, I'm used to being the center of attention."

Ben rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. "Look, Attea, we need to talk about why you're really here. There's not going to be a wedding. That was just... diplomatic talk to prevent a war."

Attea's expression hardened. "So you admit you LIED to me?"

"I..." Ben hesitated, aware they had an audience. "I made a promise under duress that I never intended to keep. It was wrong, and I'm sorry, but that doesn't mean we're actually getting married."

For a moment, something like genuine hurt flashed across Attea's face before quickly being replaced by anger. "You humans and your WORTHLESS words! On Incursea, a promise is binding to the death!"

"Well, we're not ON Incursea." Ben pointed out. "And I'm not an Incursean. Different planets, different customs."

"Order up!" Jake called nervously, sliding a tray across the counter with their food.

Ben grabbed the tray before Attea could respond, moving to a corner booth where they'd have some semblance of privacy. She followed, her movements betraying her agitation as she hopped onto the bench opposite him.

"Try the fries." Ben suggested, pushing a basket toward her. "They're actually pretty good."

Attea looked at the steaming pile of fried potatoes covered in chili and cheese with obvious skepticism. "This looks like something that came out of a Tractian Mud Beast."

"Just try it." Ben insisted, already digging into his own basket.

With visible reluctance, Attea picked up a single fry, inspecting it as if it might be poisoned before cautiously placing it in her mouth. Her eyes widened slightly as she chewed.

"Well?" Ben asked, unable to hide his amusement at her expression.

"It's..." Attea seemed to struggle with admitting anything positive about Earth cuisine. "Not completely disgusting."

"High praise." Ben laughed, taking a sip of his shake.

Attea reached for another fry, then several more, her initial hesitation forgotten. She was clearly trying to maintain her dignified demeanor while simultaneously devouring the chili fries with increasing enthusiasm.

"So." Ben ventured after they'd eaten in silence for a few minutes, "how long are you planning to stay on Earth?"

Attea's eyes narrowed as she sucked down half her shake in one long pull. "Until you fulfill your promise, or until I decide to have my armada reduce this pitiful planet to cosmic dust. Whichever comes first."

"Always with the threats." Ben sighed. "Has it occurred to you that forced marriage isn't exactly a great foundation for a relationship?"

"Who said anything about a relationship?" Attea scoffed, though something in her tone didn't quite match her dismissive words. "This is a political alliance, Tennyson. The heir to the Incursean Empire and the wielder of the Omnitrix. Our offspring would be UNSTOPPABLE."

Ben nearly choked on his shake. "Offspring?! Whoa, let's back WAY up here. We're not even the same species!"

"Details." Attea waved a fry dismissively before popping it into her mouth. "Our scientists could work something out. They're very motivated, especially when the alternative is execution."

Ben stared at her, trying to determine if she was joking. Her expression gave nothing away as she continued eating.

"Attea." he said carefully, "even if I was looking to get married – which I'm definitely NOT – don't you think you should be with someone you actually, you know... love?"

Something unreadable flickered in Attea's large eyes. "Love? What does THAT have to do with anything? Marriage among royalty isn't about FEELINGS, it's about POWER."

"Maybe on your planet." Ben countered. "But here on Earth, people usually marry because they care about each other."

"How inefficient." Attea muttered, but she seemed less certain now. "Next you'll tell me you actually have to LIKE the person you procreate with."

"Generally, that's the idea, yeah." Ben confirmed, finding the conversation increasingly surreal.

Attea fell silent, contemplating this as she finished her fries. When she spoke again, her voice had lost some of its edge. "And is there someone YOU... care about in that way?"

The question caught Ben off guard. "I... well, not at the moment. Julie and I broke up a while ago, and Kai..." he trailed off, unsure how to explain his complicated history.

"Hmph. The swimmer girl and the legacy Plumber." Attea sniffed derisively. "Neither was worthy of you anyway."

"Hey." Ben frowned. "They're both great people. Things just didn't work out."

"Because they were WEAK." Attea declared. "You need someone who can match your strength, your glory! Someone who commands respect across the galaxy!"

"Someone like you, I suppose?" Ben raised an eyebrow.

Attea's tongue flicked out briefly before she could stop it – a tell, Ben had learned, that indicated either excitement or nervousness. "Obviously. I am the PERFECT match for you. Strong, tactical, royal, and—" she struck a pose that was probably meant to be alluring "—easy on the eyes, wouldn't you say?"

Ben felt his cheeks heat slightly. Despite being an entirely different species, Attea had a confidence that was undeniably... something. Not that he'd ever admit it.

"I think we have very different ideas about relationships." he said instead. "And about respecting planetary sovereignty, personal boundaries, and basic manners."

"UGH, you sound like a Galvan ethics professor." Attea groaned, slumping in her seat. "Always with the MORALS and the RULES."

"They're kind of important." Ben pointed out. "Especially the 'not invading planets' part."

Attea jabbed a finger at him across the table. "Don't lecture ME, Tennyson. I've been running an empire since I was a tadpole. Do you have ANY idea how hard it is to keep thousands of star systems in line? Sometimes you need to make an example of a planet or two!"

"Or." Ben suggested, "you could try diplomacy that doesn't involve threatening genocide."

"Boring." Attea dismissed, though she looked marginally thoughtful. "But I suppose it works for you."

Ben was about to respond when he noticed a familiar figure entering the Burger Shack. Rook surveyed the restaurant before spotting them and approaching cautiously.

"Seriously?" Attea glared at the Revonnahgander. "You called your BABYSITTER?"

"I did not call anyone." Ben assured her. "But he is my partner."

Rook reached their table, standing at a respectful distance. "Ben, I have updated Magister Tennyson on the situation. He requests that you and Princess Attea report to Plumber Headquarters immediately."

"No." Attea said flatly. "I'm not done with my meal, and I'm not done with Ben."

"Princess." Rook tried again, "your unauthorized presence on Earth is causing considerable diplomatic concern. Your father has already contacted the Plumbers demanding your safe return."

That got Attea's attention. "My FATHER called? Directly?"

"Indeed." Rook confirmed. "He seemed quite... agitated."

"Ha!" Attea barked a laugh. "I bet he was! Probably worried I'll succeed where he failed and add Earth to our empire!" She paused, then added more quietly, "Or that I'll embarrass him somehow."

Ben caught the brief vulnerability in her tone. "Is that what this is really about? Proving something to your dad?"

"Don't psychoanalyze me, Tennyson." Attea snapped. "My relationship with my father is NONE of your business."

"Except when it involves intergalactic incidents." Ben reminded her. "Look, why don't we go talk to my grandpa? He's good at finding diplomatic solutions."

Attea's expression turned calculating. "Fine. But on one condition – afterward, you show me more of this 'Earth culture' you're always defending so passionately. I want to see if it's really worth all the fuss."

Ben glanced at Rook, who gave a subtle nod. "Deal. But no weapons, no threats, and no calling humans 'primitive mud-dwellers' or whatever insult you're thinking of."

"You drive a hard bargain." Attea said with a dramatic sigh. "But very well. I'll be on my BEST behavior." The smile that accompanied this promise was anything but reassuring.

As they left Burger Shack, Attea once again latched onto Ben's arm, ignoring his attempts to create some personal space. Rook led the way to his Proto-TRUK, which was parked nearby.

"I am NOT riding in that primitive vehicle." Attea declared upon seeing it. "It looks like a reject from a Galvan scrap heap!"

"It is actually a highly sophisticated—" Rook began defensively.

"You promised to behave." Ben reminded her. "Besides, it's either this or walking."

With a theatrical groan, Attea allowed herself to be guided to the truck. "Fine. But I'm sitting next to Ben."

"I had assumed as much." Rook muttered, opening the door for them.

As they climbed in, Ben noticed Attea's hand sliding from his arm to his hand, her webbed fingers intertwining with his. He tried to pull away, but her grip was surprisingly strong.

"What are you doing?" he whispered as Rook walked around to the driver's side.

Attea leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. "Getting comfortable with my future husband."

"I am NOT—" Ben started to protest, but was cut off when Attea's long, prehensile tongue darted out and flicked playfully against his earlobe.

"GAH!" Ben jerked away, nearly hitting his head on the truck's ceiling. "Did you just—?!"

"What's wrong, Benny-boo?" Attea batted her large eyes innocently. "Just saying hello the Incursean way."

Ben wiped his ear, his face burning. "Well, don't! That's... that's not how we say hello on Earth!"

"No?" Attea's smile turned mischievous. "How DO you say hello, then? Perhaps you should demonstrate."

Rook opened the driver's door and climbed in, immediately sensing the tension. "Is everything alright?"

"Fine!" Ben said, much too quickly and an octave too high. "Everything's fine! Let's go see Grandpa Max!"

As Rook started the engine, Attea settled back in her seat, still holding Ben's hand hostage and looking entirely too pleased with herself. "Yes, let's go see the famous Magister Tennyson. I'm SURE he'll be thrilled about our engagement."

"There is no engagement." Ben insisted, though his protest sounded weaker than before.

Attea just smiled, her thumb tracing small circles on the back of his captured hand. "Keep telling yourself that, hero."

The drive to Plumber Headquarters was mercifully short, though it felt like an eternity to Ben with Attea pressed against his side, occasionally leaning over to comment on the "quaint" and "primitive" Earth architecture they passed.

When they finally arrived at the secret entrance, a mechanism scanning the Proto-TRUK before allowing them access to the underground facility, Attea finally seemed impressed.

"Not bad." she admitted as they descended into the high-tech base. "At least your security isn't completely useless. Though I still managed to land on your planet undetected."

"We detected you." Rook corrected. "We simply did not have time to intercept before you found Ben."

"Details." Attea waved dismissively with her free hand, the other still firmly gripping Ben's.

The elevator doors opened to reveal the bustling command center of Plumber Headquarters. Aliens of various species worked alongside humans, monitoring screens and coordinating operations. All activity seemed to pause momentarily as they entered, many eyes turning to stare at the unusual sight of Ben Tennyson being led by the Incursean princess.

Magister Max Tennyson stood at the central console, his expression unreadable as he watched them approach. Behind him stood Gwen Tennyson and Kevin Levin, who had apparently been called in as reinforcements. Neither looked pleased.

"Grandpa." Ben started, feeling like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "I can explain—"

"Princess Attea." Max interrupted, his tone professionally neutral. "Welcome to Earth. Although I wish your visit had been properly arranged through diplomatic channels."

"Skip the formalities, old man." Attea replied, her royal arrogance back in full force. "We both know this isn't an official state visit."

"No." Max agreed, his eyes flicking to her hand still clutching Ben's. "It appears to be something more personal."

"You could say that." Attea smirked. "I've come to collect on a promise your grandson made to me. A marriage promise."

The reaction was immediate. Kevin let out a choking sound that might have been an attempt not to laugh, while Gwen's eyes widened in shock before narrowing dangerously.

"Ben." Gwen said slowly, "please tell me you didn't actually propose to the alien warlord who's tried to conquer Earth multiple times."

"I DIDN'T!" Ben protested, finally managing to extract his hand from Attea's grip. "It was just a diplomatic maneuver to prevent an invasion! I never thought she'd take it seriously!"

"Diplomatic DECEPTION, you mean." Attea corrected, looking genuinely offended. "Where I come from, a promise is sacred! Especially one made to royalty!"

Kevin couldn't contain himself any longer. "Dude, you got yourself space-engaged? To ATTEA? Man, your love life is a DISASTER."

"Not helping, Kevin." Ben muttered.

Max raised a hand to quiet the commotion. "Princess Attea, I understand you feel Ben made you a commitment. However, cross-species marriages, particularly between figures of your respective standings, require extensive diplomatic arrangements and treaties."

"Whatever." Attea dismissed. "Have your paper-pushers draw something up. I'm not leaving without my betrothed."

"I am NOT your betrothed!" Ben insisted for what felt like the hundredth time. "And you can't just force someone to marry you!"

"Actually." Rook interjected unhelpfully, "on at least seventeen planets in the known galaxy, royal prerogative does include the right to select unwilling spouses."

Everyone stared at him.

"Not that I am advocating such practices." Rook added hastily. "Merely providing cultural context."

"See?" Attea gestured triumphantly at Rook. "Even Whiskers gets it!"

"Earth isn't one of those planets." Gwen pointed out, stepping closer. Her hands glowed subtly with mana. "And if you think we're going to let you kidnap my cousin for some forced political marriage, you're even crazier than your father."

Attea's eyes narrowed at the mention of her father. "Watch your tongue, human. I've conquered worlds for lesser insults."

"Yeah? Try it." Kevin challenged, absorbing the metal from a nearby console into his skin. "I've been looking for an excuse to punch something all day."

The tension in the room ratcheted up several notches. Plumber agents around the command center began discreetly reaching for weapons.

"ENOUGH!" Max's authoritative voice cut through the escalating confrontation. "There will be no fighting in Plumber Headquarters. Princess Attea, while you are on Earth, you will respect our laws and customs, which do not include forced marriages. Ben, you need to take responsibility for the promises you make, even in diplomatic situations."

Both Ben and Attea looked properly chastised, though for entirely different reasons.

"Now." Max continued in a calmer tone, "I've already spoken with Emperor Milleous. He was... surprised to learn of your presence here."

"I bet he was." Attea muttered.

"He has requested your immediate return to Incursean space." Max finished.

Attea's expression darkened. "Of course he did. Frogs forbid I do something on my own initiative! Well, you can tell my dear father that I'm not some obedient little tadpole anymore. I'm staying right here until I get what I came for." She shot Ben a pointed look.

Max sighed, clearly having anticipated this response. "I thought you might say that. Which is why I suggested a compromise. You may remain on Earth for 48 hours as an unofficial cultural visitor, with proper escorts at all times. After that, we expect you to return home, with or without a marriage agreement."

"And if I refuse?" Attea challenged.

"Then we'll have to consider your presence a hostile action and respond accordingly." Max said firmly. "Which I'm sure neither of us wants."

Attea seemed to consider this, weighing her options. Finally, she gave a curt nod. "Fine. 48 hours should be plenty of time to convince Benny-boo here that marrying me is his best option."

"Don't count on it." Ben muttered.

"And who exactly are these 'escorts' you mentioned?" Attea asked suspiciously.

Max smiled. "Why, Ben and Rook, of course. And I believe Gwen and Kevin have volunteered as well."

"What?" Gwen and Kevin exclaimed simultaneously.

"We did NOT volunteer." Kevin protested. "I've got a garage to run!"

"Please, Kevin?" Max turned to him. "You and Gwen know how to handle... delicate situations."

Kevin looked ready to argue further until Gwen placed a hand on his arm. "It's only for two days." she said. "And someone needs to make sure Ben doesn't accidentally promise to give her his firstborn child or something."

"Hey!" Ben objected.

Attea clapped her hands together, looking far too pleased. "Perfect! A double date! How ADORABLE."

"It's not a date." all four younger people said in unison.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Attea smirked, then turned to Ben. "So, betrothed, what Earth customs are you going to show me first? Something exciting, I hope. I didn't come all this way for a MUSEUM tour."

Ben glanced desperately at his friends and family, receiving nothing but unsympathetic stares in return. He was clearly on his own.

"There's... a carnival in town." he suggested reluctantly. "Rides, games, that kind of thing."

Attea tilted her head. "Carnival? Is that some sort of combat arena?"

"No, it's for fun." Ben explained. "You know, enjoyment? Recreation?"

"Hmm." Attea considered this alien concept. "We Incurseans usually get our 'fun' from glorious conquest, but I suppose I could try your primitive entertainment. For cultural research purposes, of course."

"Of course." Ben deadpanned. "And you're going to need a disguise. You can't just walk around looking like... well, yourself."

"What's wrong with how I look?" Attea demanded, suddenly defensive.

"Nothing!" Ben backpedaled quickly. "Just that most humans aren't used to seeing Incurseans walking around. You'll cause a panic."

"Or at least a social media frenzy." Gwen added.

Attea looked displeased but nodded reluctantly. "Fine. I suppose a Queen sometimes needs to move among the commoners incognito."

"I believe we have ID masks available." Rook suggested. "They will provide a convincing human appearance while allowing full sensory input."

"As long as I still look MAGNIFICENT." Attea stipulated. "I refuse to be transformed into some ugly human specimen."

Ben rolled his eyes. "Trust me, no one wants that either."

Max cleared his throat. "It's settled then. Princess Attea will remain on Earth for 48 hours with you four as escorts. I expect regular check-ins and absolutely NO international incidents. Understood?"

"Yes, Grandpa." Ben agreed, feeling like he'd somehow gotten the raw end of the deal.

"Understood, Magister." Rook affirmed with a formal nod.

"Whatever." Kevin shrugged, already looking bored.

"We'll keep things under control." Gwen promised, though she sounded less than confident.

Attea just smiled, a predatory gleam in her large eyes as she once again latched onto Ben's arm. "This is going to be SO much fun! Just you wait, Benny-boo. By the time these 48 hours are up, you'll be BEGGING to marry me."

"I seriously doubt that." Ben muttered, but even he had to admit a small part of him was curious about what the next two days would bring.

As they turned to leave, Max called out one final warning: "And Ben? Try not to make any more marriage proposals, even as jokes. We can only handle one intergalactic engagement crisis at a time."

The group exited to the sound of suppressed laughter from the Plumber agents, Ben's face burning with embarrassment while Attea practically glowed with satisfaction.

"So." Attea chirped as they entered the elevator, "tell me more about this 'carnival.' Does it involve any ritual combat? Public executions? Feats of strength?"

"It's just rides and games." Kevin said flatly. "Cotton candy and rigged ring tosses."

"Though the Ferris wheel can be quite romantic at sunset." Rook added, earning a death glare from Ben.

"Not helping, dude." Ben hissed.

"A giant wheel AND candy made from cotton?" Attea looked skeptical. "Your species has strange tastes in entertainment. But I'm willing to try anything once." She squeezed Ben's arm possessively. "Especially with my future husband at my side."

The elevator doors closed on Ben's expression of pure, helpless exasperation, and Gwen and Kevin's poorly concealed amusement.

None of them noticed the small, purple drone hovering in the corner of the Plumber command center, its camera lens zooming in on their departure before silently flying out through a ventilation shaft. Outside, the drone transmitted its data to a familiar figure in damaged armor, waiting in the shadows.

EightEight's helmet translator processed her satisfied mechanical chittering into a single word: "Perfect."

Chapter Text

The Bellwood Summer Carnival sprawled across the fairgrounds on the edge of town, a riot of color, noise, and activity. Rides spun and twisted against the late afternoon sky, carnival barkers called out to passersby, and the air was thick with the scent of fried food, sugar, and excitement.

Ben led their unusual group through the entrance, keenly aware of the stares they were attracting. While Kevin, Gwen, and himself blended in easily enough, Rook always stood out with his blue fur and armor, even in casual clothes. But it was the fifth member of their party drawing the most attention.

The ID mask had given Attea the appearance of a human girl with green-tinted hair, striking yellow-gold eyes, and tan skin. She wore a modified version of her usual royal attire, transformed by the mask technology to look like fashionable Earth clothes – a green crop top, black shorts, and knee-high boots.

Despite looking human, she still acted unmistakably alien. Her movements had a distinctive spring to them, she kept flicking her now-invisible tongue out of habit, and she maintained a death grip on Ben's arm as they walked.

"This place REEKS." Attea complained, wrinkling her nose at the carnival smells. "How can you stand it?"

"That's part of the charm." Ben explained, trying unsuccessfully to reclaim his arm. "Cotton candy, funnel cakes, corndogs – they're all carnival classics."

"Is EVERYTHING on this planet deep-fried?" she asked, watching a vendor dip something unidentifiable into bubbling oil.

"Only the good stuff." Kevin smirked, already pulling Gwen toward a food stand. "Let's get some fuel before we hit the rides."

As Kevin and Gwen moved ahead, Rook fell into step beside Ben and Attea. "I must admit, I too found Earth carnival food overwhelming at first. The concept of consuming so much sugar and fat simultaneously seemed counterproductive to physical health."

"Not you too." Ben groaned. "It's a carnival! The whole point is to eat junk food and have fun!"

Attea eyed a nearby stand where a man was spinning pink clouds onto paper cones. "Is that the cotton candy you mentioned? It looks like toxic insulation from a Yautja ship."

"It's sugar." Ben explained, seizing the opportunity. "Come on, I'll get you some."

He guided her to the cotton candy stand, Rook following dutifully behind. Attea watched with suspicious fascination as the vendor spun the fluffy pink confection.

"One please." Ben requested, handing over some cash.

The vendor, a portly man with a magnificent mustache, grinned as he handed the massive cone of cotton candy to Attea. "First time at the carnival, young lady?"

"I am not a—" Attea began indignantly before Ben cut her off.

"First time, yes! She's an... exchange student." Ben improvised. "From... Europe."

"Ah!" The vendor nodded knowingly. "Welcome to America, little lady. Enjoy your cotton candy!"

Attea looked ready to launch into a tirade about being called 'little lady,' but the cotton candy in her hands distracted her. She stared at it dubiously.

"How do you consume this substance? Do you dissolve it in water first?"

Ben chuckled despite himself. "No, you just eat it. Like this." He reached over and tore off a small piece, popping it into his mouth.

Attea watched him carefully, then imitated the action with a much larger chunk. Her eyes widened in surprise as the sugar melted instantly in her mouth.

"It DISAPPEARED!" she exclaimed, looking at the cotton candy with new respect. "Is it some kind of molecular gastronomy? Self-dissipating nano-sugar?"

"Just regular sugar spun really thin." Ben explained, amused by her reaction. "Do you like it?"

Attea took another large bite, this time closing her eyes momentarily as she savored it. "It's... acceptable. For Earth food."

Ben recognized this as high praise coming from her. "Try the blue kind next. It's supposed to be blue raspberry, whatever that is."

As they continued through the carnival, Attea's initial disdain gradually gave way to reluctant curiosity. She insisted on trying everything Ben suggested, though she maintained a running commentary on how each Earth treat compared, unfavorably, of course to Incursean delicacies.

They caught up with Gwen and Kevin near the carnival games, where Kevin was demonstrating his strength at a high-striker attraction.

"BOOM!" Kevin shouted as the bell rang, the puck having shot all the way to the top. He flexed dramatically for Gwen, who rolled her eyes but smiled appreciatively.

"I'm dating a showoff." she commented as Ben, Attea, and Rook approached.

"You love it." Kevin replied with a cocky grin, accepting a large stuffed alien plush as his prize. He handed it to Gwen with exaggerated gallantry. "For you, m'lady."

"How sickeningly sweet." Attea remarked, though she watched the interaction with curious attention. "Is this typical human mating behavior? Presenting females with useless fabric constructs?"

"It's called a gift." Ben explained. "It's a nice gesture."

Attea's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she looked between Kevin and Gwen. "I see. And this impresses human females?"

"Sometimes." Gwen admitted, hugging her prize. "Though it's more about the thought than the actual gift."

"Interesting." Attea mused, then suddenly tugged Ben toward the game booths. "You! Win me one of those... whatever they are!"

"Wait, what?" Ben stumbled as she pulled him forward. "I don't—"

"If HE can do it." Attea nodded toward Kevin, "surely the great Ben Tennyson can manage such a simple task!"

Ben found himself standing before a ring toss booth, with Attea looking at him expectantly. The carnival worker, a teenager with braces and a bored expression, held out three rings.

"Three rings for five dollars." the worker droned. "Get one around a bottle neck to win a small prize. Three for a large prize."

Ben sighed, handing over the money. "You know these games are designed to be nearly impossible, right?"

"Are you saying you're not up to the challenge?" Attea's voice took on a dangerous edge.

"Fine." Ben muttered, accepting the rings. He squared his shoulders, aimed carefully, and tossed the first ring.

It bounced off the top of a bottle and clattered to the ground.

"Pathetic." Attea commented.

Ben ignored her, focusing harder on his second throw. This one came close, circling the bottle neck before ultimately falling away.

"Perhaps you should transform into an alien with better aim." Rook suggested helpfully.

"I'm not using the Omnitrix for a carnival game." Ben replied, readying his final ring. "That would be cheating."

"Only if you get caught." Kevin chimed in with a smirk.

Ben took a deep breath, focused, and threw the final ring. It sailed through the air, wobbled as it descended, and somehow, miraculously, settled around a bottle neck.

"We have a winner!" the booth operator announced with manufactured enthusiasm. "Choose your small prize!"

Ben turned to Attea triumphantly, only to find her looking deeply unimpressed.

"ONE ring? Out of THREE attempts? And you only get a SMALL prize?" She turned to the booth operator. "Do you know who this IS? This is BEN TENNYSON, savior of the universe! He deserves the LARGE prize, at minimum!"

The teenager blinked lazily. "Rules are rules, lady. One ring, small prize. Three rings, big prize."

Attea's hand moved toward where her blaster would normally be holstered, but found nothing thanks to the Plumber confiscation. Ben quickly grabbed her wrist.

"Small prize is fine." he insisted, giving her a warning look. "Remember what we talked about? Behaving?"

With a huff, Attea crossed her arms. "Fine. But I expect something IMPRESSIVE."

Ben surveyed the available prizes, eventually pointing to a small green plush frog wearing a crown. "That one."

The booth operator handed it over, and Ben presented it to Attea with a flourish. "Your Highness."

Attea stared at the frog plush, her expression unreadable behind her human disguise. Slowly, she reached out and took it, examining it from all angles.

"It's... a frog. With a crown." she stated flatly.

"I thought it was appropriate." Ben shrugged. "You know, since you're—"

"I KNOW what I am." Attea cut him off. But she didn't discard the plush. Instead, she tucked it under her arm with surprising care. "It's barely adequate. But I'll accept it as a token of your devotion."

"It's not devotion, it's just a—" Ben began, but Gwen nudged him sharply.

"Quit while you're ahead." she whispered.

Rook, who had been scanning the carnival with a professional eye, suddenly pointed toward the center of the fairgrounds. "Perhaps we should try the Ferris wheel next? It offers an excellent vantage point of the entire area."

"Always the security officer." Kevin teased. "But yeah, the Ferris wheel's cool. Especially since the sun's starting to set."

Attea looked up at the massive rotating wheel with obvious curiosity. "What is the purpose of this contraption? Is it some form of torture device?"

"It's just for the view." Ben explained. "You go up high, see everything around, it's... peaceful."

"Peaceful." Attea repeated, as if testing an unfamiliar word. "Incurseans don't generally seek out 'peaceful' experiences."

"Try something new." Gwen encouraged, her tone gentler than it had been all day. "You might be surprised."

Attea considered this, then nodded decisively. "Very well! To the giant wheel! But I'm riding with Ben."

"Naturally." Rook commented, exchanging knowing glances with Gwen and Kevin.

The line for the Ferris wheel wasn't too long, and soon they were approaching the loading platform. The operator seated Gwen and Kevin in one car, then Rook in the next. alone, as there was no one to pair him with, and finally Ben and Attea in the third.

As their car began to rise, swaying slightly with the motion of the wheel, Ben found himself acutely aware of how small the space was. Attea sat close beside him, still clutching both her cotton candy and the frog plush.

"This is... not terrible." she admitted as they rose higher, the carnival spreading out below them in a tapestry of lights against the darkening sky. "The tactical advantage of such height is obvious."

"Try not to think about tactics for once." Ben suggested. "Just enjoy the view."

Attea fell silent, looking out over Bellwood as the wheel continued its slow rotation. The sunset painted the sky in shades of orange and pink, the city lights beginning to twinkle as dusk settled in.

"Your planet has some decent aesthetics." she said finally, her voice quieter than Ben had ever heard it. "The atmospheric scatter of your sun's rays is... pretty."

Ben turned to her in surprise. "Did you just say something on Earth is pretty?"

Attea immediately straightened, her usual haughtiness returning. "I said DECENT. Don't exaggerate."

But Ben had caught that moment of genuine appreciation, and it made him look at her differently. Beneath the aggressive exterior and royal arrogance, there was someone capable of appreciating beauty.

"You know." he said carefully, "Earth has a lot of amazing things. Oceans, mountains, forests... not just carnivals and chili fries."

"Is that your sales pitch?" Attea asked, though her tone lacked its usual bite. "Come to Earth, we have scenery?"

"I'm just saying, there's more to planets than conquering them. Sometimes it's worth protecting things just because they're beautiful or unique."

Attea studied him for a long moment. "You really believe that, don't you? It's not just hero talk."

"Of course I do." Ben replied. "Why else would I keep doing what I do?"

"Power." Attea suggested immediately. "Glory. Adoration of the masses."

Ben shook his head. "Those things are nice, I guess, but that's not why I help people."

"Then why?" Her question seemed genuine, curious rather than challenging.

"Because it's the right thing to do." Ben said simply. "Because I can."

Attea fell silent again, contemplating this as they reached the top of the wheel's rotation. The car swayed gently in the breeze, suspended above the world.

"Incurseans don't think that way." she said finally. "We're taught from hatching that strength means taking what you want, expanding your territory, crushing opposition."

"And how's that working out for the universe?" Ben asked.

Attea's mouth quirked in what might have been the beginning of a smile. "Point taken, hero."

They hung there in surprisingly comfortable silence for a moment, watching the sunset together. Ben found himself thinking that if someone had told him yesterday he'd be sharing a peaceful Ferris wheel ride with Princess Attea, he'd have questioned their sanity.

The moment was shattered by an explosion from below.

The Ferris wheel shuddered, people screamed, and Ben and Attea were both on their feet immediately, nearly tipping their car in the process.

"What the—?" Ben steadied himself against the railing, looking down to see a plume of smoke rising from the food court area.

Attea's eyes narrowed as she spotted something Ben didn't. "We've got company."

Ben followed her gaze and groaned when he saw the familiar purple armor moving through the panicking crowd.

"EightEight. Perfect timing, as usual."

The wheel began moving again, bringing them down for emergency evacuation. As soon as they were close enough to the ground, Attea shocked Ben by grabbing him around the waist and leaping from the car, her powerful Incursean legs easily handling the ten-foot drop.

"Hey!" Ben yelped as they landed. "A little warning next time?"

"No time." Attea replied, already scanning the crowd. Her ID mask flickered briefly with the exertion, revealing her true form for a split second before stabilizing.

Gwen, Kevin, and Rook converged on them quickly, all in battle-ready stances.

"EightEight?" Kevin asked, already absorbing the metal from a nearby trash can.

"Looks like she's still upset about earlier." Ben confirmed, activating the Omnitrix. "Time to go hero!"

Before he could transform, another explosion rocked the carnival, closer this time. Civilians ran screaming in all directions as smoke billowed from a demolished game booth.

Through the chaos emerged EightEight, her armor still showing damage from their earlier encounter. She moved with deadly purpose, weapons deployed and aimed directly at their group.

"Found you." her translator managed to process before she opened fire.

Gwen immediately threw up a mana shield, deflecting the energy blasts. "Ben, now would be a good time for that transformation!"

Ben slammed down on the Omnitrix dial, engulfing himself in green light. When it faded, he had become Heatblast, his body composed of living magma with flames dancing across his surface.

"Let's see how you like things HOT!" Heatblast called out, sending a stream of fire toward EightEight.

The bounty hunter dodged with mechanical precision, returning fire with her own weapons. Carnival-goers scattered in terror as energy blasts and fireballs flew across the fairgrounds.

"Everyone split up!" Heatblast ordered. "Gwen, Kevin, help evacuate civilians! Rook, with me! Attea—"

But Attea was already charging forward, her ID mask discarded in the excitement, revealing her true Incursean form as she leapt impossible distances between buildings and rides.

"HEY BUCKET-HEAD!" she shouted at EightEight. "Remember ME? The one who kicked your shiny metal ass earlier? Let's go for round two!"

"Attea, wait!" Heatblast called after her, but it was too late. The Incursean princess was already engaged in close combat with EightEight, displaying impressive fighting skills despite lacking her usual weapons.

"I shall assist Princess Attea." Rook said, converting his Proto-Tool to staff mode and rushing to join the fray.

Heatblast groaned. "Why does no one ever listen to the plan?"

He propelled himself forward on jets of flame, joining the battle as EightEight was being double-teamed by Attea and Rook. Despite the odds, the bounty hunter was holding her own, her armor deflecting most attacks while her multiple weapons kept her opponents at bay.

"Revenge." EightEight's translator spat out as she fired a net at Attea, who barely dodged it.

"What is your PROBLEM?" Attea demanded, executing a perfect backflip to avoid another blast. "Can't you see I'm on a DATE here?"

"This is NOT a date!" Heatblast protested, sending a fireball that EightEight deflected with a forcefield.

"So not the time, Ben!" Attea shot back, launching herself at EightEight with a flying kick that actually connected, sending the bounty hunter staggering backward.

EightEight recovered quickly, deploying a new weapon from her armor – a small device that she tossed toward the center of the carnival. It beeped ominously as it landed.

"Countdown." her translator announced with mechanical satisfaction.

Rook's eyes widened as his Proto-Tool scanned the device. "That is a class-four demolition charge! It could level half the carnival!"

"On it!" Heatblast changed direction, racing toward the bomb while Attea and Rook continued engaging EightEight.

He reached the device and knelt beside it, examining the alien technology. A digital counter was ticking down rapidly: 30... 29... 28...

"Okay, okay, I can handle this." Heatblast muttered to himself. "Red wire, blue wire... wait, there are no wires! It's all integrated circuitry!"

He considered his options quickly. As Heatblast, he could try to contain the explosion with his flames, but that might just make things worse. He needed a different approach.

Slapping the Omnitrix symbol on his chest, Heatblast transformed in a flash of green light into Grey Matter, the tiny Galvan genius.

"Much better!" Grey Matter exclaimed, examining the bomb with his enhanced intellect. "Let's see... Sotoraggian design, primarily focused on concussive force rather than incendiary effects, utilizing a quantum compression chamber to—"

The counter continued: 15... 14... 13...

"Less analyzing, more disarming!" Grey Matter chided himself, his tiny fingers working rapidly on the device's access panel. "Reverse the polarity here, disconnect the fission initiator there..."

Meanwhile, Attea and Rook were being driven back by EightEight's relentless assault. The bounty hunter seemed particularly focused on Attea, directing the majority of her attacks at the Incursean princess.

"What did I ever do to YOU?" Attea demanded, ducking behind a carnival game for cover as energy blasts destroyed the prizes behind her.

"Humiliation." EightEight's translator processed. "Contract."

"Oh, get OVER yourself!" Attea fired back. "So I shot your jetpack and called you names. Grow a thicker exoskeleton!"

Rook managed to land a solid hit with his Proto-Tool, momentarily stunning EightEight. "Whatever grievance you have, this is not the way to resolve it! You are endangering innocent civilians!"

EightEight seemed unconcerned by this moral appeal, recovering quickly and deploying what appeared to be sonic disruptors from her gauntlets. The high-pitched whine they emitted brought both Rook and Attea to their knees, hands clutching their sensitive ears.

Back at the bomb, Grey Matter was down to the wire – literally.

5... 4... 3...

"Got it!" he exclaimed triumphantly as the counter froze at 2. "Nothing like cutting it close!"

With the immediate threat neutralized, Grey Matter slapped the Omnitrix symbol again, transforming into XLR8, the Kineceleran speedster.

"Time to end this." XLR8 declared, his visor snapping down as he accelerated to incredible speed, becoming a blue and black blur racing toward the ongoing battle.

EightEight never saw him coming. One moment she was standing over Rook and Attea with her sonic weapons deployed; the next she was hit by what felt like a supersonic freight train. XLR8 delivered a series of rapid-fire strikes from multiple angles, each impact coming so quickly that EightEight's armor couldn't fully compensate.

"You. Don't. Attack. A. Carnival!" XLR8 punctuated each word with another strike, gradually dismantling EightEight's weapon systems.

The bounty hunter staggered but remained standing, her armor dented but functional. She triggered an electromagnetic pulse that forced XLR8 to back off temporarily, the energy disrupting his momentum.

"Not finished." her translator declared as she reached for another device on her belt.

"Oh yes you ARE!" Attea, recovered from the sonic attack, launched herself forward with incredible force. Her powerful legs propelled her directly into EightEight's chest, sending the bounty hunter crashing backward into a cotton candy stand in an explosion of pink fluff.

Before EightEight could recover, Gwen appeared, her eyes glowing magenta as she encased the bounty hunter in a mana bubble.

"Got her!" Gwen announced. "And the civilians are clear, thanks to Kevin directing traffic."

Kevin jogged up, his body still covered in metal. "Man, I miss all the fun parts."

XLR8 zoomed to a stop beside them, transforming back into Ben in a flash of green light. "Good work, everyone. The bomb's disarmed too."

"Bomb?!" Gwen and Kevin exclaimed simultaneously.

"Details later." Ben promised, turning to where EightEight remained contained in Gwen's energy field. "Now, let's find out what this is really about."

Attea strutted up to the captured bounty hunter, brushing cotton candy from her royal attire with evident disgust. "Yes, let's. What's your DEAL, bucket-head? Why are you so fixated on us?"

EightEight's helmet emitted a series of mechanical clicks and whirs that her damaged translator struggled to process. Finally, it managed: "Revenge... Tennyson... princess... both."

"Well, Ben does pisses off a lot of people." Kevin remarked sarcastically.

"As does Princess Attea, I imagine." Rook added diplomatically.

Attea crossed her arms, looking oddly proud. "Comes with the territory when you're as AWESOME as we are."

"We're nothing alike." Ben protested automatically, though with less conviction than before.

Gwen strengthened her mana bubble as EightEight attempted to activate another device. "We should take her to Plumber HQ for proper questioning. Her translator is too damaged to get the full story."

"Agreed." Ben nodded. "Rook, can you call for transport?"

As Rook contacted headquarters, Ben turned to find Attea staring at him with an unreadable expression.

"What?" he asked warily.

"You were... not completely useless back there." she said, which Ben translated as high praise coming from her. "The way you handled the bomb was almost impressive."

"Thanks... I think?" Ben replied, unsure how to take the backhanded compliment.

Attea continued, her voice lowering slightly, "And you saved all these humans without a second thought, even though most of them ran away instead of helping."

"That's kind of my job." Ben shrugged.

"No." Attea shook her head. "Your 'job' is being a Plumber. This..." she gestured around at the damaged carnival, "this is something else. Something more... personal."

Ben was saved from responding by the arrival of Plumber transport vehicles, their lights flashing as they pulled up to the carnival entrance.

"Looks like our evening's wrapped up." he said, somewhat relieved by the interruption. "We'd better get EightEight processed."

As the Plumbers secured EightEight and began cordoning off the area, Ben noticed Attea looking around the ruined carnival with something like regret.

"Something wrong?" he asked.

"I didn't get to try the blue cotton candy." she admitted, then quickly added, "Not that I cared about your primitive sugar clouds!"

Ben couldn't help but smile. "The carnival's going to be here all week. Maybe we can come back tomorrow."

Attea's eyes widened slightly. "You'd... want to?"

"Well, we do have another 24 hours before your 'cultural visit' is over." Ben pointed out. "Might as well make the most of it."

A slow smile spread across Attea's face – not her usual predatory grin, but something more genuine. "I'd like that. Though I expect BETTER prizes from the games next time!"

As they walked toward the Plumber vehicles, Ben noticed something missing. "Hey, what happened to your frog plush? The one I won you?"

Attea's expression shifted to one of genuine alarm. "My royal amphibian!" She looked around frantically. "It must have fallen during the battle!"

Before Ben could respond, she was off, leaping back toward the battle site with powerful bounds. He watched in amazement as she scoured the area, eventually returning triumphantly with the small green plush clutched carefully in her hands.

"Found it!" she announced, brushing dirt from its tiny crown with surprising tenderness.

"You really like that thing, huh?" Ben asked, unable to keep the amusement from his voice.

Attea immediately adopted a more casual demeanor. "It's a symbol of your submission to me. Of COURSE I value it."

"Right." Ben nodded, unconvinced. "Submission. Got it."

They rejoined the others at the Plumber vehicles, where Gwen was helping secure EightEight while Kevin and Rook debriefed the responding officers.

"We'll need to accompany them to headquarters." Ben told Attea. "Standard procedure after an incident like this."

Attea nodded, still clutching her plush frog. "As long as they have food there. All this fighting works up an appetite!"

Ben laughed despite himself. "I think that can be arranged."

As they climbed into one of the transport vehicles, Attea once again seated herself unnecessarily close to Ben. This time, however, he didn't immediately try to create distance between them.

"You know." Attea said quietly as the vehicle pulled away, the carnival's damaged Ferris wheel visible in the rearview mirror, "for a primitive planet with weird food and boring entertainment, this wasn't the worst date I've ever been on."

"Still not a date." Ben reminded her, though with less conviction than before.

Attea smirked, leaning her head briefly against his shoulder before straightening again. "Keep telling yourself that, hero."

Back at Plumber Headquarters, EightEight sat in a secure containment cell, her damaged armor partially removed and her weapons confiscated. Technicians were working to repair her translator for proper interrogation.

In the adjacent room, Ben, Attea, Gwen, Kevin, and Rook observed through a one-way mirror while enjoying a late dinner of pizza, which Attea had declared "barely edible" before proceeding to eat three slices.

"So who do you think hired her to steal that prototype?" Gwen asked, wiping tomato sauce from her fingers.

"Whoever it is." Attea said, licking cheese from her fingers in a way that made Ben blush slightly, "they have TERRIBLE taste in assassins. I mean, seriously? EightEight? I've faced tougher opponents in royal etiquette class."

"She is actually considered one of the more effective bounty hunters in the galaxy." Rook pointed out. "Her failure today was largely due to being outnumbered five to one."

"Details." Attea dismissed with a wave. "The point is, she FAILED. And whoever hired her is going to be VERY disappointed."

Ben frowned thoughtfully. "That could be anyone from Charmcaster to Elena Validus to—"

"Or it could be one of YOUR jilted exes." Attea interrupted, jabbing Ben in the ribs. "Julie? Kai? That Ester girl? Surely SOME of them must be bitter about being passed over for someone as MAGNIFICENT as me."

"For the last time, we are NOT—" Ben began, but was cut off by a hug from Attea.

For whatever reason Ben didn't really hate her. And deep down, he felt she had some genuine feeling for him. But for now the two would have to wait more 24 hours to see how this would end.

Chapter Text

Ben and Attea were still holding hands as they walked toward his house. She had been particularly affectionate since their confrontation with EightEight at the carnival, occasionally flicking her long tongue playfully near his ear when no one was looking.

"Can you stop that?" Ben hissed, pulling his hand away and wiping it on his jacket. "We're about to meet my parents, and I need you to be... normal."

Attea rolled her eyes and placed a hand on her hip. "Normal? I'm the freaking Empress of Incursea, Tennyson. I don't do 'normal.' And need I remind you that you promised to marry me?"

"Princess… And I didn't promise anything." Ben sighed, rubbing his temples. "It was a diplomatic misunderstanding, and you know it."

"Diplomatic my foot." Attea sneered, jabbing a finger into his chest. "You said, and I quote, 'I would rather marry you than let the universe be destroyed.' That's a proposal where I come from, dumbass."

Ben groaned. "That was under pressure! And Earth was literally at stake!"

Attea flicked her tongue again, this time catching the lobe of his ear. "A promise is a promise, Tennyson. That's why I'm here on this mud ball you call home. Twenty-four hours to convince you to honor your word."

They approached the modest two-story house where Ben had grown up. The lawn was neatly trimmed, and flower beds lined the walkway – his mother's pride and joy.

"Just... behave, okay?" Ben pleaded. "My parents are normal people. They don't deal with alien stuff every day like I do."

"Relax." Attea said, straightening her posture and adopting what she probably thought was a dignified expression. "I can be charming when I want to be. I'm royalty, remember?"

Ben rang the doorbell, feeling a knot of anxiety in his stomach. What had possessed him to bring Attea here? But after the carnival incident and her insistence on spending her remaining Earth hours with him, he'd run out of excuses.

The door swung open to reveal Sandra Tennyson, her blonde hair pulled back in a casual ponytail, wearing an apron that said "World's Best Mom" across the front.

"Ben!" she exclaimed, immediately pulling him into a hug. "What a lovely surprise! Your father and I were just wondering when you'd visit again." Her eyes drifted to Attea, and her smile faltered just slightly before recovering. "And you've brought a... friend!"

"Yeah, Mom, this is... uh... Attea. She's visiting Earth for a short time, and I'm showing her around."

Attea extended her hand formally. "Mrs. Tennyson, it's a pleasure to meet the woman who raised my fiancée."

Ben's face went crimson. "She's not— We're not—"

Sandra's eyebrows shot up. "Fiancée? Benjamin Kirby Tennyson, what haven't you been telling us?"

"Nothing! Mom, she's joking. Attea has a weird sense of humor." Ben shot Attea a murderous glare.

Attea smiled innocently. "Oh, am I? My bad. Cultural misunderstanding. Where I come from, when someone promises to marry you, it's considered binding."

Sandra's face cycled through confusion, concern, and then settled on polite hospitality. "Well, why don't you both come in? Your father's in the backyard tending to the grill. We're having hamburgers for lunch."

They stepped inside, and Ben immediately felt the comforting familiarity of home wash over him – a feeling quickly erased when Attea slipped her hand into his back pocket and gave his butt a firm squeeze.

"Nice digs." she whispered. "Very... quaint."

Carl Tennyson looked up from the grill when they stepped into the backyard, his face lighting up at the sight of his son. "Ben! Great timing, the burgers are almost ready."

"Hey, Dad." Ben said, trying to discreetly remove Attea's hand from his posterior. "This is Attea. She's... a visitor."

"From Incursea." Attea added helpfully. "I'm their Empress."

Carl blinked several times. "Incur-what now? Is that in Europe?"

Ben jumped in quickly. "Dad, remember how I told you about some of the aliens I transform into with the Omnitrix? Attea is from one of those planets."

Understanding dawned on Carl's face. "Oh! Like your green friend, what's his name... Rook?"

"Rook is blue, Dad, and he's from Revonnah. But close enough."

Sandra brought out a tray of drinks. "So, Attea, how did you and Ben meet?"

Attea accepted a glass of lemonade with surprising grace. "Oh, he defeated my father in battle and indirectly helped me usurp his throne. Typical boy-meets-girl story."

Sandra nearly dropped the tray. "I... see."

"She's kidding again, Mom." Ben said quickly. "We met through... diplomatic channels. I occasionally help with extraterrestrial relations as part of my Plumber duties."

"He calls it diplomatic." Attea smirked, taking a sip of lemonade. "I call it him practically proposing to me in front of my entire royal court."

Carl chuckled nervously. "You've always been an international man of mystery, son. Now it seems you've gone interplanetary!"

The conversation mercifully shifted to safer topics as they sat down to eat. Sandra inquired about Gwen's studies, and Ben provided updates about his cousin's accelerated college program. Carl talked about his latest home improvement projects, and for a brief moment, everything seemed normal – until Attea started playing footsie with Ben under the table, her nimble toes somehow finding their way up his pant leg.

"So, Attea." Sandra said, passing the salad, "what brings you to Earth specifically? Diplomatic mission?"

"You could say that." Attea replied, her foot now dangerously high on Ben's thigh. "I'm here to collect on a promise your son made to me. I've got about—" she checked a device on her wrist, "—twenty-one hours left before my royal guards come looking for me."

Ben choked on his burger. "She's exaggerating. Attea's just visiting... unofficially."

"Damn right it's unofficial." Attea said, stabbing a piece of lettuce with her fork. "If my advisors knew I'd snuck away to this backwater planet just to see this idiot, they'd throw a freaking fit."

Sandra's eyes widened at the profanity, but she maintained her composure. "Well, we're certainly glad you could visit. Any... friend of Ben's is welcome here."

Lunch continued with Ben trying to steer the conversation away from anything that might prompt Attea to share more embarrassing details. When they finished eating, Sandra insisted on showing Attea the family photo albums, much to Ben's horror.

"And this is Ben when he was five, dressed as a plumber for Halloween." Sandra said, pointing to a photo of young Ben in oversized overalls holding a plastic wrench.

"Different kind of Plumber, but adorable nonetheless." Attea remarked, genuinely amused. "Were you always this cute, Tennyson?"

"Mom, I think Attea might like to see my room." Ben suggested desperately, trying to end the photo session before they reached his awkward puberty years.

"Of course! Why don't you show her? I'll clean up down here."

Ben led Attea upstairs, grateful for the momentary escape. The moment they entered his bedroom, however, Attea pounced, pushing him against the wall and pressing her body against his.

"Finally alone." she hissed, her tongue flicking out to trace his jawline. "Your parents are surprisingly tolerable for Earth-dwellers."

Ben pushed her back gently. "Attea, come on. My parents are right downstairs."

She rolled her eyes and flopped onto his bed, bouncing slightly as she surveyed the room. Posters of Sumo Slammers adorned the walls, alongside some space-themed artwork and photos of Ben with Gwen, Kevin, and Rook.

"So this is where the famous Ben Tennyson sleeps." she mused, running her hand over his comforter. "I pictured something more... impressive."

Ben shrugged. "Sorry to disappoint. Not all of us live in palatial royal chambers."

Attea's eyes landed on his gaming console. "Is that the new GameStation X? Even on Incursea, these things are hard to get."

"You play video games?" Ben asked, surprised.

"Duh. What do you think I do when I'm not crushing rebellions or expanding my empire? Ruling gets boring sometimes."

Ben hesitated, then grabbed two controllers. "Wanna play? I've got Sumo Slammers Ultra Showdown."

For the next hour, Ben found himself actually enjoying Attea's company as they battled digital sumo wrestlers. She was surprisingly good, beating him in three out of five matches.

"You're button-mashing!" Ben accused after a particularly humiliating defeat.

"I'm strategically overwhelming your defenses." Attea countered, bumping her shoulder against his. "Don't be a sore loser, Tennyson."

Their gaming session was interrupted by the chime of Ben's phone. It was Rook.

"Ben." the Revonnahgander's serious face appeared on screen. "We have a situation. EightEight has escaped custody."

Ben's stomach dropped. "What? How?"

"She appears to have had concealed technology within her armor that our scanners did not detect. She disabled the holding cell's power and escaped approximately thirty minutes ago."

Attea leaned into frame. "Let me guess, blue boy. She's coming after us?"

Rook nodded grimly. "That would be my assessment. Her last words before escaping were... not complimentary toward either of you."

"Great." Ben muttered. "Just great. Any idea where she is now?"

"Negative. We are tracking her, but she is skilled at evading detection. I suggest you both remain vigilant."

"Always am." Ben said. "Thanks for the heads-up, Rook. We'll be careful."

After ending the call, Attea flopped back on the bed. "Well, that's freaking fantastic. Can't believe that four-armed tincan escaped. Should've finished her when I had the chance."

"That's not how we do things." Ben reminded her. "And watch your language. My mom will have a heart attack if she hears you talking like that."

Attea rolled her eyes. "Whatever. So what's the plan, hero boy? Wait for her to attack us again?"

"For now, we stay alert. I'll let my parents know we need to head out soon." Ben paused. "I should probably get you somewhere secure."

"I can handle myself." Attea said, sitting up and stretching. "In fact, I'm more worried about your squishy human parents. EightEight might target them to get to you."

It was a concerning thought Ben hadn't considered. "You're right. Let's go downstairs and figure this out."

As they headed down, Attea suddenly asked, "Hey, does your blue friend have a thing for that robot chick? What's her name... Fistina?"

Ben blinked at the abrupt change of subject. "Rook? And Fistina? I don't think so. Why?"

A mischievous grin spread across Attea's face. "No reason. Just curious about Plumber dating habits."

Ben didn't trust that look one bit, but before he could question her further, they reached the living room where his parents were watching television.

"Mom, Dad." Ben said, "something's come up. Attea and I need to head out."

Sandra looked disappointed. "So soon? I was hoping you'd stay for dinner. I'm making your favorite casserole."

"Rain check?" Ben suggested. "It's kind of important. Plumber business."

Carl nodded understandingly. "Duty calls. It was nice meeting you, Attea, even if you are supposedly engaged to our son without our knowledge."

Attea grinned. "The pleasure was all mine, Mr. Tennyson. And don't worry, when we have the wedding, you'll get front-row seats."

Ben groaned and quickly ushered her toward the door. "We'll talk soon, love you both!"

As they stepped outside, Ben's Omnitrix beeped with an incoming call. Rook's face appeared again, looking even more concerned than before.

"Ben, we have tracked EightEight to your vicinity. She appears to be within a one-mile radius of your location."

Ben felt a chill run down his spine. "She's hunting us."

"Indeed. I am on my way with backup. Try to remain in public spaces where she is less likely to attack."

The call ended, and Ben turned to Attea. "Change of plans. We need to get somewhere with people around."

Attea nodded, for once not arguing. "Lead the way, Tennyson."

As they walked briskly down the street, Ben couldn't shake the feeling they were being watched. Somewhere in the shadows, a vengeful Sotoraggian was plotting her revenge, and they were right in her crosshairs.

Chapter Text

Rook arrived in his Proto-TRUK within fifteen minutes, pulling up alongside Ben and Attea as they walked toward downtown Bellwood. He stepped out, Plumber badge gleaming on his armor, Proto-Tool at the ready.

"I have conducted three perimeter sweeps." Rook informed them as they climbed into his vehicle. "There is no sign of EightEight, but that does not mean she is not watching."

"She's watching alright." Attea said, settling into the back seat. "I can feel it. Sotoraggians are notorious stalkers. They study their prey before striking."

Ben secured his seatbelt. "Great, so we're being hunted by the alien equivalent of a cat toying with its dinner."

Rook began driving toward Plumber HQ. "I have requested additional security for your parents, Ben. A detail has been assigned to watch your home."

"Thanks, partner." Ben said, genuinely relieved. "I was worried about them."

Attea leaned forward between the seats. "So, Rook Blonko, you never answered my question earlier. You got the hots for Fistina or what?"

Rook's blue face darkened slightly, his driving momentarily swerving. "I... what? No! Where did this inquiry originate from?"

"Just curious." Attea said with a sly smile. "She's got some nice... hardware. For a robot lady."

"Fistina is not a robot." Rook corrected stiffly. "She is an Acrosian, a species with naturally occurring metallic exoskeleton."

Ben shot Attea a warning look. "What's with the sudden interest in Rook's love life?"

"What?" Attea's expression was pure innocence. "I'm stuck on Earth for less than a day now. Might as well get some good gossip to take back to Incursea."

Rook cleared his throat uncomfortably. "While I respect Fistina as a reformed criminal, I do not harbor romantic feelings toward her."

"Your face says otherwise, blue boy." Attea teased. "You're turning purple."

"That is merely a biological response to unexpected questioning." Rook insisted, his knuckles tightening on the steering wheel.

Ben decided to rescue his partner. "Attea, drop it. We've got bigger problems right now than Rook's non-existent crush."

"Fine." Attea huffed, sitting back. But a moment later, she slipped her communicator from her pocket and began typing rapidly.

"What are you doing?" Ben asked suspiciously.

"Nothing." Attea replied, not looking up. "Royal business."

Ben reached back and snatched the device from her hands. On the screen was a message addressed to Fistina:

"Yo, metal chick. Empress Attea here. FYI, that blue Revonnahgander Plumber can't stop talking about you. Says you've got 'nice hardware' whatever that means. Thought you should know. XOXO, Your Empress"

"Attea!" Ben exclaimed. "You can't send this!"

"Too late." Attea grinned wickedly. "Sent it before you grabbed my comm."

Rook's eyes widened in alarm. "You did what?!"

The Proto-TRUK swerved again as Rook looked back in horror. A car horn blared as they nearly collided with oncoming traffic.

"Eyes on the road, Romeo." Attea cackled.

"This is not humorous." Rook said, his voice unusually strained. "Fistina has previously expressed... interest in me. This will only encourage her inappropriate advances."

As if on cue, Rook's Plumber badge beeped with an incoming message. He groaned. "That is most certainly her."

"Read it out loud." Attea demanded eagerly.

"I will do no such thing." Rook replied firmly.

Ben handed the communicator back to Attea, who was practically bouncing with glee. "You're incorrigible, you know that?"

"It's one of my better qualities." she replied, pocketing the device. "Besides, I wasn't lying. He totally has a thing for her."

"I do not—" Rook began, but was interrupted by his badge beeping again, more insistently this time.

"Someone's popular." Attea sang.

Rook pulled the Proto-TRUK into the underground entrance of Plumber headquarters, his movements slightly more aggressive than usual. Once they were parked, he turned to face Attea.

"While I appreciate that your intentions may not have been malicious, interfering in personal matters is inappropriate and could potentially compromise professional relationships."

Attea yawned dramatically. "That's a lot of words to say 'stop messing with my crush, Empress.'"

Rook's face contorted in confusion. "I do not understand that reference, but I suspect it is crude and inaccurate."

"Can we focus, please?" Ben interjected. "Murderous bounty hunter on the loose, remember?"

They exited the vehicle and entered the main command center of Plumber HQ. Max Tennyson was there, studying a holographic map of Bellwood with red dots indicating possible EightEight sightings.

"Ben." Max greeted them, his expression serious. "Glad you're here. EightEight's proving more elusive than we anticipated. She's disabled her armor's tracking signature."

"Typical Sotoraggian move." Attea said, examining the map. "They're tricky bastards."

Max raised an eyebrow at Attea's language but continued. "We've got teams searching the whole city, but so far nothing concrete. Our best guess is she's laying low, planning her next move."

Ben approached the map. "What about the spaceport? Could she be trying to get off-planet?"

"We've got that covered." Max assured him. "No ship is leaving Earth without thorough inspection."

Attea flopped into a nearby chair, spinning it idly. "So what's the plan? Sit around with our butt down waiting for her to strike?"

Max frowned. "Princess—"

"Empress." Attea corrected sharply.

"Princess Attea." Max amended, "we're doing everything we can to locate EightEight before she can harm anyone. In the meantime, you and Ben will stay here where it's secure."

"Boring." Attea complained. "I've only got—" she checked her wrist device, "—nineteen hours left on this mudball, and you want me to spend it hiding in your underground clubhouse?"

"Would you prefer to spend it being hunted by a revenge-driven Sotoraggian?" Rook asked dryly.

Before Attea could respond, Rook's badge beeped yet again. He glanced at it and his eyes widened in horror.

"What is it?" Ben asked, immediately alert. "EightEight?"

"Worse." Rook whispered. "Fistina is... coming here. Now." He glared at Attea. "This is your doing."

Attea smiled smugly. "You're welcome."

Max looked between them in confusion. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." Ben and Rook said simultaneously.

"Rook's got a girlfriend coming to visit." Attea announced gleefully. "I played matchmaker."

"She is not my girlfriend." Rook insisted. "And you have created an extremely awkward situation."

Max shook his head, clearly deciding this wasn't worth pursuing. "I'm going to check in with the search teams. You three stay put." He pointed sternly at Attea. "No more... matchmaking."

As Max walked away, Attea's communicator chimed. She pulled it out and grinned widely at the screen.

"Ooh, Fistina sends her thanks for the 'information' and says she's 'most excited to discuss hardware upgrades' with you, Rook. Is that what you kids are calling it these days?"

Rook made a strangled noise. "This is highly inappropriate. Ben, please control your fiancée."

"She's not my fiancée!" Ben exclaimed, exasperated. "And no one can control Attea, obviously."

"Damn rght." Attea agreed, looking pleased with herself. "I'm going to grab some food from your cafeteria. All this matchmaking makes a future empress hungry." She sauntered away, leaving Ben and Rook alone.

Rook collapsed into a chair, looking uncharacteristically distressed. "What am I going to do? Fistina will be here in approximately twenty Earth minutes."

Ben patted his friend's shoulder sympathetically. "Just be honest with her. Tell her Attea was messing around."

"You do not understand." Rook said gravely. "On Revonnah, rejecting someone's advances directly is considered deeply humiliating for both parties. We typically employ subtle social cues to convey disinterest."

"I don't think subtlety works on Fistina." Ben pointed out. "Remember when she called you 'Pretty Boy'?"

Rook groaned and buried his face in his hands. "This is most unfortunate timing."

Meanwhile, Attea had found her way to the cafeteria, where she was loading up a tray with an assortment of Earth foods. She was in the middle of examining what appeared to be blue gelatin when she felt a presence behind her.

"You must be the Incursean princess I've heard so much about."

Attea turned to find a tall female Plumber she didn't recognize. "Empress." she corrected automatically. "And you are?"

"Magister Patelliday sent me to keep an eye on you." the woman said, not offering her name. "Apparently, you have a habit of causing trouble."

Attea snorted. "If by 'causing trouble' you mean 'making things interesting,' then guilty as charged." She narrowed her eyes. "I don't need a babysitter."

"Orders are orders." the woman replied coolly. "I'll be nearby if you need anything."

As the woman moved to a table with clear sight lines to Attea, the Incursean princess felt uneasy. Something about the Plumber didn't seem right, but she couldn't place what it was. Shrugging it off, she returned to the command center with her tray of food.

Ben was there alone, studying the map of Bellwood. "Where's Rook?" Attea asked, setting down her tray and popping what looked like a grape into her mouth.

"Hiding in the armory." Ben replied without looking up. "Thanks to you, he's having a minor meltdown about Fistina's visit."

"He'll thank me later." Attea said dismissively. "Some people need a push."

Ben finally turned to her. "Not everyone wants their love life manipulated by an alien princess with too much time on her hands."

"Speaking of love lives." Attea said, sidling closer to him, "we never finished what we started in your bedroom." She placed a hand on his chest, her tongue flicking out to moisten her lips.

Ben stepped back. "We didn't start anything in my bedroom. We played video games."

"Foreplay." Attea countered with a smirk.

Before Ben could respond, the command center doors slid open, and Fistina's imposing metallic form entered. Her red optical sensors immediately scanned the room, settling on Ben and Attea.

"Ben Tennyson." Fistina greeted in her thick accent. "Where is my Rookie? I receive message he wants to speak with me about... hardware." Her mechanical eyebrows waggled suggestively.

Ben shot Attea a glare before addressing Fistina. "He's, uh, checking inventory in the armory. But listen, there's been a misunderstanding—"

"I go find him." Fistina declared, already turning toward the corridor leading to the armory. "We have much to discuss, yes?"

"Wait!" Ben called, but Fistina was already marching determinedly away.

"This should be good." Attea chuckled, grabbing her tray and following. "I want front-row seats for this trainwreck."

Ben grabbed her arm. "Haven't you done enough? Rook's really uncomfortable with this whole situation."

Attea rolled her eyes. "Relax, Tennyson. I'm just having a little fun. Besides, maybe they'll hit it off. Stranger things have happened." She glanced meaningfully at him. "Like a human and an Incursean."

"There is no 'human and Incursean,'" Ben insisted, but followed her anyway, determined to minimize the damage.

They caught up to Fistina just as she was about to enter the armory. Ben stepped in front of her. "Fistina, wait. I think we should clear something up first."

Fistina's metallic head tilted. "What is to clear? Rookie wishes to discuss hardware. I have excellent hardware." She flexed her massive mechanical arms.

"The message you got wasn't from Rook." Ben explained. "It was from Attea here, who thought it would be funny to play a prank."

Fistina's optical sensors shifted to Attea, who waved cheekily. "Is this true, frog girl?"

"First of all, I'm an Incursean, not a 'frog girl,'" Attea said. "And second, I may have embellished a little, but Rook definitely has a thing for you. He's just too shy to admit it."

"Attea!" Ben hissed.

The armory door slid open, revealing a clearly stressed Rook. "I heard voices. What is—" He froze at the sight of Fistina. "Oh. Hello, Fistina."

"Rookie!" Fistina exclaimed, pushing past Ben to approach Rook. "I come as soon as I get message. Very flattering words you say about my hardware."

Rook's eyes darted to Attea, who gave him an innocent thumbs-up. "I... that is... there has been a miscommunication."

Fistina's posture drooped slightly. "You do not like my hardware?"

Rook's ingrained politeness kicked in. "No! I mean, yes, your... hardware is very... impressive. But I did not send that message. It was Princess  Attea playing a practical joke."

Fistina turned to Attea, who shrugged. "Don't blame me because you can't express your feelings, blue boy."

The tension was interrupted by an alarm blaring throughout the base. Red emergency lights began flashing, and Max's voice came over the comm system:

"Security breach in Sector Seven! All available Plumbers report immediately! This is not a drill!"

Ben's Omnitrix beeped with an incoming transmission. He activated it to see his grandfather's urgent face.

"Ben, it's EightEight! She's inside the base! She must have smuggled herself in somehow."

"But the security scans—" Ben began.

"No time! She's headed for the command center. Find Attea and get to a secure location!"

The transmission cut out, and Ben looked up to see everyone already in battle stance. "Rook, get Attea somewhere safe. Fistina, we could use your help if you're willing."

Fistina pounded her metallic fists together. "Fistina always ready for good fight!"

"I'm not hiding." Attea declared, pulling out a compact laser pistol from somewhere on her person. "That tincan girl has been asking for an ass-kicking all day."

Ben reached for the Omnitrix. "Fine, but stay close. Hero time!" He slammed down on the dial, and in a flash of green light, transformed into Diamondhead. "Let's move!"

They rushed back toward the command center, Rook leading with his Proto-Tool configured into blaster mode. As they approached, they could hear the sounds of combat – energy weapons firing and equipment crashing.

Rook held up a hand, signaling them to stop. "Wait. Something is not right."

"What do you mean?" Diamondhead asked.

"The alarm originated from Sector Seven, but the reported sighting was in the command center. Those are on opposite sides of the base."

Attea narrowed her eyes. "It's a diversion. She's drawing the Plumbers away from her real target."

"Which is?" Fistina asked.

Attea and Diamondhead exchanged a look of sudden realization. "Us." they said in unison.

As if on cue, a section of ceiling panel above them crashed down, and a familiar armored figure dropped into their midst. EightEight, her arms each wielding a different weapon, landed in a combat stance between them and their escape route.

"Surprise, tincan." Attea muttered, raising her pistol.

EightEight made a series of clicking and hissing sounds through her helmet – the untranslatable Sotoraggian language.

"I don't know what you just said." Diamondhead responded, crystalline hands morphing into sharp blades, "but I'm guessing it wasn't 'let's talk this out peacefully.'"

EightEight raised her weapons and fired.

Chapter Text

The corridor erupted into chaos as EightEight's initial volley sent everyone diving for cover. Energy blasts scorched the walls where they had been standing moments before. Diamondhead rolled behind a structural support, crystalline body glinting under the emergency lights.

"Spread out!" he commanded. "Don't give her a clustered target!"

Rook was already moving, his Proto-Tool shifting into its bow configuration as he fired precision shots that EightEight deftly dodged. Fistina charged head-on, her metallic body absorbing several direct hits without slowing.

"Come here, puny armor girl!" Fistina bellowed. "Fistina show you real strength!"

EightEight clicked something unintelligible in response and deployed a small spherical device that rolled toward Fistina. Rook's eyes widened in recognition.

"EMP grenade! Fistina, get back!"

Too late – the device detonated with a pulse of blue energy that washed over Fistina. Her red optical sensors flickered, and her massive frame stiffened before toppling forward with a tremendous crash.

"Systems... rebooting..." Fistina's voice droned mechanically, her body immobilized.

"Freaking coward!" Attea shouted, emerging from her position to fire a barrage from her pistol. "Fight fair!"

EightEight turned all four blasters toward Attea, weapons charging for what would surely be a devastating combined attack. Before she could fire, a crystalline wall erupted from the floor in front of Attea.

"Cover, not exposition!" Diamondhead shouted at her as EightEight's blasts shattered his hastily created shield.

The bounty hunter used the momentary distraction to launch herself upward, magnetized boots attaching to the ceiling. From this inverted position, she began raining down fire on them from all angles.

Rook rolled to Fistina's side, checking her status while maintaining cover. "Her systems are temporarily disabled. She will recover, but not quickly enough to help us."

"We need to take this somewhere with more room to maneuver." Diamondhead said, forming crystal projectiles that he launched toward EightEight. "We're too confined here."

Attea was already backing down the corridor toward the command center. "This way! If we can reach the main hall, we'll have better firing positions!"

Rook nodded. "I will cover you. Go!"

As Attea and Diamondhead retreated, Rook laid down suppressive fire, forcing EightEight to remain on the defensive. The bounty hunter dropped from the ceiling, landing in a crouch, all four arms reconfiguring her weapons into something new – something that made Rook's blood run cold.

"Ben! She has sonic disruptors!" Rook called out. "Your Petrosapien form is vulnerable!"

Diamondhead barely had time to register the warning before EightEight fired. The sonic wave hit him directly, sending painful vibrations throughout his crystalline body. Fracture lines appeared across his torso as he collapsed to one knee, gritting his teeth against the excruciating sensation.

"Shit!" Attea skidded to a halt and turned back, firing cover shots that forced EightEight to break off her attack. "Tennyson, change forms! You're literally the worst match-up right now!"

Diamondhead slapped the Omnitrix symbol on his chest, transforming in a flash of green light into Heatblast. "Thanks for the tactical advice." he said sarcastically, flames erupting around his molten body. "Now get moving!"

Heatblast sent a massive fireball down the corridor, forcing EightEight to dive aside. The sprinkler system activated, raining water down that turned to steam as it struck Heatblast's fiery form, creating a smokescreen that filled the passageway.

They used the cover to retreat to the command center, where several Plumbers were returning from the false alarm in Sector Seven. Max Tennyson was coordinating the response, looking up in alarm as they burst in.

"EightEight's right behind us." Heatblast reported. "She used the security systems against us – triggered a false alarm to split your forces."

"Clever." Max acknowledged grimly. "Plumbers, defensive positions! We've got a hostile incoming!"

The assembled agents quickly formed a perimeter, weapons trained on the entrance. Tense seconds passed with no sign of the bounty hunter.

"Where is she?" Attea hissed, her webbed finger hovering over her pistol's trigger.

Rook scanned the room with his Proto-Tool. "I am not detecting any movement in the corridor."

"She wouldn't just retreat." Heatblast said, flames flickering nervously around his head. "Not when she had us on the run."

A ventilation grate in the ceiling suddenly crashed to the floor, but nothing emerged from the opening. Every weapon in the room aimed upward, but the vent shaft remained empty.

"Another diversion." Max realized too late.

The floor beneath them trembled, and then a section of it exploded upward as EightEight burst through from the level below, somehow having circled around through the maintenance tunnels. Before anyone could react, she had fired off a volley of stun blasts that dropped half the Plumbers where they stood.

Heatblast reacted instantly, sending a wave of fire that forced EightEight to activate her armor's heat shields. "Everybody down!"

Max and the remaining Plumbers took cover behind consoles while Rook and Attea flanked the bounty hunter, trying to catch her in a crossfire. EightEight responded by deploying smoke grenades that quickly filled the command center with dense, disorienting fog.

"Infrared!" Rook called to his fellow Plumbers, activating his Proto-Tool's thermal imaging.

But EightEight had anticipated this. The next moment, multiple heat signatures appeared throughout the smoke – holographic decoys designed to confuse thermal sensors.

"Clever girl." Attea muttered, backing up against a console, trying to watch all directions at once.

The real EightEight struck from above, dropping onto Max and pinning him to the ground, one of her weapons pressed against his head. She made a series of clicks and hisses that somehow sounded triumphant.

"Grandpa!" Heatblast shouted, flames intensifying with his anger.

"Stand down, Ben." Max ordered calmly, despite his precarious position. "Everyone, hold your fire."

EightEight made another series of sounds, longer this time, almost like a speech. When she finished, she looked around expectantly, as if waiting for a response.

"I don't speak clicking." Attea said irritably. "Someone translate?"

Rook lowered his Proto-Tool slightly. "I recognize some Sotoraggian combat dialects, but not enough for a full translation."

The standoff continued for several tense seconds before EightEight reached up with one free hand and pressed something on her helmet. A mechanical voice emerged, clearly a translation device.

"Will speak… Your primitive language." the robotic voice stated flatly. "The Incursean female…  The shapeshifter…  Humiliated me… Destroyed my contract… Cost me significant payment."

"It was just a job." Heatblast argued. "Nothing personal."

"All contracts are personal." the translation continued. "My reputation is damaged... I require compensation."

Max, still pinned beneath EightEight, spoke carefully. "What kind of compensation are you looking for?"

The helmet tilted slightly. "The shapeshifter's device... The Omnitrix... I will take it as payment."

"Not happening." Heatblast said firmly.

"Then I will take something else..." EightEight's translator conveyed. One of her free hands pointed directly at Attea. "The Incursean royal... Her head will restore my standing among the Sotoraggians."

Attea bared her teeth. "Come and try it, tincan. I've eaten bigger bugs than you for breakfast."

EightEight pressed her weapon harder against Max's head. "Choose... The device or the princess... Or this one dies first."

The atmosphere in the room was electric with tension. Heatblast's flames wavered as he considered their limited options. Even with his powers, he couldn't move fast enough to save his grandfather before EightEight pulled the trigger.

Unexpectedly, EightEight added something else: "Or third option... Trial by combat... Sotoraggian tradition... One champion against me... If I win, I take what I want. If I lose, debt is considered paid."

"I'll do it." Heatblast said immediately.

"No." EightEight's translator voice stated. "Not you... Her." She pointed at Attea again. "She caused the greater offense."

Attea stepped forward, a dangerous grin spreading across her face. "Fine by me. I've been wanting to kick your ass all day."

"Attea, don't." Heatblast warned. "This isn't your fight."

"The hell it isn't." Attea replied, checking her pistol's charge. "Besides, I've got about eighteen hours left on Earth. Might as well make them interesting."

EightEight made a series of clicks that the translator didn't catch, but her body language suggested amusement. She rose from her position, releasing Max, who quickly moved away.

"Honorable combat..." the mechanical voice stated. "No interference." She pointed around the room at the other Plumbers. "Or I detonate explosives… Planted throughout base."

"She's bluffing." Heatblast said.

Rook shook his head. "Sotoraggians always have contingency plans. We should assume she is not."

Max got to his feet, eyeing EightEight warily. "What are the terms of this combat?"

"Until surrender or incapacitation." came the translated response. "In arena of my choosing."

"And where's that?" Attea asked, hands on her hips.

EightEight pointed upward. "The surface... Open air... One hour preparation time."

Max considered for a moment, then nodded. "Agreed, but under Plumber supervision. No lethal force."

The bounty hunter's helmet tilted in what might have been acknowledgment. Then, with startling quickness, she activated some device on her armor and teleported away in a flash of blue light.

"Damnit!" One of the Plumbers rushed to a console. "She bypassed our teleportation dampeners!"

"Can you track her?" Max asked.

"Negative, sir. Signal's scrambled."

Heatblast slapped the Omnitrix symbol and reverted to Ben. "This is crazy! We can't let Attea fight EightEight alone."

"Why not?" Attea challenged. "Afraid I'll embarrass you by doing what you couldn't?"

"This isn't a game." Ben insisted. "EightEight is one of the most dangerous bounty hunters in the galaxy. She's in the same league as Sixsix and Sevenseven."

"I'm an Incursean warrior princess – sorry, Empress." Attea corrected herself. "I was trained in combat before I could walk. I can handle one overgrown insect."

Max intervened before the argument could escalate. "Attea's right, Ben. This might be our best play. EightEight is following some kind of honor code, which gives us an advantage. If we try to capture her by force, there's no telling what contingencies she has in place."

"Besides." Attea added with a smirk, "you'll be there to save me if things go south, right, hero?"

Ben didn't look convinced, but nodded reluctantly. "Fine, but we do this smart. Rook, I want every detail you have on Sotoraggian combat techniques. Grandpa, can we get a secure perimeter established wherever this 'arena' is going to be?"

"Already on it." Max assured him. "I'm deploying teams to likely locations. Open areas, minimal civilian presence."

As the Plumbers mobilized around them, Rook approached Attea. "If you are serious about this confrontation, I can offer some tactical advice. Sotoraggians have certain physiological weaknesses that—"

"Save it, whiskers." Attea cut him off. "I don't need a tutorial. What I need is to find where that metal bitch disappeared to."

The doors to the command center slid open, and Fistina stomped in, systems fully restored and looking angry. "Where is armored coward? Fistina not finished with her!"

"Perfect timing." Attea said, looking Fistina up and down appraisingly. "How do you feel about being my sparring partner for the next hour?"

Fistina blinked her optical sensors in surprise. "Sparring? With Fistina?"

"I need to warm up before I kick EightEight's ass." Attea explained. "And you're about the right size and strength level."

Fistina considered this, then pounded her metal fists together. "Fistina accepts! Will show frog girl proper fighting technique!"

"It's Incursean, not frog." Attea corrected irritably. "And I'll be showing you techniques, metal head."

As they headed off toward the training area, still bickering, Ben turned to Rook. "This is going to end badly, isn't it?"

"Most likely." Rook agreed. "Though I am uncertain for whom."

Exactly one hour later, Plumber sensors detected EightEight's signal at Bellwood Park – a large open area that had been quickly evacuated and secured by Plumber agents disguised as city maintenance workers. Ben, Rook, Max, and Attea arrived to find the bounty hunter waiting in the center of a grassy field, standing completely still like a statue.

"Creepy." Ben muttered.

Attea had changed into more practical attire – formfitting combat gear that she claimed was "standard Incursean battle dress" but looked suspiciously like it had been taken from the Plumber training facilities. She cracked her neck and stretched her arms.

"How was your sparring session with Fistina?" Rook inquired politely.

"Educational." Attea replied with a grin. "She's got some moves for a walking trash can. We called it a draw."

Max surveyed the perimeter. "We've got agents positioned at all entry points to the park. If EightEight tries anything beyond the agreed terms, we'll be ready."

Attea rolled her eyes. "Relax, old man. This will be over quickly." She strode confidently toward the waiting bounty hunter, stopping about ten feet away. "Ready to get your ass handed to you, bug face?"

EightEight remained motionless for a moment, then activated her translator. "You are overconfident… This will be your downfall."

"Big talk from someone who couldn't even complete a simple bounty contract." Attea taunted. "What's your success rate anyway? Fifty percent? Thirty?"

EightEight's body language shifted subtly – a tensing that both Ben and Rook recognized as dangerous. "Begin." her translator stated flatly.

Without warning, EightEight launched herself forward with astonishing speed, all four arms extended in what would have been a devastating grapple – if Attea had still been standing there. The Incursean's powerful legs propelled her into a backflip that carried her over the bounty hunter's charge.

"Too slow!" Attea called as she landed gracefully. Her long tongue shot out suddenly, wrapping around one of EightEight's ankles and yanking, sending the armored warrior sprawling.

Ben watched in surprise. "Huh. She's better than I expected."

"Incurseans are naturally agile." Rook commented. "And as royalty, Attea would have received the finest combat training available on her planet."

EightEight recovered quickly, spinning to face Attea with her arms now configured into their weapon modes. She fired several non-lethal stun blasts that Attea dodged with a series of acrobatic movements.

"Hey! No weapons!" Ben shouted.

"Terms were combat." Max reminded him. "They didn't specify unarmed."

Attea seemed unfazed by the ranged attacks, closing the distance between them with zigzagging runs that made her a difficult target. When she was close enough, she dropped and swept EightEight's legs, following up with a powerful kick to the bounty hunter's midsection that sent her staggering backward.

"That all you got?" Attea taunted, bouncing lightly on her feet. "I've fought training drones with better reflexes!"

EightEight's helmet emitted a series of rapid clicks that needed no translation – she was angry. She reached into a compartment on her armor and withdrew something that expanded into a staff-like weapon, crackling with energy at both ends.

"Now it's getting interesting." Attea remarked, reaching behind her back and producing her own collapsible weapon – a three-sectioned staff connected by energy links.

The two warriors circled each other, weapons at the ready. EightEight struck first, her staff moving in blindingly fast arcs that Attea barely parried with her sectioned weapon. The clash of energy against energy sent sparks flying between them.

"They're evenly matched." Rook observed.

Ben wasn't so sure. He could see EightEight's movements becoming more precise, more measured, while Attea was relying more on reflexes and agility. It was a contest between disciplined technique and natural athletic ability.

The fight continued for several minutes, neither combatant gaining a clear advantage. Attea landed several impressive hits, including a strike to EightEight's helmet that actually cracked the bounty hunter's visor. But EightEight gave as good as she got, catching Attea with a sweep of her staff that sent the Incursean tumbling across the grass.

As Attea rose to her feet, slightly winded but still grinning defiantly, EightEight suddenly deactivated her weapon and stood perfectly still. Her translator activated.

"Enough testing... You fight well, Incursean."

Attea raised an eyebrow, not lowering her guard. "Thanks. You're not terrible yourself."

"But combat… Is not only way to settle debts." the mechanical voice continued. "Sotoraggians value cunningl."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Attea demanded.

EightEight reached up and, to everyone's shock, stopped the fight.

"It means." EightEight said in her translated voice. "I found another way… To extract payment."

Ben took an involuntary step forward. "Another way?"

EightEight's eyes fixed on Ben. "Ben Tennyson... You have defeated my kind before... You have reputation throughout galaxy... Impressive reputation."

Ben blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in tone. "Uh, thanks?"

"Hey!" Attea interjected. "We're in the middle of something here!"

EightEight ignored her, taking several steps toward Ben. Her movements had changed completely – gone was the rigid, combat-ready posture, replaced by something almost... fluid.

"Many would pay fortunes for Omnitrix." EightEight continued, her arms now relaxed at her sides. "But perhaps there is... personal value... in knowing its wielder better."

Max frowned, stepping slightly closer to Ben. "What game are you playing, EightEight?"

The bounty hunter's armored face formed what might have been a smile. "No game, human... Simply... Reassessment of situation." She took another step toward Ben. "Perhaps revenge not satisfying as... Connection."

Ben's eyes widened as he finally understood. "Are you... hitting on me?"

Attea's jaw dropped. "What the actual frog?"

EightEight was now standing directly in front of Ben, close enough that he could see the subtle patterns in her armor. "You are worthy opponent... Strong... Resourceful... These are qualities Sotoraggians value in... Potential mates."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Ben backed up a step, hands raised defensively. "This is... unexpected."

"And freaking ridiculous!" Attea stormed over, inserting herself between Ben and EightEight. "We were in the middle of an honor duel, and now you're trying to seduce him? What kind of bounty hunter are you?"

EightEight regarded Attea with her unblinking eyes. "Clever hunter uses all strategies… Combat failed... New approach necessary."

Rook leaned toward Max. "This is most unusual behavior for a Sotoraggian. Their species typically values contracts and honor above... whatever this is."

Max nodded grimly. "She's up to something. Stay alert."

EightEight continued her unexpected charm offensive, one of her hands reaching out to touch Ben's arm. "You transform into many forms… I wonder... have you experienced intimacy with different species? Sotoraggian females have... unique anatomical advantages." She flexed her arms suggestively.

Ben felt his face heating up. "This is really not appropriate."

"Damn right it's not!" Attea fumed, her skin darkening with what appeared to be the Incursean equivalent of an angry blush. "He's spoken for, armor butt!"

"I am not spoken for!" Ben protested automatically.

EightEight's strange mouth curved upward. "So you are... available?"

"No! I mean, yes, technically, but..." Ben fumbled for words, completely thrown by this bizarre turn of events.

"He's my fiancée!" Attea declared, grabbing Ben's arm possessively. "Back off, bug bitch!"

Ben pulled his arm free. "For the last time, I am not your fiancée!"

EightEight looked between them, her expression unreadable with those four black eyes. "I see... Competition... This is acceptable... Sotoraggians appreciate worthy rivals."

Max had apparently seen enough. He stepped forward, Plumber badge held visibly. "EightEight, whatever you're planning, it stops now. You agreed to an honor duel with Attea. Either continue that or declare it finished and leave Earth."

EightEight regarded him silently for a moment, then inclined her head slightly. "Elder human speaks wisdom... Honor must be satisfied." She turned back to Attea. "Duel will continue... another time... I have new contract to pursue." Her eyes flicked meaningfully toward Ben.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ben asked warily.

"It means." EightEight said, moving with a smooth motion, "that I have decided personal contract… More valuable than revenge... I will return when time is right." She tapped something on her armor. "Until then, Ben Tennyson."

Before anyone could react, she teleported away in a flash of blue light, leaving them staring at empty air.

"Did... did she just call dibs on Ben?" Rook asked incredulously.

"What the hell just happened?" Ben demanded, looking around as if expecting EightEight to reappear.

Attea kicked at the ground in frustration. "That manipulative tincan! She knew she couldn't win in a fair fight, so she switched tactics!" She rounded on Ben. "And you! You were actually blushing!"

"I was not!" Ben protested. "I was uncomfortable!"

Max was already on his communicator. "All units, be on alert. EightEight has disengaged but remains at large. Consider her armed and dangerous."

As the Plumbers mobilized to scan for any trace of the bounty hunter, Ben turned to Rook. "You ever hear of a Sotoraggian using... seduction... as a tactic before?"

Rook shook his head. "Never. They are known for being ruthlessly efficient and direct. This behavior is completely unprecedented."

Attea was still fuming. "I can't believe this! I was ready to kick her ass, and she just... just... changes the game completely!"

"Maybe that was the point." Max suggested, rejoining them. "Sotoraggians are master strategists. When one approach fails, they adapt. She recognized she might not win in direct combat, so she created confusion with an unexpected tactic."

"By hitting on Ben?" Attea scoffed. "That's not strategy, that's desperation."

Ben wasn't so sure. "I don't know. It worked, didn't it? She got away, and now we're all standing around trying to figure out what just happened instead of tracking her down."

Rook nodded slowly. "A most effective distraction. And now she has us questioning her true intentions. Psychological warfare."

"Plus, she's left open the possibility of returning." Max added. "We'll be watching for her, but she's planted the seed of a different type of encounter. It's actually quite clever."

"Well, I'm not falling for it." Ben declared, though he couldn't quite suppress a shiver at the memory of those four black eyes staring at him so intently. "Next time she shows up, she's getting the full hero treatment, no matter what... approach... she tries."

Attea stepped close to him, poking his chest with one webbed finger. "And you better not get any ideas, Tennyson. If anyone's going to seduce you, it's me, got it?"

"Nobody is seducing anybody!" Ben exclaimed, exasperated. "Can we please focus on the fact that there's a dangerous bounty hunter with an apparent crush on me loose in Bellwood?"

Max's communicator beeped. He checked it and frowned. "No sign of her. She must have left Earth's atmosphere already."

"Or she's cloaked and watching us right now." Attea suggested, glancing suspiciously at the surrounding trees.

The thought was unsettling enough that everyone instinctively looked around. The park seemed peaceful enough, but with Sotoraggian technology, EightEight could indeed be observing them from mere feet away.

"Let's head back to Plumber HQ." Max decided. "We'll regroup and figure out our next move."

As they walked toward the Plumber vehicles, Attea fell into step beside Ben. "So… armored mercenary girls, huh? That what you're into, Tennyson?"

"Shut up, Attea."

"I'm just saying, if that's your thing, I could probably find an armor to—"

"I said shut up!"

Rook, walking behind them, couldn't suppress a small smile. Despite the strangeness of the situation, there was something almost endearing about their bickering. As they reached the vehicles, he glanced back at the empty park one last time, unable to shake the feeling that somewhere, behind her helmet, EightEight was laughing at them all.

The game had changed, and none of them were quite sure what the new rules were. But one thing was certain – EightEight wasn't done with Ben Tennyson. Not by a long shot.

Chapter Text

"Look, Attea." Gwen had said, arms crossed as she stood in her doorway, not inviting the alien princess inside. "I know you and Ben have this... arrangement. But you can't just show up unannounced and expect to take over his life."

"What's it to you, Red?" Attea had snapped back. "Jealous that your cousin's got an imperial fiancée?"

Gwen's eyes had narrowed. "I'm concerned because I care about Ben. This whole marriage promise was made under duress during an invasion. You can't seriously expect him to honor it."

"A promise is a promise! You Earthlings have no sense of honor!"

"And you Incurseans have no sense of personal boundaries!"

The argument had escalated from there, with words becoming increasingly heated until Attea stormed out after Gwen suggested that perhaps the princess should "hop back to her swamp and find someone who actually wants to marry her."

Now, as she walked through the streets of Bellwood, Attea felt something unfamiliar burning behind her eyes. She wasn't going to cry. Emperors don't cry. But her throat felt tight and her chest hurt in a way that had nothing to do with physical pain.

She pulled out her communicator, scrolling through her limited contacts until she found Ben's name, decorated with a little heart emoji that she'd never admit to putting there. Her thumb hovered over the call button for a moment before she pressed it.

"Hey, Attea! What's up?" Ben's cheerful voice came through almost immediately.

"Your cousin is the absolute worst!" Attea blurted out, her voice cracking slightly. "I went to talk to her, emperor to subject, and she was completely disrespectful!"

"Whoa, slow down. You went to see Gwen? Why?"

"Because..." Attea paused, realizing she couldn't admit she'd gone seeking Gwen's approval. "Because I wanted to be... diplomatic! That's what a good empress does, maintains diplomatic relations with her future in-laws!"

"Okaaay." Ben said, drawing out the word skeptically. "And what happened?"

Attea sniffled, playing up the victim angle. "She called me a 'froggy frog' and said I should hop back to my swamp! And then... then she tried to eat Mr. Ribbington!"

"Mr. Who?"

"My plushie! The frog with the crown you won me at the carnival! She tried to take him and said she was going to throw him in the garbage disposal!"

On the other end of the line, Ben sighed. "Attea, I know Gwen. She wouldn't say those things or try to destroy your plushie."

"Are you calling me a liar, Tennyson?" Attea's voice rose indignantly.

"No, I'm saying you might be... exaggerating a little?"

"I am NOT exaggerating! She was horrible to me and now I'm all alone in this stupid town with nowhere to go and only twelve hours left of my Earth visit!" Attea let her voice break on the last words, adding a pathetic little sob for effect.

There was a pause, then Ben's voice softened. "Where are you? I'll come get you."

Attea smiled triumphantly to herself. "I'm outside the Mr. Smoothy on Main Street."

"Stay there. I'll be there in ten minutes."

When Ben arrived, pulling up on his car, Attea was sitting on a bench clutching her plushie frog to her chest, putting on her best sad-princess face. Ben sat beside her, looking concerned but also slightly suspicious.

"I called Gwen." he said without preamble.

Attea's heart sank. "You what?"

"She told me what really happened. You two argued about the marriage thing, and you called her a 'red-headed book nerd with no future.' She never mentioned your plushie or called you names."

Attea looked down at her feet, suddenly finding her boots very interesting. "Well... maybe I remembered it wrong."

Ben sighed, running a hand through his brown hair. "Attea, you can't lie to me like this. If you want us to... I don't know, figure out whatever this is between us, we need trust."

"Trust is overrated." Attea mumbled, but without her usual conviction.

"No, it's not." Ben's voice was firm. "Look, I know this isn't easy for you. Earth customs are different from Incursean ones. But if you really want to spend time with me, you need to try getting along with my friends and family honestly, not by turning me against them."

Attea was silent for a long moment, digesting his words. Finally, she looked up, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable. "It's just... you have all these females in your life. The Tennyson girl, the knight girl, the alien cat girl... and that EightEight showed up and started making eyes at you! How am I supposed to compete with that?"

Ben looked surprised. "Compete? Attea, this isn't a competition."

"Everything's a competition when you're royalty." she replied quietly.

Ben's expression softened. He hesitantly reached out and took her hand. "How about this—tomorrow, let's go on a double… date… with Rook and Fistina. No drama, no lies, just hanging out and having fun. What do you say?"

Attea perked up immediately. "A double date? With Rook and Fistina?" A mischievous gleam entered her eyes. "Oh, that's perfect! I can show Fistina that I'm the superior female by how much more attentive you are than Rook!"

Ben groaned. "That's... not really what I meant."

"Too late, Tennyson! You suggested it, no take-backs!" Attea jumped up, suddenly energized. "Let's get chili fries to celebrate! Your treat, of course."

As they walked toward the diner, Ben couldn't help but smile at Attea's mood swing. Maybe this double date wasn't such a bad idea after all. At the very least, it might keep Attea occupied and out of trouble for a few more hours of her remaining time on Earth.

What he didn't see was Attea surreptitiously sending a text to Fistina: "Double date tomorrow with Ben. Wear something impressive but not too impressive because I need to look better than you. Don't disappoint me or I'll have your planet blockaded. Smiley face."

She added a frog emoji at the end, because that made it friendly, right?

Chapter Text

Mr. Smoothy was unusually crowded for a weekday afternoon. The brightly colored tables were filled with teenagers enjoying the sugary concoctions, their chatter creating a constant background hum. In the corner booth, however, the atmosphere was tense enough to curdle milk.

"So..." Ben said, desperately trying to break the awkward silence that had fallen over their table. "How's everyone's smoothie?"

Attea, dressed in what she considered casual Earth attire—a green crop top with a small crown logo and black jeans—slurped loudly from her blueberry blast. "Mine's acceptable for Earth standards."

Across from them, Rook Blonko sat stiffly in civilian clothes, looking deeply uncomfortable. Beside him, Fistina—the hulking female Acrosian—had squeezed herself into the booth, her metallic frame barely fitting in the confined space. She'd apparently taken Attea's text to heart, as she'd adorned herself with a pink bow on top of her head unit and what appeared to be hastily applied robot makeup.

"My beverage is quite refreshing." Rook said formally. "Though I find the combination of kiwi and sardine to be an acquired taste."

"I cannot drink." Fistina stated in her thick accent, the smoothie sitting untouched before her robotic form. "Liquid would short-circuit my systems."

"Then why did you order one?" Attea asked, rolling her eyes.

"Because is what Earth females do on dates, yes? I researched romance protocols extensively."

Ben smiled awkwardly. "You didn't have to order anything, Fistina."

"Oh." Fistina looked down at the smoothie. "I have wasted your Earth currency then. I shall compensate with battle prowess if we encounter more enemies."

Another uncomfortable silence descended. Ben glanced at Rook, who looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. The Revonnahgander had been stunned when Fistina had shown up at Plumber Headquarters that morning, announcing they had a "double coupling engagement" with Ben and Attea. It had taken Ben fifteen minutes to convince his partner that it would be more awkward to cancel than to just go along with it.

"So, Fistina." Ben tried again. "How's the... uh... professional criminal reformation going?"

"Is proceeding adequately." Fistina responded. "I have not destroyed any structures or stolen any power cores for twenty-seven Earth days."

"That's... good?"

"Yes. Rook is proud of my restraint. Aren't you, Rook?" Fistina turned her optical sensors toward the Revonnahgander, who shifted uncomfortably.

"I am pleased with your progress toward rehabilitation, yes."

Attea snorted. "That's the most unromantic thing I've ever heard. Ben, tell them what you said to me last night about my eyes."

Ben choked on his smoothie. "What? I didn't—"

"You said they were 'prettier than Upchuck's stomach acid but way prettier'." Attea prompted, giving him a look that clearly said 'play along or else.'

"Right... that." Ben rubbed the back of his neck. "It was, uh, very poetic in the moment."

Fistina's optical sensors narrowed. "Rook, why do you not say such things about my ocular units?"

"I... did not realize you wanted me to compare your features to digestive fluids." Rook replied, looking increasingly distressed.

"Ben is showing superior courtship techniques! I demand equal treatment!"

"We're not actually courting—"

"See how attentive my Benny-boo is?" Attea interrupted, wrapping her arm around Ben's and squeezing possessively. "He won me a plushie at the carnival and everything. What has Rook won for you, Fistina?"

"Rook has..." Fistina paused, processing. "Rook has given me freedom from incarceration through his recommendation for parole."

"That doesn't count! That's his job!" Attea scoffed.

"Actually." Ben interjected, "maybe we should change the subject—"

But it was too late. Fistina's mechanical body was heating up with obvious agitation, the cooling fans within her frame whirring loudly. "You imply Rook is inferior mate! This is unacceptable!"

"I'm just saying, my Ben knows how to treat a lady." Attea said with a smug smile. "It's not Rook's fault he doesn't understand romance. Revonnahganders probably think giving a female a bag of grain is the height of courtship."

Rook's fur bristled visibly. "That is a culturally insensitive stereotype about my people."

"Well, am I wrong?"

"Yes! We have poetry and music and—"

"ENOUGH!" Fistina stood abruptly, knocking the table and sending smoothies flying. The entire restaurant fell silent, all eyes turning toward their booth. "I will not allow tiny frog girl to insult my Rook! Prepare for demonstration of superior Acrosian affection techniques!"

With that, Fistina grabbed Rook by his shoulders, lifted him bodily from his seat, and planted what was presumably meant to be a kiss on his face—though given her lack of actual lips, it looked more like she was trying to vacuum-seal his head.

"Mmmmph!" Rook's muffled protest was drowned out by the sound of Ben facepalming and Attea's hysterical laughter.

"Now THAT'S entertainment!" Attea cackled, slapping the table. "Worth every minute!"

When Fistina finally released him, Rook stumbled back, gasping for air, his fur disheveled and his eyes wide with shock. The restaurant had erupted into a mixture of laughter, awkward coughs, and the unmistakable sound of cell phone cameras clicking.

"I... need to use the restroom." Rook said weakly, before fleeing toward the back of the establishment.

Fistina sat back down, looking pleased with herself. "I have proven my point."

Ben turned to Attea with an accusing glare. "You planned this, didn't you?"

"Me?" Attea batted her eyelashes innocently. "I just wanted a nice double date with friends. Is it my fault if things got a little... passionate?"

"You deliberately provoked Fistina!"

"I provoked nothing. I simply pointed out objective facts about the superiority of our romantic relationship."

"We don't HAVE a romantic relationship!"

The words came out louder than Ben had intended, causing several nearby diners to turn and stare. Attea's smug expression faltered, hurt flashing briefly across her features before her royal mask slammed back into place.

"Fine." she said coldly. "If that's how you feel, maybe I should just go back to my empire early. Clearly, I'm wasting my time here."

Before Ben could respond, the front door of Mr. Smoothy burst open, and a figure draped in purple strode in, commanding immediate attention. Silver-white hair cascaded down her back, and purple energy crackled around her fingertips as she scanned the room.

"Hope?" Ben said in surprise, recognizing Charmcaster despite her civilian clothes—a purple tank top and black jeans that made her stand out no less than her usual sorceress attire.

Charmcaster's eyes locked onto Ben, and a smile curved her lips. "There you are, Ben Tennyson. I've been looking everywhere for you."

She sauntered over to their table, completely ignoring the tense atmosphere. "I need your help with something. It's about Ledgerdomain."

Attea's eyes narrowed to slits. "Excuse me, magical witch lady, but we're in the middle of something here."

Charmcaster finally seemed to notice Attea, her eyebrows rising in surprise. "An Incursean? On Earth?" Her eyes flicked between Ben and Attea, and her smile turned knowing. "Don't tell me you're actually dating this frog, Ben."

"What did you just call me?" Attea hissed, rising from her seat.

"Oh, I'm sorry." Charmcaster said, not sounding sorry at all. "Would you prefer 'amphibian annoyance'? 'Warty warrior'? 'Ribbiting royal'?"

"I'm going to turn you into froggin' magical confetti!" Attea snarled, lunging forward.

Ben grabbed her arm, holding her back. "Attea, don't! And Charmcaster, back off!"

Charmcaster laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos she'd created. "My, my, Ben. Your taste in women has certainly... devolved since I last saw you."

"That's IT!" Attea broke free from Ben's grip and launched herself at Charmcaster, tackling the sorceress to the ground amidst screams from the other patrons.

"Get OFF me, you slimy toad!" Charmcaster shouted, her hands glowing purple as she prepared a spell.

"Make me, you discount magician!" Attea retorted, trying to pin Charmcaster's arms down.

The restaurant descended into pandemonium as customers fled, smoothies were knocked over, and furniture was upended in the struggle. Ben stood frozen for a moment, watching the bizarre cat-fight unfold before him, while Fistina observed with what seemed like analytical interest.

"Should I assist the frog female in combat?" Fistina asked Ben. "It would be the action of a loyal friend, yes?"

"No! No one should be fighting!" Ben shouted, finally snapping out of his shock. He reached for the Omnitrix, ready to transform into something that could separate the two without hurting either of them.

Before he could activate it, however, a blast of purple energy sent Attea flying into a nearby table, knocking over a display of promotional smoothie cups.

"Is that all you've got, princess?" Charmcaster taunted, getting to her feet and brushing dust from her clothes. "I've fought gnomes with more bite!"

Attea sprang back up, her royal training evident in her combat stance. "I'm just getting started, spell-slinger! I've conquered galaxies before breakfast!"

"Ladies!" Ben shouted, stepping between them with his hands raised. "This is ridiculous! You're destroying the restaurant over nothing!"

"She started it!" both females said in unison, then glared at each other with renewed hatred.

"I don't care who started it! I'm finishing it!" Ben declared. "Charmcaster, if you need my help, you can ask without insulting my friends. Attea, you can't attack everyone who says something you don't like!"

Both women crossed their arms, looking away from each other but not launching any new attacks. It was progress, at least.

"Now." Ben continued, "can we all behave like adults for five minutes?"

Attea huffed. "Fine. But she owes me an apology."

"For what? Stating facts?" Charmcaster retorted.

"For interrupting our double date!" Attea gestured to the now-empty booth where only Fistina remained, still observing the proceedings with clinical interest. "Look, you scared Rook away!"

"Rook left approximately four minutes before the magic user arrived." Fistina helpfully pointed out. "He said he needed to 'file an urgent report' but I suspect he was fleeing from my affectionate advances."

"Oh." Attea said, momentarily deflated. Then she rallied: "Well, you still ruined the mood!"

Charmcaster rolled her eyes. "What mood? The awkward disaster mood? I think I did everyone a favor."

To Ben's surprise, Attea paused, then let out a reluctant chuckle. "Okay, it was pretty much a disaster before you showed up."

"I could tell." Charmcaster said, her hostility fading slightly. "The blue guy looked like he'd rather be fighting Vilgax than sitting there."

"You should have seen his face when Fistina kissed him!" Attea said, suddenly animated. "He looked like he was being sucked into a black hole!"

Charmcaster laughed despite herself. "I bet. These hero types never know how to handle forward women."

"Tell me about it!" Attea exclaimed. "I've been throwing myself at Ben for ages, and he's still all 'we don't have a romantic relationship'!" She mimicked Ben's voice in an unflattering way.

"Hey!" Ben protested. "I'm standing right here!"

Both women ignored him completely.

"Men are the same across all species." Charmcaster said with a knowing nod. "They never appreciate a powerful woman who knows what she wants."

"Exactly! I'm literally offering him an empire, and he's like 'but what about my hero duties?'" Attea continued her poor imitation.

"Seriously, I'm RIGHT HERE." Ben repeated, more loudly.

Charmcaster turned to Ben with a dismissive wave. "Yes, we know, hero boy. The adults are talking."

Before Ben could respond to that insult, the manager of Mr. Smoothy approached, looking nervously between the three of them and the destroyed restaurant. "Um, excuse me... who's paying for all this damage?"

All eyes turned to Ben, who sighed and reached for his wallet. Some hero's luck he had.

Chapter Text

The Bellwood Mall was packed with weekend shoppers, the food court a chaotic symphony of chatter, clattering trays, and the mingled aromas of a dozen different cuisines. At a small table near the Chinese food stand, an unlikely trio sat sharing a plate of cheese fries.

"And then." Attea said between laughs, "the ambassador's ceremonial headdress caught fire, and he didn't even notice until his antennae started smoking!"

Charmcaster snorted, nearly choking on her soda. "That's nothing. You should have seen what happened when I tried teaching magic to my rock golems. One of them thought a fireball spell meant literally eating the fireball!"

Ben looked between the two females with an expression of bewildered disbelief. Just a few hours earlier, they had been at each other's throats, nearly destroying Mr. Smoothy in their battle. Now, they were acting like lifelong friends, sharing stories and inside jokes while largely ignoring him.

"I still don't understand how this happened." Ben muttered, gesturing between Attea and Charmcaster.

"What's to understand, Benny-boo?" Attea asked, popping a cheese-covered fry into her mouth. "Hope and I bonded over our shared experiences as powerful females constantly underestimated by the males around them."

"Plus." Charmcaster added, "it turns out we both enjoy making fun of you." She grinned to show she was, mostly, joking.

After the disaster at Mr. Smoothy, Ben had expected Attea to hold a grudge against Charmcaster forever. Instead, while he was settling the bill and apologizing profusely to the manager, the two had somehow moved from mortal enemies to best friends. By the time he rejoined them outside, they were exchanging contact information and making plans to go shopping the next day.

"So let me get this straight." Ben said. "You're not mad at each other anymore because you both decided I'm the real problem?"

"Don't be so sensitive, Ben." Charmcaster said, patting his arm condescendingly. "We don't think you're a problem. Just... occasionally oblivious."

"Very occasionally." Attea agreed with a smirk. "Like, all the time."

Ben sighed. "Great. And here I thought having you two fight was the worst-case scenario. Turns out having you team up is much worse."

"For you, maybe." Attea said cheerfully. "For us, it's been educational! Hope's been teaching me about Earth fashion. Did you know humans wear different clothes for different occasions? So inefficient compared to imperial armor."

"And Attea's been telling me about Incursean battle tactics." Charmcaster added. "Some of them would work really well with my magic. Especially the flanking maneuvers."

"Fantastic." Ben muttered. "I've created a monster. Two monsters, actually."

Both women laughed at his discomfort, clearly enjoying themselves. Despite his complaints, Ben had to admit it was better than them trying to kill each other. And Attea seemed genuinely happy, which was... nice. Her usual scowl and imperial haughtiness had softened somewhat in Charmcaster's company.

"So." Ben said, trying to steer the conversation away from himself, "what's this urgent Ledgerdomain problem you needed my help with, Charmcaster?"

"Oh, that." Charmcaster waved dismissively. "It can wait. I was mostly using it as an excuse to find you because I sensed a magical anomaly around Bellwood and wanted to investigate."

"A magical anomaly?" Ben straightened, immediately on alert. "What kind?"

"Relax, hero." Charmcaster said with a roll of her eyes. "It turned out to be nothing dangerous. Just some residual energy from a dimensional shift. Probably from all the alien activity in this area."

"Or from someone traveling between dimensions." Attea suggested, suddenly looking a bit guilty. "Like, hypothetically, if someone used an imperial transmat device to visit Earth without going through proper channels."

Ben turned to her with narrowed eyes. "Attea... are you planning on dimensional travel?"

"Maybe?" Attea shrugged, trying to look innocent and failing spectacularly. "What's the big deal? It's not like I’ll use it for conquering other planets… for now."

"The 'big deal' is that unregulated transmat energy can cause serious problems! It could—"

Ben's lecture was cut short by a commotion from the other end of the food court. Shoppers were scattering, screaming and pointing at something—or someone—moving toward them with mechanical precision.

"Well, well, well." Attea said, her expression darkening. "Look who's back."

Through the crowd strode EightEight, the female Sotoraggian bounty hunter. Her armor gleamed under the mall's fluorescent lights, but something was different about her appearance. Instead of her usual arsenal of weapons, she carried... shopping bags? And was that a bow attached to her helmet?

"Ben Tennyson..." EightEight's mechanical translator voice crackled as she approached their table. "I have... returned... as... promised..."

Ben groaned. "EightEight, this really isn't a good time—"

"I bring... gifts..." The bounty hunter held up her shopping bags. "Earth custom... courtship..."

Attea shot to her feet, her hand instinctively going to where her blaster would be if she were in her imperial armor. "Back off, helmet head! We talked about this!"

Charmcaster looked between them with amused interest. "Well, well. Another admirer, Ben? You're quite the interspecies Casanova, aren't you?"

"It's not like that!" Ben protested.

"I have... researched... Earth romance..." EightEight continued, ignoring the tension. "Females must... be... pretty... nice..." She set down her bags and pulled out what appeared to be a dress—a frilly, pink monstrosity that would have looked more appropriate on a child's doll than on a fearsome bounty hunter.

"I will... wear this... for you... Ben Tennyson..."

The absurdity of the situation momentarily stunned everyone into silence. EightEight, terror of the galaxy, infamous for her lethal efficiency, was holding up a pink princess dress while a bow tilted awkwardly on her helmet.

Attea recovered first, bursting into laughter. "Oh, this is too good! You look ridiculous!"

"Silence... frog queen..." EightEight turned toward Attea. "This is... between... me and... my target..."

"Your target?" Ben repeated incredulously. "I thought you said this was courtship!"

"Yes... you are... target of... affection..."

Charmcaster snickered. "She's got a way with words, doesn't she?"

EightEight swiveled to face Charmcaster. "New female... competition?"

"Me?" Charmcaster's eyebrows shot up. "Oh no, honey. I'm just here for the show. Ben's all yours... or Attea's... or whoever wants him, really."

"Hey!" Ben protested.

"Good... less... competition..." EightEight turned back to Ben, holding the dress against her armored body. "Do you... like?"

Ben looked desperately between Attea's angry face, Charmcaster's amused one, and EightEight's expressionless helmet. "Look, EightEight, I appreciate the... effort. But I'm not looking for a relationship right now."

Attea cleared her throat loudly.

"Except for my pre-existing arrangement with Attea." Ben hastily added. "Which is complicated and not really a relationship but definitely a thing that exists."

"You promised... marriage... to frog?..." EightEight's translator couldn't convey emotion, but her body language stiffened noticeably.

"It's a political arrangement." Ben explained weakly. "From when she was threatening to invade Earth."

"Wow, romantic." Charmcaster commented dryly.

"Not helping, Hope." Ben muttered.

EightEight stood motionless for a long moment, processing this information. Finally, she placed the dress back in her shopping bag with mechanical precision.

"I see... I have... misunderstood... Earth customs..."

Was it Ben's imagination, or did her robotic voice sound slightly dejected?

"Will continue... research... and return... better prepared..."

"That's really not nec—" Ben began, but EightEight was already turning to leave.

"Farewell... for now... Ben Tennyson..."

As the bounty hunter marched away, her bow slightly askew, Attea turned to Ben with her arms crossed. "Well, that was uncomfortable. Does every female in the galaxy have a thing for you?"

"I was just thinking the same thing." Charmcaster added. "It's getting crowded in the Ben Tennyson admirer club."

"It's not my fault!" Ben protested. "I don't encourage this!"

"You must be doing something." Charmcaster mused. "Maybe it's the hero thing. Some girls go for that save-the-world attitude." 

"Or maybe they all have terrible taste." Attea suggested with a smirk.

"Says the one who's literally trying to marry him." Charmcaster countered.

"That's different! It's a strategic alliance!" Attea's cheeks darkened with what might have been a blush.

"Sure it is, princess. Sure it is."

Ben buried his face in his hands. "Can we please talk about something else? Anything else?"

Before either woman could respond, an explosion rocked the far end of the mall, sending shoppers running and screaming in panic. Through the smoke strutted a familiar figure with flaming red hair and mechanized armor.

"Rojo." Ben growled, immediately reaching for the Omnitrix.

"Hey, hero boy!" Rojo called out, a wicked grin on her face. "Miss me?"

Attea was on her feet in an instant, eyes narrowed. "Who's the red-haired metal lady?"

"Another ex?" Charmcaster asked innocently.

"NO!" Ben exclaimed. "She's a criminal! She works with the robot drones and—"

"And I'm here on business." Rojo interrupted, sauntering closer. Her cybernetically enhanced body gleamed under the mall lights, weapons visibly integrated into her armor. "Got a new employer who's very interested in acquiring something you have, Tennyson."

"Let me guess." Ben said, standing to face her. "The Omnitrix? Original."

"Got it in one." Rojo smirked. "Now, we can do this the easy way, or the fun way. Your choice."

Before Ben could respond, Attea stepped forward, positioning herself between Ben and Rojo. "Back off, metal mouth. The Omnitrix and its attached human are imperial property."

"Imperial property?" Ben repeated indignantly.

"Shh, I'm handling this." Attea hissed back.

Rojo looked Attea up and down, clearly unimpressed. "And who's the frog princess?"

"Empress." Attea corrected coldly. "Empress Attea, future ruler of the Incursean Empire and future wife of Ben Tennyson."

"Wife?" Rojo burst out laughing. "Oh, that's rich! You're scraping the bottom of the barrel there, Tennyson. No offense, froggy."

"That's IT!" Attea launched herself at Rojo, showing surprising speed as she delivered a roundhouse kick that caught the criminal off guard.

Rojo stumbled back, then activated her arm cannon. "Bad move, princess!"

"I've got this!" Ben said, dialing the Omnitrix. In a flash of green light, he transformed into Diamondhead. "Stand back, Attea!"

"No way, Tennyson! She insulted me!" Attea ducked under a blast from Rojo's cannon and charged forward again.

Meanwhile, Charmcaster casually stood up from the table, stretching as if merely preparing for light exercise. "Well, I suppose I could help. For old times' sake." Purple energy crackled around her fingers as she joined the fray.

Rojo found herself suddenly facing three opponents instead of one. "This wasn't in the job description." she muttered, firing wildly as she backed away.

Diamondhead created a crystal shield, deflecting Rojo's blasts while Charmcaster sent bolts of magical energy at the criminal's feet, forcing her to dance awkwardly to avoid them.

"You fight like a Nosedeenian with a head cold!" Attea taunted, using her agility to flank Rojo.

"And you talk too much!" Rojo shot back, swinging at Attea with a mechanized fist.

The Incursean princess ducked, then sprang upward, landing a solid kick to Rojo's jaw. The criminal staggered back, crashing into a frozen yogurt stand.

"Ben, now!" Attea called.

Diamondhead created crystal restraints that pinned Rojo's limbs to the ground before she could recover. The criminal struggled against her bonds, but they held firm.

"Nice teamwork." Diamondhead commented, genuinely impressed by how well Attea and Charmcaster had coordinated with him.

"Don't sound so surprised, Tennyson." Attea smirked. "I am a trained imperial warrior, after all."

"And I've been fighting longer than both of you combined." Charmcaster added, casually examining her nails as if subduing criminals was barely worth her attention.

Diamondhead approached the captured Rojo. "Who hired you this time?"

"Like I'd tell you." Rojo spat, still struggling against her crystal restraints.

"You might want to reconsider." Charmcaster said silkily, purple energy crackling between her fingers. "I know spells that can make you see your own nightmares for weeks."

"And I know torture techniques from seventeen different planetary systems." Attea added with disturbing cheerfulness.

Rojo looked between the two females, then at Diamondhead, and let out a bark of laughter. "Tennyson, I don't know whether to pity you or envy you. Caught between these two? You're either the luckiest guy in the galaxy or the most doomed."

Diamondhead crossed his arms. "Just answer the question, Rojo."

"Fine, fine. It was just a basic contract from some anonymous client. Paid half up front through the usual channels. Said you'd be at the mall today." Rojo shrugged as best she could while restrained. "Nothing personal, just business."

"Anonymous?" Diamondhead frowned. "That's convenient."

"Hey, that's how the game works sometimes." Rojo's expression shifted, becoming almost contemplative as she looked between Ben and Attea. "So, you two really a thing? The hero and the frog princess?"

"Empress." Attea corrected automatically.

"It's complicated." Diamondhead said at the same time.

Rojo chuckled. "Word of advice, Tennyson? From someone who's been around the block a few times? Don't string her along if you're not serious. Females like her—" she nodded toward Attea, "—they don't play games. When they want something, they go all in."

"I'm not stringing anyone along!" Diamondhead protested.

"Sure looks that way from here." Rojo said. "The frog girl's practically marking her territory, and you're all 'it's complicated.' Classic commitment-phobe behavior."

"I don't need relationship advice from a criminal." Diamondhead said stiffly.

"Sometimes the best advice comes from the worst people." Rojo replied with a shrug. "I've been where she is—wanting someone who can't make up their mind. It doesn't end well."

There was something in Rojo's voice that sounded almost like genuine advice rather than mockery. Diamondhead studied her for a moment, then sighed, a strange sound coming from his crystalline form.

"I'll keep that in mind." he said finally. "Now, about this anonymous client—"

Before he could finish, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air. Mall security and police were finally responding to the disturbance.

"That's our cue." Charmcaster said. "I'm not in the mood for explanations to local authorities."

"Agreed." Attea nodded. "Let's bounce, Ben."

Diamondhead hesitated, looking at the restrained Rojo. "We can't just leave her. The police will want to know—"

"Go." Rojo interrupted. "I'll tell them it was just you. These restraints will prove it was Diamondhead. No need to drag your girlfriends into it."

"They're not both my—" Diamondhead began, then stopped himself. "Why would you cover for them?"

Rojo smiled enigmatically. "Let's just say I appreciate seeing females who don't take any crap. Even if one of them is a literal frog and the other looks like she raided a Halloween store."

"Hey!" Charmcaster protested.

"Besides." Rojo continued, "prison's not so bad. Three squares and time to think. I could use the break."

Diamondhead looked uncertain, but Attea was already tugging at his arm. "Come on, hero! Unless you want to spend the rest of my Earth visit filling out paperwork?"

With a last look at Rojo, Diamondhead nodded. "Fine. But we're not done investigating who hired her."

As they made their hasty exit through a service corridor, Diamondhead reverted to Ben in a flash of green light. The three of them hurried through the mall's back passageways, eventually emerging into an employee parking lot.

"Well, that was fun." Charmcaster said, looking far too pleased with herself. "Just like old times, except with less trying to destroy you and more team-up action."

"Is your life always this exciting, Tennyson?" Attea asked, barely winded despite their sprint.

"Pretty much." Ben admitted. "Though usually with fewer relationship lectures from supervillains."

"Speaking of which." Attea said, suddenly serious, "was the metal lady right? Are you stringing me along?"

Ben stopped walking, caught off guard by the direct question. Charmcaster, sensing the shift in mood, discretely moved a few paces away, pretending to be fascinated by something on her phone.

"Attea, it's not that simple." Ben began. "The marriage promise was made under duress, during an invasion. You can't expect me to—"

"I know, I know." Attea interrupted, waving her hand dismissively, though her eyes betrayed her hurt. "Imperial politics, Earth customs, hero duties, blah blah blah. I've heard it all before. But here's the thing, Tennyson—" She poked him in the chest with one webbed finger. "I'm not here because of some stupid political alliance anymore. I'm here because I actually like spending time with you, for reasons that completely escape me."

Ben blinked, surprised by her honesty. "I... like spending time with you too, Attea. When you're not trying to conquer planets or pick fights with my friends."

"See? Progress!" Attea grinned. "So maybe stop overthinking everything and just enjoy the time we have left? I've only got—" she checked a device on her wrist, "—about six Earth hours before I have to return. Why waste it on complications?"

Ben found himself smiling despite everything. "When did you get so reasonable?"

"I've always been reasonable! You just never noticed because you were too busy being all heroic and righteous." Attea's tone was teasing rather than accusatory.

From a few feet away, Charmcaster called out, "Just kiss her already, Tennyson! The romantic tension is giving me a headache!"

Ben's face flushed red, while Attea's scales took on a deeper green hue. They both turned to glare at Charmcaster, who merely smirked back.

"Don't mind me." she said innocently. "Just offering friendly advice."

"We don't need—" Ben began, but was cut off when Attea suddenly grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him down to her level, and planted a quick kiss on his cheek.

"There." she said, letting him go and stepping back with a satisfied smile. "Now stop looking so shocked and let's go get some chili fries. I'm starving after kicking that metal lady's butt."

As Attea marched toward the parking lot exit, Ben stood frozen, his hand unconsciously touching the spot where she'd kissed him. Charmcaster sidled up beside him, an amused expression on her face.

"You know." she said conversationally, "for a hero who's saved the universe multiple times, you're remarkably clueless about women."

"So I've been told." Ben muttered, finally moving to follow Attea.

Charmcaster fell into step beside him. "For what it's worth, I think froggy might actually be good for you. She doesn't take any of your hero nonsense."

"Gee, thanks." Ben said dryly. "Any other relationship advice you'd like to share?"

"Just one thing." Charmcaster said, her tone suddenly more serious. "Don't waste time overthinking. Trust me on this." There was something in her voice—a hint of regret, perhaps—that made Ben glance at her curiously.

Before he could ask what she meant, Attea called back to them: "Hurry up, slowpokes! The chili fries aren't going to eat themselves!"

As they hurried to catch up with the impatient Incursean princess, Ben couldn't help wondering how his life had become so complicated. Between alien marriage arrangements, bounty hunters with crushes, sorceresses offering dating advice, and criminals giving relationship lectures, he was starting to think fighting Vilgax was the simple part of his hero career.

Chapter Text

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across Bellwood Park as Ben and Attea walked side by side along the winding path. The park was relatively quiet for a weekend, with only a few families enjoying picnics and children playing on the distant playground equipment.

"So." Ben said, breaking a comfortable silence that had settled between them. "Three hours left, huh?"

Attea checked the countdown timer on her wrist device and nodded. "Two hours and forty-seven minutes, to be exact." She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was an unmistakable tightness in her voice.

"What happens if you're late? Will your dad send the armada to look for you?"

Attea snorted. "Please. Father, Emperor Milleous, is still busy with some conflict, remember? I'm the one in charge now." She kicked at a pebble on the path. "But the Imperial Advisory Council gets antsy when I'm away too long. They start whispering about succession challenges and stability protocols."

"Sounds rough." Ben said sympathetically.

"It's the price of being awesome." Attea replied with forced bravado. "Everyone's always plotting against you."

They continued walking, passing an ice cream vendor. Ben gestured toward it questioningly, but Attea shook her head.

"Already had too many Earth sweets. Any more sugar and I'll be bouncing off the walls of my imperial cruiser all the way home."

Ben chuckled. "I still can't believe you snuck away just to visit Earth. Doesn't an empress have better things to do?"

"Like what? Attend boring treaty negotiations? Listen to generals drone on about resource allocation?" Attea made a gagging sound. "Being an empress isn't all invasions and conquest, you know. Most of it is mind-numbing administrative garbage… Besides, I had a reason to see you."

"I never thought about it that way." Ben admitted. "I guess I always pictured you sitting on a throne, ordering people around."

"Oh, there's plenty of that too." Attea said with a grin. "That's the fun part. But for every hour of glorious tyranny, there's like ten hours of trade agreements and infrastructure planning." She sighed dramatically. "Being powerful is so much paperwork."

Ben laughed outright at that. "The villains never mention that part in their monologues."

"Occupational secret." Attea said, tapping the side of her nose conspiratorially. "Can't let the heroes know we're mostly just drowning in bureaucracy."

They reached a small pond where ducks swam lazily across the surface. Attea looked at them with interest.

"Earth has such weird wildlife." she commented. "Those bird things look kind of like Pisciss fowl, but less tentacly."

"They're called ducks." Ben explained. "Completely harmless unless you're a piece of bread."

"Hmm." Attea studied them thoughtfully. "Too small to be good hunting prey. Not intimidating enough for war beasts. What purpose do they serve?"

"They don't really serve a purpose. They're just... ducks. They exist."

"Inefficient." Attea declared. "On Incursea, almost every creature has a function in the ecosystem. Predator, prey, or parasite."

"Which one are Incurseans?" Ben asked with a smirk.

"Very funny, Tennyson. We're obviously apex predators." Attea puffed up proudly. "Though some might say we're parasites when we're conquering other worlds."

"At least you're self-aware about it."

Attea punched his arm lightly. "I've evolved my conquering philosophy, you know. These days I prefer to subjugate planets through economic dependency rather than outright invasion. It's less messy and more profitable."

"That's... progress, I guess?" Ben said uncertainly.

"It is!" Attea insisted. "Ask any of my subjects. They'd much rather be economically exploited than blown to smithereens."

"When you put it that way..."

They found a bench overlooking the pond and sat down. The conversation lulled into another comfortable silence as they watched the ducks. Attea seemed lost in thought, absently fiddling with the plushie frog with a crown that she'd been carrying since the carnival.

"You really like that thing, huh?" Ben nodded toward the plushie.

Attea immediately stopped playing with it, as if caught doing something embarrassing. "It's just a primitive Earth trinket. But Mr. Ribbington does bear a noble resemblance to Incursean royalty."

"It's okay to like it, you know." Ben said gently. "I won't tell anyone that the fearsome Empress Attea has a soft spot for stuffed animals."

Attea huffed, but clutched the plushie a little closer. "If you tell anyone, I'll deny it and then have your planet blockaded."

"Your secret's safe with me." Ben promised, raising his hands in mock surrender.

Another silence fell, but this one felt heavier, weighted with the awareness of time slipping away.

"So." Attea finally said, her voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "About that marriage thing."

Ben tensed slightly. "What about it?"

"I know you don't take it seriously. And maybe it started as just a political maneuver." She kept her eyes fixed on the pond, not looking at him. "But I was thinking... maybe you could visit Incursea sometime? Not for marriage or anything! Unless… I mean, just... as a diplomatic representative or whatever."

The vulnerability in her voice caught Ben off guard. This wasn't the imperious, demanding Attea he was used to. This was someone making a genuine request, possibly risking rejection.

"I'd like that." he found himself saying, surprising both of them. "I've never really seen Incursea. Might be interesting to check it out when it's not, you know, launching an invasion fleet."

Attea's face lit up, but she quickly composed herself. "Well, obviously. You'd get the VIP tour. Royal accommodations, the finest cuisine, maybe a small parade in your honor. Nothing too extravagant."

"A parade, huh?"

"Just a modest one. Fifty or sixty thousand troops, a few hover tanks. The bare minimum, really."

Ben laughed. "You really don't do anything halfway, do you?"

"Half measures are for the weak." Attea declared, but she was smiling too.

The moment was interrupted by a beeping from Ben's pocket. He pulled out his Plumber badge, which was flashing urgently.

"Ben here." he said, activating it.

"Ben!" Rook's voice came through clearly. "We have a situation. EightEight has been spotted near your location."

"EightEight?" Ben frowned. "She was at the mall earlier, but she left. What's she doing now?"

"According to reports, she appears to be searching for something... or someone. And she is no longer alone. SevenSeven and SixSix have joined her."

Attea groaned. "Great. The whole tincan family reunion."

"Where exactly are they?" Ben asked, already standing up.

"They were last seen heading toward Bellwood Park." Rook replied. "I am en route with a Plumber team, but we are still ten minutes out."

"Understood. I'll handle it until you get here." Ben pocketed the badge and turned to Attea. "Sorry about this. Duty calls."

"Story of my life." Attea muttered, but she stood up as well, a determined look on her face. "Well, what are we waiting for? Let's go kick some Sotoraggian butt!"

"Whoa, hold on. You don't need to get involved in this."

Attea gave him an incredulous look. "Excuse me? I am an Incursean warrior princess—"

"Empress." Ben corrected automatically with a dorky smile.

"—Empress, thank you, and I do not sit on the sidelines while others fight! Besides." she added with a smirk, "I still have a score to settle with EightEight for trying to move in on my territory."

"I'm not your territory." Ben protested weakly.

"Details, details. Now come on!" Attea was already jogging down the path, her plushie securely tucked under one arm.

Ben sighed and hurried after her, dialing through the Omnitrix as he ran. In a flash of green light, he transformed into XLR8, the Kineceleran speedster.

"Hop on." he said to Attea, his voice altered by the transformation.

Attea climbed onto his back without hesitation, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Now this is more like it! Full speed ahead, Benny-boo!"

XLR8 took off, racing through the park at superhuman speed. The world blurred around them as he followed the sounds of commotion coming from the eastern side of the park.

They arrived at a clearing to find chaos in progress. SixSix and SevenSeven were terrorizing park-goers, sending them fleeing in all directions, while EightEight appeared to be scanning the area with some kind of device.

"Ben Tennyson... located..." EightEight's translator crackled as her scanner locked onto XLR8.

"What do you want, EightEight?" XLR8 called out, setting Attea down behind him. "I thought we settled this."

"Not... settled..." EightEight replied. "Brought... reinforcements..."

SixSix and SevenSeven moved to flank EightEight, their weapons systems activating with ominous whirrs and clicks. They spoke in their native language, the harsh sounds untranslated.

"Brothers say... you will... come with us..." EightEight translated. "Or we... destroy... park..."

"Three against one?" XLR8 said, cracking his knuckles. "I like those odds."

"Three against two." Attea corrected, stepping up beside him. "Don't forget about me, bucket heads!"

EightEight tilted her helmet toward Attea. "Frog empress... still here... unfortunate..."

"That's right, and I'm still not letting you take my fiancé!" Attea declared boldly.

XLR8 shot her a look. "We really need to clarify that situation."

"Later." Attea hissed. "Focus on the armed bounty hunters first, relationship status second."

"Fair point."

SixSix made a series of clicks and whirrs, gesturing at Attea aggressively.

"Brother says... frog is... irrelevant..." EightEight translated. "Will be... eliminated... if interferes..."

"Oh yeah?" Attea's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Tell your brother he can kiss my royal Incursean—"

Before she could finish, SevenSeven opened fire, sending energy blasts toward them. XLR8 grabbed Attea and dodged with lightning speed, setting her down behind a park bench.

"Stay here." he ordered.

"Not a chance!" Attea retorted, pulling a small device from her pocket that expanded into an Incursean blaster. "I came prepared this time."

XLR8 stared at the weapon. "You brought a blaster to Earth? How did you even hide that?"

"Imperial tech." Attea said with a wink. "Now less talking, more fighting!"

She popped up from behind the bench and fired several shots at SixSix, forcing the bounty hunter to take cover. XLR8 shook his head in amazement, then raced toward SevenSeven, becoming a blue blur as he circled the Sotoraggian at high speed.

EightEight tried to track XLR8's movements but couldn't keep up with his speed. "Stand... still... please..."

"Not gonna happen!" XLR8 called, delivering a series of rapid strikes that sent SevenSeven stumbling back.

Meanwhile, Attea was engaged in a firefight with SixSix, diving from cover to cover while exchanging blaster fire. "Is this the best you've got, SixSix? My royal guards shoot better than you!"

SixSix responded with an angry barrage of untranslated Sotoraggian, his weapons fire intensifying.

"I'm going to assume that was rude." Attea said, returning fire with impressive accuracy.

The battle continued across the park, with civilians long gone and property damage mounting. XLR8 switched tactics, using his speed to create a whirlwind that lifted SevenSeven off his feet and sent him crashing into a hot dog stand.

"Brothers..." EightEight called out. "Focus on... primary objective..."

At her command, both SixSix and SevenSeven broke off their individual fights and converged on XLR8, unleashing a coordinated attack that forced him onto the defensive.

"Hey! Three on one isn't fair!" Attea shouted, charging forward with her blaster. She managed to hit SixSix in the back, causing him to stumble, but SevenSeven quickly turned and fired at her.

Attea dodged, but not quite fast enough. The energy blast caught her side, sending her flying backward with a cry of pain.

"Attea!" XLR8 called out in alarm.

"Concentrate... on us..." EightEight said, moving to block his view of Attea. "She is... merely stunned..."

Anger flashed through XLR8. In a burst of speed, he circled all three Sotoraggians, creating a vortex that lifted them off the ground. Then, while they were disoriented, he tapped the Omnitrix symbol on his chest.

In a flash of green light, he transformed into Four Arms, the massive Tetramand. Using his enhanced strength and four powerful arms, he caught all three bounty hunters as they fell and slammed them together.

"That's for hurting Attea." Four Arms growled.

SixSix and SevenSeven were momentarily stunned, but EightEight recovered quickly. "We are... professionals... This is... nothing personal..."

"Feels pretty personal to me." Four Arms retorted, tossing SixSix and SevenSeven aside to focus on EightEight. "What do you want? Why are you after me?"

"Client wants... Omnitrix..." EightEight replied. "Pays well..."

"The same client who hired Rojo?" Four Arms demanded.

"Perhaps..." EightEight's helmet tilted in what might have been a shrug. "We do not... ask questions..."

Four Arms was about to press further when a groan from nearby distracted him. Attea was sitting up, holding her side and looking dazed.

Taking advantage of his momentary distraction, EightEight activated her jetpack and launched herself at Four Arms, colliding with him at high speed. The impact sent them both rolling across the grass.

"Surrender... Omnitrix..." EightEight demanded, pinning one of Four Arms' arms with a specialized restraint.

"Not gonna happen." Four Arms grunted, using his three free arms to throw EightEight off.

As they continued to struggle, SixSix and SevenSeven recovered and moved to join the fight. But before they could reach Four Arms, a green energy blast hit the ground between them, forcing them back.

"Back off, tin cans!" Attea shouted, leaning against a tree for support but holding her blaster steady. "This dance card's full!"

SixSix turned toward her, weapons charging, but another voice interrupted.

"I would not do that if I were you."

Rook had arrived, Proto-Tool aimed at SixSix's head. Behind him, a squad of Plumbers formed a perimeter, weapons drawn.

"Plumbers..." EightEight noted from where she was still grappling with Four Arms. "Complication..."

Four Arms used the distraction to break free of EightEight's hold completely. "It's over, EightEight. Tell us who hired you, and maybe the Plumbers will go easy on you."

EightEight stood motionless for a moment, seemingly considering her options. Then, in a movement too quick to follow, she threw something to the ground that exploded in a blinding flash of light.

When the light faded, all three Sotoraggians were gone.

"Typical." Four Arms muttered, transforming back into Ben in a flash of green light. "They always run."

He hurried over to Attea, who was still leaning against the tree, looking pale but defiant. "Are you okay?"

"Been better." she admitted with a grimace. "SevenSeven's blaster packs a punch. Nothing serious though—Incursean healing and all that."

Ben helped her stand straight, supporting her with an arm around her waist. "You were amazing out there."

"Obviously." Attea said, but she looked pleased at the compliment. "Though I dropped Mr. Ribbington somewhere during the fight." She looked around worriedly for her plushie.

"Here." Rook said, approaching them with the slightly singed but intact frog plushie. "I found this near the battle site."

"Mr. Ribbington!" Attea exclaimed, grabbing the plushie and clutching it to her chest, then immediately looked embarrassed at her enthusiasm. "I mean, adequate work, Plumber."

Rook raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning instead to Ben. "The Sotoraggians escaped, but we will track them. This is the second attack today targeting you specifically."

"She has been trying to get to me for a while now." Ben said. "Someone's really determined to get the Omnitrix."

"What else is new?" Attea commented dryly, wincing as she shifted her weight.

"You need medical attention." Rook observed.

"I'm fine." Attea insisted. "Incursean biology. We bounce back quick."

"Nevertheless, I recommend—"

Rook's suggestion was cut off by a beeping sound from Attea's wrist device. She looked down at it, her expression falling. "Frog legs. Only one hour left before I have to head back."

"Already?" Ben said, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Imperial duties wait for no one." Attea replied, trying to sound casual but not quite succeeding. "Besides, I've caused enough chaos on your planet for one visit."

"I would not disagree with that assessment." Rook muttered, earning a glare from both Ben and Attea.

"Well." Ben said, "we should make the most of the time we have left. After you get checked out by a medic." he added firmly.

Attea looked like she wanted to argue but then sighed in defeat. "Fine. Quick patch-up, then back to having fun. But no hospitals! I refuse to spend my last hour on Earth in some primitive medical facility."

"The Plumber base has excellent medical facilities." Rook suggested. "And it is nearby."

"That'll work." Ben agreed. "Then maybe we can grab one last order of chili fries before you go?"

Attea's face brightened. "Now you're speaking my language, Tennyson!"

As they headed toward the Plumber vehicles, with Attea still leaning slightly on Ben for support, Rook fell into step beside them.

"By the way." he said casually, "Magister Tennyson would like a word with both of you regarding the... incident at Mr. Smoothy yesterday."

Ben and Attea exchanged guilty glances.

"Maybe we can skip the Plumber base after all." Attea suggested. "Suddenly my injury feels much better."

"Nice try." Ben said with a chuckle. "But facing my grandpa is probably easier than explaining to your imperial council why you're coming home injured."

"You clearly haven't met my imperial council." Attea muttered, but she didn't argue further.

As they reached the Plumber vehicles, Ben helped Attea into one of them, conscious of her injury despite her protests that she was "perfectly fine" and "didn't need coddling."

Once she was settled, he closed the door and turned to Rook. "I'll ride with her. You lead the way."

Rook nodded, then said in a lower voice, "You appear to have grown quite... attached to the Incursean Princess."

"It's complicated." Ben replied automatically.

"So you keep saying." Rook's expression was unreadable. "Just be careful, Ben. Intergalactic relationships rarely end well, especially with someone of her... temperament."

"We're not in a relationship." Ben insisted. "We're just... I don't know what we are."

"Whatever you are." Rook said, glancing at Attea through the vehicle window, "she clearly cares for you. She fought very bravely today."

Ben followed his gaze to where Attea was sitting, clutching her plushie and looking out the window with an uncharacteristically soft expression. "Yeah, she did."

As he climbed into the vehicle beside her, Attea immediately straightened up, putting on her usual haughty expression. "What took you so long? Discussing important hero business?"

"Something like that." Ben said with a small smile.

As the Plumber convoy pulled away from the park, neither of them noticed the figure watching from the shadows of a nearby building. A figure who lowered a pair of high-tech binoculars and spoke into a communicator.

"Mission... failed..." EightEight reported. "But... won’t give up on… him…” She acknowledged, turning to leave. But she paused, looking back at the retreating Plumber vehicles. For a moment, something almost like regret seemed to emanate from her expressionless helmet.

Then she activated her jetpack and disappeared into the afternoon sky.

Chapter Text

"Is this really necessary?" Attea winced as the Plumber medic applied a regenerative gel to her side where SevenSeven's blast had grazed her. The wound wasn't deep, but it stung like hell.

"Hold still, Your Highness." the medic said calmly. "This will accelerate your natural healing capabilities."

Ben stood nearby, arms crossed, watching with concern. "You're lucky it just grazed you. SevenSeven doesn't usually miss."

"That bitch’s brother wasn't trying to kill me." Attea snapped, then hissed as the cool gel made contact with her wound. "She just wanted to slow me down. Probably so she could get her grubby hands on you."

Max Tennyson entered the medical bay, his expression stern. "Attea, your scheduled time on Earth ended three hours ago. The Incursean fleet waiting in orbit is making my superiors nervous."

Attea's face fell slightly before she caught herself. "Come on, Grandpa Tennyson. What's another day or two? I've barely had time to show Ben what a superior choice I am compared to those Earth girls he wastes his time with."

"My name is Magister Tennyson." Max corrected, though his tone had softened slightly. "And this isn't about your... courtship. It's about interplanetary relations."

Ben stepped forward. "Grandpa, maybe we could extend her visit a little longer? I mean, she did help us with SixSix and SevenSeven earlier."

"After EightEight attacked because she was ‘jealous’ of Attea." Max pointed out.

"Details." Attea waved dismissively, sitting up and testing her side. "Look, I'm practically healed already. Incursean biology is superior that way."

Max sighed deeply, the kind of sigh that Ben recognized as capitulation. "You'll need to contact your father and your fleet. I don't want any misunderstandings."

Attea's face lit up with a victorious grin. She pulled out a communicator from her pocket and turned away from Ben and Max, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"Daddy? Yeah, it's me. I need a few more days... No, I haven't gotten the Omnitrix yet, but I'm this close to convincing him." She glanced back at Ben, who raised an eyebrow. "Or at least brainwashing him enough that he'll hand it over willingly. You know how these hero types are—all heart, no brains."

Emperor Milleous's gravelly voice came through the communicator. "You better not be wasting my time, daughter. The Incursean Empire doesn't wait for teenage crushes."

"It's not a crush!" Attea hissed. "It's strategic! Just give me three more days, tops."

After a long pause, Milleous sighed. "Fine. Three days. Then I want either you back on the flagship or Tennyson's Omnitrix in our possession."

Attea quickly contacted her guards next. "Take the ship and go grab some grub at that space cantina near Khoros. But stay alert—I might need extraction at any moment."

When she turned back, Ben was staring at her suspiciously. "Brainwashing me, huh?"

Attea rolled her eyes. "Obviously I was lying to him. My father doesn't exactly approve of me hanging out with his sworn enemy without ulterior motives."

"Right." Ben said, not entirely convinced.

"So." Attea clapped her hands together, suddenly energetic. "What are we doing with my three bonus days? Please don't say more Earth carnivals. One exploding Ferris wheel was enough."

Ben thought for a moment. "Well, we could hang out at my place. Watch some movies?"

"Movies?" Attea tilted her head. "Your primitive Earth entertainment? I suppose I could endure it for anthropological research purposes."

"Great." Ben grinned. "My parents already met you, so that won't be awkward. Though my dad might ask more questions about Incursean marriage customs."

"Your father is strangely fascinated by alien cultures for someone so... average." Attea observed.

"Tell me about it." Ben laughed. "He's been that way since he found out about the Omnitrix. Mom's more concerned about whether aliens eat her cooking."

"Well, Mr. Ribbington is excited." Attea pulled out the frog plushie with a crown, making it bow regally. "He hasn't experienced Earth cinema either."

Ben couldn't help but smile at the sight of the fierce Incursean princess playing with a stuffed animal. "Then it's settled. Movie night at the Tennyson residence."

When they arrived at Ben's house, Sandra Tennyson was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

"Ben! And... Princess Attea, right?" Sandra smiled, though her eyes betrayed slight concern.

"Empress." Attea corrected automatically. "But you can call me Attea, Mrs. Tennyson."

"We're going to watch some movies." Ben explained, heading for the refrigerator. "Got any snacks?"

"There are some leftover chili fries in there, and I just made cookies." Sandra said. "Will your... friend be staying for dinner?"

"If it's not too much trouble." Ben said, giving his mother a pleading look.

"Not at all." Sandra replied, her smile becoming more genuine. "Your father will be home soon. He'll be thrilled to ask questions about the Incursean government structure."

Attea groaned quietly, but maintained a polite smile.

Ben led Attea to the living room, arms loaded with snacks. "I was thinking we could have an alien movie marathon."

"Alien movies?" Attea raised an eyebrow. "You realize I am an alien, right?"

"No, I mean movies about aliens. How humans imagine them." Ben started sorting through a collection of discs. "These are classics. 'Alien,' 'Aliens,' 'Predator,' 'The Thing,' and 'Avatar.'"

Attea picked up the case for "Alien" and examined the creature on the cover. "Hmm. Ugly thing. Doesn't look like any species I know."

"That's the point." Ben said as he set up the first movie. "It's fiction. Though with all the aliens I've met, sometimes I wonder if the writers actually encountered some of these species."

They settled on the couch as the movie began. Ben noticed Attea clutching Mr. Ribbington tightly as the opening sequence of "Alien" played, the eerie music filling the room.

"This atmosphere is... disquieting." Attea commented, trying to sound unaffected.

"Just wait." Ben grinned. "It gets better."

As the movie progressed, Attea became increasingly engrossed. When the chestburster scene came, she actually jumped, then quickly composed herself.

"That's not how any parasitic species I know reproduces." she said critically. "The host would show signs much earlier."

"It's just a movie." Ben reminded her.

"A scientifically inaccurate one." Attea sniffed, but her eyes remained glued to the screen.

When the xenomorph began picking off crew members, Attea leaned forward. "Their tactical approach is all wrong. They should cluster together, establish a defensible position."

"You're really getting into this." Ben observed with amusement.

"I'm analyzing their flawed survival strategy." Attea replied defensively. "As a military leader, I find it educational... what NOT to do."

By the time Ripley was the last survivor, Attea was fully invested. "I like this Ripley human. She's smarter than the others."

"Yeah, she's pretty badass." Ben agreed.

When the credits rolled, Attea immediately pointed to the next disc. "Continue the saga. I need to see if this Ripley maintains her tactical superiority."

Ben laughed and put in "Aliens." "This one's more action-packed. Less horror, more shooting."

"Good. Their primitive weapons interest me."

As they watched the sequel, Sandra brought in dinner—a casserole that Attea cautiously tasted before deciding it was acceptable. Ben's father joined them halfway through, sitting in an armchair and occasionally asking Attea questions about Incursean military structure during quieter scenes.

"So your entire species is naturally militaristic?" Carl Tennyson asked.

"We're conquerors." Attea replied proudly. "It's in our blood. Each Incursean is born with the instinct to expand our territory."

"Fascinating." Carl nodded. "And is that why marriage alliances are so important in your culture?"

Attea glanced at Ben, who suddenly found his casserole extremely interesting. "The royal bloodline must be maintained. Though traditionally, conquered species aren't considered worthy marriage material." She smirked. "I'm something of a revolutionary."

When the space marines in the movie began their ill-fated mission, Attea became critical again.

"Primitive tactics." she scoffed. "They're underestimating their enemy based on arrogance. Classic mistake."

"Says the girl whose father's invasion of Earth failed multiple times." Ben teased.

"That was my father's failure, not mine." Attea countered. "When I led the invasion, we nearly succeeded."

"Nearly being the operative word."

As the movie progressed, Attea gradually edged closer to Ben on the couch. By the time they reached the scene with the alien queen, their shoulders were touching.

"The queen is formidable." Attea commented. "Reminds me of a Zaroffian queen-beast. They're extinct now, of course. My grandfather wiped them out."

"Of course he did." Ben said dryly.

After "Aliens" ended, Ben's parents excused themselves to bed, with Sandra reminding them not to stay up too late. Ben put in "Predator" next.

"This one's about a different kind of alien." Ben explained. "A hunter that collects trophies from dangerous prey."

"Like Khyber." Attea nodded. "Many species share that cultural practice."

The Predator's technology captured Attea's attention. "Cloaking technology, thermal vision, advanced weaponry... this species would make a valuable addition to the Incursean army."

"You're missing the point of the movie." Ben laughed.

"Am I? I see a superior hunter efficiently eliminating threats."

"It's about how Arnold Schwarzenegger outsmarts it despite being technologically outmatched."

Attea shrugged. "I suppose there's value in that lesson too."

By the time they started "The Thing." it was past midnight. The paranoia-inducing movie about an alien that could perfectly mimic any organism it absorbed had Attea looking at Ben suspiciously.

"Your people fear shapeshifters." she observed.

"Wouldn't you? Never knowing who's real and who's the enemy?"

"We Incurseans prefer straightforward conquest." Attea replied. "Why infiltrate when you can simply overwhelm with superior numbers?"

"Not everyone has an endless supply of troops." Ben pointed out.

During one particularly tense scene, Attea grabbed Ben's hand without thinking. When she realized what she'd done, she didn't let go but pretended not to notice. Ben, for his part, didn't pull away.

After "The Thing" concluded, Ben put in "Avatar" as their final film.

"This one's different." he explained. "More about humans being the invaders and the aliens defending their home."

"So humans can imagine themselves as the villains." Attea mused. "Interesting."

As they watched the lush world of Pandora unfold on screen, Attea seemed genuinely impressed by the visual beauty.

"The ecosystem integration is remarkable." she noted. "Reminds me of the bioluminescent forests on Terrafolia Prime. Before we strip-mined it, of course."

"Of course." Ben sighed.

As the movie progressed and the romance between Jake and Neytiri developed, Attea became unusually quiet. During the scene where they bonded beneath the Tree of Souls, she glanced at Ben.

"Your species has strange ideas about connection." she said softly.

"How so?"

"All this talk of 'seeing' each other. Incurseans are more... practical. Alliances, advantages, bloodlines."

"That sounds lonely." Ben commented.

Attea frowned slightly. "It's efficient."

As the movie reached its climax, with the Na'vi fighting to defend their home, Attea surprised Ben by leaning over and pressing a quick, light kiss to his lips. It lasted only a second before she pulled back, immediately turning her attention back to the screen as if nothing had happened.

Ben blinked in surprise. "Uh, what was that for?"

"What was what?" Attea replied, studiously watching the battle on screen. "I don't know what you're talking about, Tennyson."

"You just—"

"The aerial combat sequences in this film are tactically interesting." she interrupted. "Though their mounts lack proper armor."

Ben stared at her profile for a moment, then slowly smiled and returned his attention to the movie.

As the credits began to roll, Ben's communicator suddenly beeped loudly. Before he could reach it, Attea snatched it up.

"Who dares interrupt our movie night?" she demanded into the device.

"Ben?" Gwen's voice came through. "Is that Attea? I thought she left Earth hours ago."

"Well, I'm still here, witch-girl." Attea snapped. "What do you want?"

"I need to talk to Ben about Hex's recent magical disturbances." Gwen replied, her voice cooling considerably. "It's Plumber business."

"I am Plumber business." Attea retorted. "Intergalactic diplomacy with the Incursean Empire trumps whatever parlor tricks your magic mentor is performing."

"Attea, give me the communicator." Ben said, reaching for it.

She held it away from him. "Not until Red acknowledges that my time with Ben is more important than her magic problems."

"Are you serious right now?" Gwen's voice rose. "Ben, if you're there, we have reports of magical anomalies all over Bellwood that match Hex's signature. Charmcaster might be involved too."

At the mention of Charmcaster, Attea's expression changed. "Hope? What's she done now?"

"So you do know her." Gwen said suspiciously.

"We're acquainted." Attea replied vaguely. "She has good taste in footwear and bad taste in men."

Ben finally managed to grab the communicator. "Gwen, I'll call you back in five—"

Before he could finish, a crash came from the kitchen. Ben and Attea jumped up, rushing to investigate. There, climbing through the window with surprising grace for someone in full body armor, was EightEight.

"I am... here..." she announced through her translator, her helmeted head turning toward Ben. "Movie... night..."

"EightEight?" Ben exclaimed. "How did you find my house?"

"Followed... frog..." EightEight replied, pointing at Attea. "Want... to join..."

"Like hell you're joining us!" Attea snarled, her tongue flicking out menacingly. "We were just finishing anyway."

EightEight ignored her, walking past to the living room where the TV still showed the movie credits. She picked up a container of chili fries that had been sitting forgotten during the last movie.

"You... hungry..." she stated, approaching Ben. Before he could respond, she was attempting to feed him a chili fry.

"Hey!" Ben protested, though his words were muffled as EightEight managed to push the fry into his mouth.

Attea's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Get your armored hands off him, you walking scrap heap!"

EightEight turned to her. "Princess... jealous..."

"I am not jealous!" Attea shouted, her skin darkening with what appeared to be an Incursean blush. "I'm enforcing boundaries! Ben is MY potential mate, not yours!"

"I'm not anyone's mate!" Ben managed after swallowing the chili fry.

The commotion brought Sandra Tennyson downstairs in her bathrobe. She took one look at the armored bounty hunter, the furious Incursean princess, and her son caught between them, and sighed deeply.

"Ben, is this another alien girlfriend?" she asked wearily.

"She's not my girlfriend!" Ben and Attea shouted simultaneously, pointing at EightEight.

"Not... yet..." EightEight added, further infuriating Attea.

Sandra rubbed her temples. "Whatever this is, please keep it down. Your father has work in the morning."

Ben stepped between Attea and EightEight before they could come to blows. "Both of you, calm down. EightEight, why are you really here? And don't say it's for movie night, is this another order from your client? The one that also hired Rojo?"

EightEight's helmet tilted, considering her answer. "No…"

"Aren’t you working for the same client that hired Rojo?" Ben pressed.

"Whoever... hired Rojo..." EightEight replied. "Did not... hire us..."

This caught both Ben and Attea's attention. Earlier that day, they had fought against SixSix, SevenSeven, and EightEight, shortly after dealing with an attack from Rojo. They had assumed the incidents were connected.

"Wait." Ben said. "You're saying you weren't working with Rojo?"

EightEight shook her head. "Different... job..."

"Then who hired you?" Attea demanded.

EightEight hesitated, then admitted, "No one... Personal..."

"Personal? But I thought you said…" Ben echoed.

"Lied… Just wanted... to see Ben..." EightEight explained haltingly. "Brothers... helped..."

"You attacked us because you wanted to see Ben?" Attea's voice rose incredulously. "That's the lamest excuse I've ever heard!"

"Make... frog princess... angry..." EightEight added, a hint of satisfaction in her mechanically translated voice. "Bonus..."

Attea looked ready to explode, but Ben stepped in again. "Okay, so you weren't hired by anyone. You just wanted to... what? Hang out?"

EightEight nodded. "Yes... Date..."

"Date?!" Attea and Ben exclaimed together.

"You can't date him!" Attea snapped. "He's practically engaged to me!"

"I never agreed to that!" Ben protested.

"Ben... handsome..." EightEight continued matter-of-factly. "Good... fighter..."

"This is ridiculous." Attea fumed. "Ben doesn't want to date a bounty hunter who's tried to kill him multiple times!"

Sandra, who had been watching this exchange with growing bewilderment, finally intervened. "Ben, honey, maybe you should sort this out somewhere else? Preferably somewhere that isn't our kitchen at one in the morning?"

Ben looked grateful for the interruption. "You're right, Mom. Sorry about this."

"It's fine." Sandra sighed. "At least this one didn't set the curtains on fire like that Pyronite girl you brought home last year."

As they moved the conversation to the backyard, EightEight made a suggestion that caused Attea to nearly choke with indignation.

"Frog... can date... Albedo..." EightEight proposed. "I... date... Ben..."

"Who the hell is Albedo?" Attea asked, looking to Ben.

Ben grimaced. "He's sort of... my evil twin? A Galvan who got stuck in a copy of my human body."

Attea's face scrunched up in disgust. "Eww! You think I'd settle for a knockoff? I'm an empress! I don't do cheap imitations."

"He's not exactly a knockoff." Ben tried to explain. "He's actually pretty smart… and dangerous—"

"Don't care." Attea cut him off. "The point is, I've invested too much time in you, Tennyson, to hand you over to Bucket Head here."

EightEight crossed her arms. "Not fair..."

"Life's not fair." Attea shot back. "Especially when you're dealing with royalty."

Ben's communicator beeped again. This time, it was Rook.

"Ben, I require assistance." Rook's voice came through, sounding unusually strained. "Fistina has followed me to my apartment again. She is outside my door with what appears to be a homemade meal and a bouquet of mechanical flowers."

Attea burst into laughter. "Oh, that's priceless! My little matchmaking is working out beautifully!"

"This is not amusing." Rook protested. "She has set up what humans call a 'boom box' and is playing romantic Earth music at high volume. My neighbors are complaining."

"Just invite her in for dinner." Ben suggested, trying not to laugh himself. "She obviously likes you."

"That would only encourage her!" Rook exclaimed. "Ever since Attea convinced her that I harbored secret feelings, she has been relentless."

"You're welcome." Attea grinned smugly.

"I did not thank you." Rook replied coldly. "Ben, what should I do?"

Ben thought for a moment. "Try talking to her honestly. Tell her you're flattered but not interested."

"I have attempted that approach." Rook sighed. "She believes I am playing 'hard to get.'"

"Then maybe you should give her a chance." Ben suggested. "One date. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Given that she is a known criminal with superhuman strength and a history of destruction of property? Many things could happen."

"People can change." Ben insisted. "Look at Kevin."

"Or don't." Attea interjected. "Some bad boys should stay bad. Makes life interesting."

As Ben continued advising Rook, EightEight approached Attea.

"Why... you hate me?" she asked directly.

Attea scoffed. "Because you're trying to steal my potential husband, obviously."

"You... no ownership..."

"I have prior claim." Attea insisted. "We have history."

"What... history?" EightEight pressed. "Tried to conquer... his... planet?"

"That's different." Attea waved dismissively. "That was business. This is personal."

"Same... for me..." EightEight replied. "Personal... now..."

The two aliens stared each other down, neither willing to back off. Ben, finishing his call with Rook, turned to find them in this standoff.

"Uh, everything okay over here?" he asked cautiously.

"Peachy." Attea responded without breaking eye contact with EightEight. "Just establishing the natural hierarchy."

"No... hierarchy..." EightEight countered. "Equal... chance..."

Ben sighed. "Look, it's late, we're all tired. Why don't we continue this... whatever this is... tomorrow? EightEight, do you have somewhere to stay tonight?"

"Ship... parked nearby..." she replied.

"Good. And Attea, you're staying at Plumber HQ, right?"

Attea finally looked away from EightEight to give Ben a sly smile. "Unless you're offering alternative accommodations, Benny-boo?"

Ben blushed slightly. "That's not what I meant."

"Pity." Attea smirked. "Your bed looked comfortable during our tour earlier."

"I go... now..." EightEight announced. "Tomorrow... river picnic..."

"Wait, what?" Ben blinked. "I never agreed to a picnic."

"Not... asking..." EightEight clarified. "Meet me... noon..."

Before either Ben or Attea could protest further, EightEight activated her jetpack and shot into the night sky, disappearing among the stars.

"Did she just... schedule a date without asking me?" Ben asked incredulously.

"Assertive." Attea nodded appreciatively. "I'll give her that. Ugly girl, but good strategy."

"Yeah." Ben replied sarcastically.

Attea stretched, wincing slightly at her still-healing wound. "Well, I should head back to Plumber HQ. Wouldn't want to scandalize your parents by asking to spend the night."

"Yeah, that would be... inappropriate." Ben agreed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Totally inappropriate." Attea echoed, stepping closer to him. "Almost as inappropriate as this."

She leaned in and kissed him again, longer this time, before pulling back with a satisfied expression. "That's so you don't forget who got here first while you're on your river 'picnic' with Helmet Head tomorrow."

Before Ben could respond, a flash of pink light materialized between them, resolving into Charmcaster. Both Ben and Attea jumped back in surprise.

"Hope!" Attea exclaimed, using Charmcaster's real name. "What are you doing here?"

"Hiding from Uncle Hex." Charmcaster replied casually, as if appearing in Ben's backyard in the middle of the night was perfectly normal. "Also, I need to borrow some money."

Ben groaned. "What did you do this time?"

"Nothing major." Charmcaster shrugged. "Just ate a three-tier cake that was apparently for some important magical ceremony. How was I supposed to know? It was just sitting there in the kitchen."

"And you need money because...?" Ben prompted.

"Because I need to buy a replacement before Hex notices, and I'm broke." she explained. "I thought about blaming Darkstar, but Hex wouldn't buy it. Michael's too vain to eat carbs."

Attea laughed. "You haven't changed a bit since yesterday."

Charmcaster grinned at Attea. "Neither have you, Frog Princess. Still chasing after Hero Boy?"

"Empress." Attea corrected automatically. "And I'm making progress. We just had a movie marathon."

"Ooh, 'Netflix and chill.'" Charmcaster wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "How modern of you."

"We just watched movies." Ben clarified quickly. "Regular watching. With my parents in the house."

"Kinky." Charmcaster teased, making both Ben and Attea blush.

"Can we focus?" Ben asked. "Why not just use magic to create a new cake?"

"Magical food created by magic tastes like magic." Charmcaster explained as if it were obvious. "Hex would know immediately. I need a real cake made by real bakers with real ingredients."

"Fine." Ben sighed, reaching for his wallet. "How much do you need?"

As he handed over some cash, Charmcaster noticed the movie cases still scattered on the coffee table through the sliding glass door.

"'Alien,' 'Predator,' 'The Thing'?" she read off. "Trying to scare the girl into your arms, Tennyson? Classic move."

"It wasn't like that." Ben protested.

"It totally worked though." Attea whispered to Charmcaster with a wink.

Charmcaster looked between them, then glanced at the jetpack trail still visible in the night sky. "Let me guess, EightEight was just here? I passed her on my way in."

"How did you know?" Ben asked.

"Magic." Charmcaster replied mysteriously, then laughed. "Nah, I saw her fly off from your house. Plus, Gwen texted me that she might be causing trouble."

"You and Gwen text each other?" Ben asked, surprised.

"Frenemies with benefits." Charmcaster shrugged. "The benefit being magical gossip."

She turned to Attea. "You know, you should be careful with this whole harem situation. Ben's not as experienced at juggling multiple women as he pretends to be."

"It's not a harem!" Ben exclaimed. "I'm not juggling anyone!"

"Could have fooled me." Charmcaster replied. "You've got Frog Princess here, Bounty Hunter Barbie, not to mention your ongoing drama with Julie and Kai."

"I don't have ongoing drama with Julie or Kai." Ben insisted. "Julie and I broke up ages ago, and Kai and I are just friends."

"Uh-huh." Charmcaster nodded skeptically. "And I'm just a simple country witch with no ulterior motives."

Attea's eyes had narrowed at the mention of Julie and Kai. "Those two Earth girls are completely irrelevant. Ben's moved on to more... exotic options."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, Your Amphibious Majesty." Charmcaster replied with a mock bow. She pocketed Ben's money and created a small portal. "Thanks for the loan, Tennyson. I'll pay you back. Eventually. Probably. Maybe in the form of not turning you into a toad next time Hex and I have a disagreement."

"Comforting." Ben said dryly.

Charmcaster gave Attea a quick hug. "Call me later. I want all the juicy details about tomorrow's river adventure. Don't let tin can push you around."

"As if she could." Attea scoffed, but returned the hug.

With a final wave and a flash of pink light, Charmcaster disappeared into her portal.

Ben turned to Attea with raised eyebrows. "You two have really become friends, huh?"

"She appreciates quality footwear and has excellent taste in insults." Attea replied. "Plus, she doesn't judge me for wanting to conquer a few planets now and then."

"Of course not." Ben rolled his eyes. "Because that would be hypocritical of the woman who tried to take over Ledgerdomain."

Attea yawned dramatically. "Well, this has been fun, but even empresses need beauty sleep. Walk me to Plumber HQ?"

"It's three blocks away." Ben pointed out.

"Exactly. The perfect distance for a romantic midnight stroll." Attea replied, linking her arm through his. "Besides, I need to strategize about tomorrow. That tin can thinks she can outmaneuver me? I've conquered solar systems!"

As they walked under the streetlights, Attea leaned her head slightly against Ben's shoulder. "The movies weren't terrible. For primitive Earth entertainment."

"High praise coming from you." Ben smiled.

"Mr. Ribbington particularly enjoyed 'Avatar,'" Attea added, patting the plushie that she was holding. "He has a soft spot for environmentalist messages."

"I'm sure he does." Ben chuckled.

When they reached Plumber HQ, Attea lingered at the entrance. "So, about tomorrow's river adventure..."

"I never actually agreed to that." Ben reminded her.

"But you're going." Attea stated confidently. "Because you're curious about what will happen."

Ben couldn't deny it. "I guess I am."

"Good." Attea nodded. "Then I'll see you at noon. Don't be late, or I'll have to come drag you out of bed." Her expression turned mischievous. "Actually, that sounds like more fun. Maybe I will be late."

"Goodnight, Attea." Ben said firmly, though he was smiling.

"Goodnight, Ben." she replied, using his first name for once. She hesitated, then quickly kissed his cheek before disappearing through the doors of the headquarters.

Ben stood there for a moment, touching his cheek and wondering how exactly he'd ended up in this situation. With a sigh that was equal parts exasperation and amusement, he turned and headed home, already mentally preparing for whatever chaos tomorrow would bring.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Ben awoke to the sound of his phone buzzing insistently. Groaning, he reached for it, squinting at the screen. Three missed calls from Rook, a text from Gwen asking if he was still alive, and a series of messages from an unknown number that consisted entirely of alien symbols.

"Great." he muttered, sitting up and running a hand through his disheveled hair. The events of the previous night came flooding back—the movie marathon with Attea, EightEight's unexpected appearance, Charmcaster's dramatic entrance, and the kisses that Attea had so casually planted on him.

He was halfway through a reply to Gwen when his bedroom door burst open. Ben nearly fell out of bed in surprise.

"Rise and shine, Tennyson!" Attea announced, striding into his room as if she owned it. She was dressed in what appeared to be her version of casual wear—a sleeveless green top, black shorts, and her usual boots. 

"Attea!" Ben exclaimed, hastily pulling his blanket up to cover his bare chest. "What are you doing in my house? How did you get in?"

"Your mother let me in." Attea replied nonchalantly, looking around his room with undisguised curiosity. "She's making waffles. Said to tell you they'll be ready in ten minutes." She picked up a framed photo of Young Ben, Gwen, and Grandpa Max. "Ugh, you were such a scrawny little tadpole."

"That doesn't explain why you're here at—" Ben glanced at his clock. "—nine in the morning! The river thing isn't until noon."

Attea shrugged, setting down the photo and picking up a soccer trophy. "I got bored at Plumber HQ. Your grandfather keeps everything locked down tighter than an Incursean prison vessel. Wouldn't even let me access the weapons vault."

"How unreasonable of him." Ben said dryly, clutching his blanket. "Do you mind? I need to get dressed."

Attea's lips curved into a mischievous smile. "Don't mind me. Proceed."

"Attea."

"Fine." she rolled her eyes, turning her back to him. "Though it's nothing I haven't seen before in those Earth 'anatomy books' Charmcaster showed me."

Ben's face flushed. "I don't want to know what you two talk about."

"Mostly you." Attea replied candidly. "And shoes. And how to properly hex someone who betrays you. She's quite creative."

Ben quickly grabbed clothes from his dresser and headed to the bathroom. "I'll be out in five minutes. Please don't touch anything that looks important."

"Everything in here looks unimportant." Attea called after him.

When Ben emerged, freshly showered and dressed, he found Attea sitting cross-legged on his bed, flipping through a Sumo Slammers comic book.

"Your Earth entertainment continues to baffle me." she commented without looking up. "Giant humans in diapers fighting each other? And you find this appealing?"

"It's not about the diapers." Ben sighed. "It's about honor and skill and... never mind. Let's go get breakfast."

In the kitchen, Sandra was indeed making waffles. She smiled when she saw them. "Good morning, Ben. Your friend here showed up bright and early."

"Sorry about that, Mrs. Tennyson." Attea said with uncharacteristic politeness. "Royal habit. Early rising maximizes conquest time."

Sandra laughed nervously. "Well, conquering or not, everyone needs breakfast. Waffles?"

"Yes, please." Ben said, taking a seat at the table. Attea sat beside him, eyeing the waffle maker with interest.

"So what are you two planning today?" Sandra asked as she placed plates in front of them.

"River picnic." Attea answered before Ben could. "With EightEight."

"The armored girl from last night?" Sandra clarified, raising an eyebrow.

"She invited herself along." Ben explained quickly. "It's not like I planned a date with both of them."

"Not a date." Attea corrected, drowning her waffles in syrup. "A strategic engagement to establish dominance."

Sandra exchanged a look with Ben that clearly said, "Your alien friends are exhausting." Aloud, she merely said, "Well, I packed some sandwiches in the fridge. Take those with you."

"Thanks, Mom." Ben smiled gratefully.

After breakfast, they still had a couple of hours before they needed to meet EightEight. Ben suggested they stop by Mr. Smoothy to kill time.

"Smoothies again?" Attea groaned as they walked. "Don't you Earth people have any other beverages?"

"Says the girl who drinks swamp water for fun." Ben retorted.

"It's not swamp water, it's a traditional Incursean fermented algae drink." Attea corrected him. "Rich in proteins and mild hallucinogens."

"Wait, what?"

"Kidding about the hallucinogens." Attea smirked. "Mostly."

At Mr. Smoothy, they found Rook sitting alone at a table, looking haggard. When he saw them, his expression brightened with relief.

"Ben! I have been trying to reach you." he said urgently.

"Sorry, I just woke up." Ben apologized, sliding into the seat across from him. Attea plopped down beside Ben, immediately propping her boots on the table. "How'd it go with Fistina?"

Rook's face fell. "It was... an experience. After your suggestion to be honest with her, I invited her in for dinner."

"And?" Attea prompted, leaning forward eagerly.

"And she took this as confirmation of romantic intent." Rook sighed. "She proceeded to detail her plans for our future together, including the names she has selected for our theoretical offspring."

Ben winced. "That's moving a bit fast."

"Indeed." Rook agreed. "I attempted to clarify that I was merely being polite, but she interpreted this as 'playing coy.' She did not leave until 3 AM, and only after I promised to consider her proposal of coupling."

Attea burst into laughter. "Oh, this is better than I expected! What were the baby names?"

"Fistook and Rookina." Rook replied grimly. "She has also designed preliminary sketches of what she believes our genetic combination would produce."

"Fistook!" Attea wheezed, nearly falling out of her chair. "That's priceless!"

"I fail to see the humor in my predicament." Rook said stiffly.

"Sorry, buddy." Ben said, though he was fighting a smile himself. "Look, you need to be more direct. No politeness, no 'considering' anything. Just straight-up tell her you're not interested romantically."

"I will attempt this approach." Rook nodded. "Though given her enthusiasm, I fear it may require multiple attempts before the message is received."

"Or." Attea suggested, "you could give her a chance. She's clearly devoted. That's rare in the universe."

"Devotion based on infatuation is not a solid foundation for a relationship." Rook countered.

"Tell that to half the royal marriages in Incursean history." Attea snorted. "Most started with one party being completely obsessed and the other being politically convenient."

"And how did those marriages turn out?" Ben asked skeptically.

Attea shrugged. "About fifty percent ended in assassination, forty percent in successful joint rule, and ten percent in mutual destruction of entire star systems. Standard royal odds."

"I believe I will continue to pursue the direct rejection approach." Rook decided firmly.

After finishing their smoothies (Attea complained throughout about her "grass clipping with berry" flavor choice), they bid farewell to Rook and headed toward the river that ran through Bellwood Park.

"So what exactly are we supposed to do at this river picnic?" Ben asked as they walked.

"Whatever happens naturally when two females compete for the attention of a desirable male." Attea replied matter-of-factly. "Combat, possibly. Displays of superiority, definitely."

"That doesn't sound relaxing."

"Relaxation is for the weak." Attea scoffed. "Life is competition, Tennyson. The sooner you embrace that, the better."

"Not everything has to be a competition." Ben argued. "Sometimes people just enjoy each other's company."

Attea looked genuinely confused by this concept. "But if you're not competing, how do you know who's winning?"

Before Ben could respond to this concerning worldview, they crested a hill and saw the river below. The water sparkled in the midday sun, flowing gently between grassy banks dotted with trees. Families and couples were scattered along the shoreline, enjoying the pleasant weather.

And there, under a large oak tree, was EightEight. She had somehow acquired a red and white checkered blanket, which was spread neatly on the ground with various containers arranged on it.

"You... came..." EightEight said as they approached, her translator making the words sound mechanical despite what Ben suspected was genuine pleasure in her actual voice.

"We said we would." Ben replied, trying to sound neutral rather than awkward.

Attea immediately surveyed the picnic setup with a critical eye. "Store-bought food? Amateur hour."

"Best quality..." EightEight defended. "Earth... delicacies..."

Ben examined the spread: fried chicken, potato salad, coleslaw, and what appeared to be chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert. "This looks great, EightEight. Thanks for setting it up."

EightEight's helmet tilted in what might have been pleasure. "Sit... Ben..." She patted the space beside her.

Attea quickly inserted herself, plopping down in the indicated spot. "Mr. Ribbington likes this view." she announced, pulling out her plushie and setting it prominently on the blanket.

If EightEight was annoyed, her helmet hid it well. She simply shifted to make room for both of them, with Ben awkwardly sitting between the two aliens.

"So." Ben began, desperate to avoid another confrontation, "EightEight, you mentioned yesterday that you weren't working with Rojo. Any idea who hired her to attack us?"

EightEight shook her head. "Not sure... you have many... enemies..."

"Tell me about it." Ben sighed, accepting a piece of chicken that EightEight offered. "Half the galaxy wants either the Omnitrix or revenge. Sometimes both."

"The burden of greatness." Attea nodded sagely, helping herself to a large portion of potato salad. "My father has a standing bounty on seventeen different species that tried to assassinate him. It's just part of being important."

"I don't think that's a universal experience." Ben remarked dryly.

"That human criminal... works... cheap..." EightEight commented. "Not... professional..."

"True." Ben agreed. "But she's gotten better equipment lately. Someone's backing her."

"Probably one of your exes." Attea suggested casually. "That Julie girl seemed suspicious."

Ben choked on his chicken. "Julie? She wouldn't—we broke up on good terms!"

"That's what all males think." Attea rolled her eyes. "Until they find their spacecraft sabotaged and their sleeping quarters filled with Neptunian stinging jellyfish."

"Speaking from experience?" Ben asked, raising an eyebrow.

"My father's third wife was very creative." Attea replied vaguely.

As they ate, the conversation drifted to lighter topics. EightEight, though limited by her translator, turned out to have a surprising knowledge of Earth cuisine and had specifically selected foods she thought Ben would enjoy. Attea, not to be outdone, regaled them with increasingly outlandish tales of Incursean conquest that had Ben doubting their historical accuracy.

"So there we were, surrounded by fifty Tetramand warriors." Attea gestured dramatically, "when my great-grandfather unleashed our secret weapon—battle-trained space toads the size of small moons!"

"Not... possible..." EightEight objected. "Largest toads... recorded were three... meters..."

"Are you calling my ancestral stories lies?" Attea challenged, her tongue flicking out menacingly.

"Historical... inaccuracy..." EightEight clarified calmly.

Ben quickly intervened. "How about we take a walk along the river? It's a nice day for it."

This suggestion successfully diverted another potential argument. They packed up the remaining food, and Ben offered to carry the basket.

"I've got it." Attea insisted, reaching for it simultaneously with EightEight.

"I... brought it..." EightEight countered, not releasing her grip.

Ben watched in alarm as they engaged in a tug-of-war over the picnic basket, their faces, or in EightEight's case, helmet, inches apart. The tension was palpable until the handle suddenly snapped, sending both females stumbling backward.

"Now look what you did!" Attea accused.

"You... pulled... too hard..." EightEight retorted.

"Ladies, please." Ben sighed, gathering the spilled contents. "I'll carry what's left."

They walked along the riverbank, with Attea and EightEight positioning themselves on either side of Ben like competing bodyguards. Other parkgoers gave them curious looks—a boy flanked by a frog-like alien princess and a partially armored bounty hunter wasn't a common sight, even in Bellwood.

As they reached a bend in the river where the water flowed more swiftly, EightEight suddenly grabbed Ben's arm.

"Want... show something..." she said, activating her jetpack. Before Ben could protest, she had lifted him off the ground, soaring over the river.

"Hey!" Ben yelped in surprise, dangling from EightEight's grip. "A little warning next time!"

"Better... view..." EightEight explained, hovering about twenty feet above the water. Below, Attea was shouting something that Ben suspected was highly inappropriate in multiple languages.

"PUT HIM DOWN, YOU OVERSIZED CAN OPENER!" Attea's voice finally became clear as EightEight lowered her altitude slightly.

"Princess... jealous... again..." EightEight observed, sounding almost amused.

"I'm not jealous!" Attea shouted. "I'm concerned about flight safety regulations! Which you are clearly violating!"

"Since when do you care about regulations?" Ben called down, trying not to look directly at the water rushing below.

"Since they involved you being manhandled by discount bounty hunters!" Attea retorted. She took a running start and, with an impressive leap that showcased her Incursean physiology, jumped nearly fifteen feet into the air.

It wasn't quite enough to reach them, but it was close enough for her to shoot out her elongated tongue, which wrapped around Ben's ankle.

"Attea, don't—!" Ben started to warn, but it was too late. Her weight pulled against EightEight's grip, creating a literal tug-of-war with Ben as the rope.

"Let... go!" EightEight demanded, rising higher.

"You let go!" Attea shouted back, her tongue still firmly attached to Ben's ankle as she dangled beneath him.

"Both of you let go—gently!" Ben yelled, feeling like his limbs might separate from his body at any moment.

Neither female complied. Instead, EightEight executed a sharp turn, trying to swing Attea off. The Incursean princess held fast, using the momentum to swing herself up and wrap her arms around Ben's waist.

"Ha!" she crowed triumphantly, now clinging to Ben like a koala. "Try shaking me off now, bucket brain!"

EightEight responded by suddenly cutting her jetpack power, sending all three of them plummeting toward the river. Ben barely had time to shout "Cannonbolt!" and slam the Omnitrix before they hit the water.

The yellow-armored alien absorbed most of the impact, rolling across the surface before uncurling in the shallower part of the river. Attea and EightEight were both thrown clear, landing with twin splashes nearby.

"Are you two crazy?!" Cannonbolt demanded, transforming back into Ben as he stood up, water streaming from his clothes. "We could have been seriously hurt!"

Attea emerged from the water, her head-crest plastered flat against her skull, looking like a drowned cat—or in her case, a drowned frog. "She started it!"

EightEight rose more gracefully, her armor seemingly unaffected by the water. "Incursean... attacked... first..."

"You kidnapped Ben!" Attea countered, wringing water from her clothes.

"It wasn't kidnapping, it was... unexpected sightseeing." Ben corrected, though he was clearly annoyed. "Look, if you two can't get along for one afternoon without turning it into a battleground, maybe we should just call it a day."

Both aliens immediately protested.

"But we just got started!" Attea complained.

"River... were activities planned..." EightEight added.

Ben crossed his arms, water still dripping from his hair. "Then behave like adults, not territorial teenagers."

"Fine." Attea grumbled, reaching to check on Mr. Ribbington. The plushie was soaked but otherwise intact. "Mr. Ribbington is displeased with the impromptu swimming lesson, but he'll recover."

"Childish... attachment..." EightEight commented quietly.

Attea's eyes narrowed dangerously. "What was that, Scrap Heap?"

"Nothing..." EightEight replied innocently.

Ben sighed deeply, wading out of the river. "I'm going to dry off under that tree. You two can either join me civilly or continue your grudge match without me."

He walked away, leaving them standing in the shallows. After exchanging glares, both aliens followed him to the oak tree where their picnic had been.

As Ben wrung out his shirt, Attea flopped down beside him, stretching out in the sun. "The water feels nice on an Incursean's skin, actually. We're semi-aquatic, you know."

"Sotoraggian armor... waterproof..." EightEight added, sitting on Ben's other side. "No... discomfort..."

"Great, so I'm the only one who's going to be uncomfortable in wet clothes for the next hour." Ben muttered.

"You could always take them off." Attea suggested with a mischievous grin. "I won't object."

Ben's face reddened. "I'll stay wet, thanks."

As they sat under the tree, gradually drying in the afternoon sun, a comfortable silence fell over the trio. Ben leaned back against the trunk, closing his eyes. The adrenaline from their unexpected swim had worn off, leaving him surprisingly relaxed.

"This isn't so bad." he commented after a while. "When you two aren't trying to drown each other or me."

"It's tolerable." Attea agreed, her usual sharpness softened by the peaceful setting. She had removed her boots and was wiggling her webbed toes in the grass.

"Pleasant..." EightEight nodded.

"Why do you always keep the armor on?" Ben asked curiously. "The rest of your species also seem to need them constantly."

EightEight was silent for a long moment. "Good for combat..."

"She's probably hideously disfigured under there." Attea suggested tactlessly. "Or embarrassed about her species' naturally ugly faces."

"Not... ugly..." EightEight responded, a hint of annoyance in her mechanical voice. "Private... person..."

"Everyone has secrets." Ben said diplomatically. "You don't have to explain."

They lapsed into silence again, watching families and couples enjoy the park. A child nearby was flying a kite, its colorful tail dancing in the breeze.

"We don't have places like this on Incursea." Attea said suddenly, her voice unusually reflective. "Everything is military. Training grounds, barracks, war rooms. The closest thing to a park is the gladiatorial arena, and that's definitely not for relaxation."

"Sounds... intense." Ben commented.

Attea shrugged. "It's all I've ever known. Being here, doing nothing productive—just sitting and watching water flow by—it's strange. Not entirely unpleasant, but strange."

"Similar... for bounty hunters..." EightEight added. "Always working... moving... fighting..."

"Never just existing." Attea nodded in understanding.

Ben looked between them, surprised by this moment of connection. "Everyone needs downtime. Even conquering empresses and bounty hunters."

"My father would call it weakness." Attea scoffed, but there was little conviction in her voice. "Softness leads to defeat, he always says."

"Sotoraggians… have a similar... philosophy..." EightEight agreed. "Rest... equals... vulnerability..."

"That's no way to live." Ben argued gently. "Everyone needs balance."

"Is that what you have, Tennyson?" Attea asked, studying him with genuine curiosity. "Balance?"

Ben considered the question. "I try to. Between being a hero and being a normal adult. It doesn't always work, but I think it's important to try."

"Normal is overrated." Attea declared, though she sounded less certain than usual.

"Ben... is special..." EightEight stated. "Not... normal..."

"On that, we agree." Attea nodded, surprising both Ben and EightEight.

The moment was interrupted by Ben's communicator beeping again. He checked it with a groan. "It's Rook again. Apparently Fistina is now serenading his Plumber vehicle with mechanical love poems."

Attea burst into laughter. "She works fast! I respect the hustle."

"Determined... female..." EightEight noted with what sounded like approval.

"He's asking if I can come help extract him from the situation." Ben continued, reading the message. "Says she's threatening to redecorate his Proto-TRUK with hearts and flames."

"Tell him to embrace the aesthetic upgrade." Attea suggested, still giggling.

Ben typed a quick response. "I told him I'm busy but that he should consider telling her he needs space to sort out his feelings. That should buy him some time."

"Devious." Attea nodded approvingly. "I'm rubbing off on you."

As Ben put away his communicator, a flash of pink light nearby signaled another unexpected arrival. Charmcaster materialized, looking frazzled but pleased with herself.

"Mission accomplished!" she announced, dropping onto the grass beside Attea. "Cake replaced, Hex none the wiser, and I still have enough of Ben's money left for these cute shoes I saw."

She noticed their damp clothes and raised an eyebrow. "Did I miss a wet t-shirt contest?"

"We had a slight disagreement about altitude." Ben explained vaguely.

"Translation: these two pulled me into the river while fighting over who got to hold my hand." he clarified, shooting both aliens a look.

"Inaccurate... description..." EightEight objected.

"It was a tactical water landing." Attea insisted.

Charmcaster looked between them with amusement. "So the harem situation is progressing nicely, I see."

"It's not a harem!" Ben protested for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Two powerful females competing for your attention while you sit back and enjoy the show?" Charmcaster countered. "Sounds like a harem to me."

"I'm not enjoying any show." Ben muttered. "More like refereeing a cage match."

Charmcaster turned to Attea. "So, how's our little princess handling the competition?"

"Empress." Attea corrected automatically. "And I'm not concerned. Quality always trumps whatever this bucket of bolts is offering." She gestured dismissively at EightEight.

"Frog… is all... talk..." EightEight replied coolly. "No... action..."

"I conquered three star systems before I hit puberty!" Attea shot back. "What have you done besides follow your brothers around and shoot at things?"

Before EightEight could respond, Charmcaster clapped her hands loudly. "Ladies, ladies! You're both pretty. And terrifying. And could probably kill everyone in this park if properly motivated."

"Thank you." Attea preened.

"Accurate... assessment..." EightEight nodded.

"But." Charmcaster continued, "you're approaching this all wrong. Ben isn't the type to be won over by dominance displays or territory marking."

"I'm right here." Ben reminded them, increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation.

"Hush, the adults are talking." Charmcaster waved him off. "Look, if you want Ben's attention, you need to appeal to his hero complex. Show him you understand what matters to him."

"Like what?" Attea asked, suddenly interested. "His weird obsession with those Sumo Slapper cards?"

"Slammers." Ben corrected automatically.

"His sense of justice." Charmcaster explained. "His desire to help people. His moral compass, annoying as it can be."

"Ben... likes... saving people..." EightEight noted thoughtfully.

"Exactly." Charmcaster nodded. "So instead of fighting over him like he's the last slice of pizza, try showing him how you fit into his world."

Attea frowned. "But conquest and subjugation are my world. Ben doesn't exactly approve."

"Then find common ground." Charmcaster suggested. "You both like action, adventure, and apparently throwing each other into rivers."

"Again, I was thrown, not throwing." Ben clarified.

"Details." Charmcaster dismissed. "The point is, you're approaching this like it's a competition with each other when it should be about connecting with him."

Both Attea and EightEight fell silent, considering this advice. Ben looked at Charmcaster with newfound respect and slight suspicion.

"Since when are you a relationship counselor?" he asked.

Charmcaster shrugged. "I've had my share of toxic relationships. Darkstar, remember? I know what doesn't work, at least."

After a moment, Attea spoke up. "So what you're saying is, I should pretend to care about saving people to impress Ben?"

"No!" Charmcaster and Ben exclaimed simultaneously.

"Missing... point..." EightEight added.

"The point." Charmcaster explained patiently, "is to find genuine connection. If you just want Ben as a trophy husband or political alliance, be honest about it. But if you actually like him..."

"I don't do 'like'" Attea interrupted, making air quotes. "I do strategic attachments and beneficial arrangements."

"Same..." EightEight agreed, surprising everyone. "Practical... concerns..."

Ben looked between them, a mix of emotions crossing his face. "So neither of you actually cares about me as a person? Just what I represent?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Charmcaster looked like she regretted starting this conversation.

Finally, Attea spoke, her voice unusually quiet. "I didn't say that."

"It’s complicated..." EightEight added.

"Yeah, well, feelings usually are." Ben said, standing up. "I think I need a walk. Alone."

He walked away before any of them could respond, heading along the riverbank with his hands shoved in his pockets.

"Smooth moves, both of you." Charmcaster commented after he was out of earshot. "Real heartwarming."

"What was I supposed to say?" Attea demanded, suddenly defensive. "That I get all warm and squishy inside when he does that stupid hero pose? That I actually find his terrible jokes endearing? That I keep that ridiculous plushie he won me with me at all times because it reminds me of him?" She stopped abruptly, realizing what she'd admitted.

"I... understand..." EightEight said quietly. "Ben... different... special..."

"Yeah, well, don't tell him I said any of that." Attea muttered, her cheeks darkening with an Incursean blush. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me." Charmcaster grinned. "Though I might use it as blackmail material someday."

"Should... I follow... him?" EightEight asked, looking in the direction Ben had gone.

"Give him a minute." Charmcaster advised. "Boys need time to process emotional revelations. Especially boys who spend half their time as different alien species."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, watching the river flow by. Eventually, Charmcaster stood up.

"Well, this has been illuminating, but I have shoes to buy and spells to cast. Good luck with your complicated love triangle, ladies. Try not to destroy the park when you inevitably resume hostilities."

With a flash of pink light, she vanished, leaving Attea and EightEight alone under the tree.

"Truce?" EightEight suggested after a moment.

Attea eyed her suspiciously. "Why?"

"Ben... is unhappy... when we... fighting..."

Attea couldn't argue with that. "Fine. Temporary truce. But I'm still not giving up."

"Neither... am... I..."

They shook hands cautiously, then rose to follow Ben along the riverbank. They found him skipping stones across the water's surface, lost in thought.

"Ben." Attea called as they approached. "We need to talk."

Ben turned, surprise evident on his face when he saw them walking side by side without apparent hostility.

"We've declared a temporary ceasefire." Attea explained, noticing his expression.

"For... your... benefit..." EightEight added.

"That's... mature of you." Ben said cautiously.

"Don't sound so shocked." Attea rolled her eyes. "I can be diplomatic when necessary. I am royalty, after all."

"Want… to enjoy... day..." EightEight continued. "No more… fighting..."

Ben studied them both, then smiled slightly. "Alright. I appreciate the effort. So what do you want to do now? The rest of our picnic is probably soaked."

"I could go for ice cream." Attea suggested. "If Earth has any flavors worth consuming."

"Ice cream... is good..." EightEight agreed.

"Ice cream it is." Ben nodded, visibly relaxing. "There's a stand on the other side of the park."

As they walked together, an unusual sense of harmony settled over the trio. Ben found himself in the middle again, but this time without the tension of being a prize to be won. Instead, they walked companionably, with Attea occasionally pointing out Earth customs she found bizarre and EightEight asking questions about various plants and animals they passed.

By the time they reached the ice cream stand, Ben was actually enjoying himself. Attea ordered a mint chocolate chip cone "It's green, obviously superior", EightEight chose strawberry "Red... tastes like... victory...", and Ben went with his usual chocolate.

They found a bench overlooking the river and sat together, enjoying their treats in the afternoon sun. For a moment, it almost felt normal—just three friends hanging out on a nice day.

"This isn't terrible." Attea admitted, licking her ice cream. "Earth has some redeeming qualities."

"Peaceful..." EightEight agreed. "Different..."

"Different good or different bad?" Ben asked.

EightEight considered. "Different... interesting..."

"I could get used to this." Attea said thoughtfully, then quickly added, "For short periods. Between conquests."

Ben smiled. "That's practically a love letter to Earth coming from you."

"Don't push it, Tennyson." Attea warned, but there was no real heat in her voice.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting golden light across the water, Ben realized he'd spent the entire day with two aliens who had previously tried to kill him or in Attea's case, conquer his planet, and somehow it had turned into one of the more enjoyable days he'd had in weeks.

"We should probably head back soon." he said reluctantly. "My parents will start to worry if I'm not home for dinner."

"One... more... thing..." EightEight said, standing up. She reached into a compartment in her armor and pulled out a small device. "Gift... for... Ben..."

"It better not explode." Attea said suspiciously.

EightEight ignored her, handing the device to Ben. "An expensive universal... translator... better than... mine… It’s a new model…"

Ben examined the small, watch-like object with surprise. "You're giving me a universal translator? But these are rare—and expensive."

"Want... to talk better..." EightEight explained. "Limitations... frustrating..."

"Thank you." Ben said sincerely, strapping the device to his wrist opposite the Omnitrix. "This will be really useful."

Not to be outdone, Attea quickly reached into her pocket. "I was saving this for later, but since we're exchanging gifts..." She pulled out a small, crystalline object that glowed with an internal green light. "Incursean royal communication crystal. Direct line to me, anywhere in the galaxy. For emergencies." She paused. "Or whatever."

Ben accepted it, genuinely touched. "Wow. Thanks, Attea."

"Don't make a big deal out of it." she muttered, looking away. "Just practical. In case Earth needs saving and you're too incompetent to handle it alone."

As they gathered their things and prepared to leave the park, Ben activated EightEight's translator. It hummed softly, scanning the surrounding area.

"Let's test this out." he suggested, turning to EightEight. "Say something complex."

EightEight tilted her head, then spoke through her helmet. The translator on Ben's wrist immediately activated.

"The neural pathways of Sotoraggian communication are considerably more nuanced than this simplified translation technology can convey, but I appreciate your interest in understanding me better, Ben Tennyson."

Ben blinked in surprise. "Wow, that's... a lot more words than I'm used to hearing from you."

"Great." Attea said sarcastically. "Now Bucket Head can bore us with complete sentences instead of three-word fragments."

"My vocabulary and intellect have never been limited, Princess." EightEight replied smoothly through the translator. "Only my means of expressing them."

"Empress." Attea corrected automatically. "And I preferred you monosyllabic."

Ben laughed, slipping the crystal Attea had given him into his pocket. "Come on, we should get going before you two find new ways to argue now that EightEight can talk back properly."

As they walked back through the park, the sun setting behind them cast long shadows ahead. Despite the rocky start and midday dip in the river, Ben found himself surprisingly content with how the day had turned out. There was something almost comforting about being between these two powerful, dangerous aliens who, for all their posturing, seemed to genuinely enjoy his company.

"So." he said as they approached the park exit, "same time tomorrow? Maybe without the drowning part?"

"I would find that acceptable." EightEight replied, her voice through the translator sounding almost warm.

"I suppose I can clear my royal schedule." Attea agreed with feigned reluctance. "Mr. Ribbington did express interest in seeing more Earth landmarks."

As they reached the sidewalk, ready to go their separate ways for the evening, both aliens hesitated, looking at Ben expectantly.

"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.

"Traditional Earth farewells often include physical contact." EightEight observed. "Handshakes, embraces, or other gestures of affection."

"Yeah, what she said." Attea nodded, trying to sound casual. "Not that I care about Earth customs, but when in Rome, or whatever that saying is."

Ben looked between them, realizing what they were hinting at. With a small smile, he gave EightEight a quick hug, which she returned somewhat stiffly, unused to the gesture. Then he turned to Attea, who was trying very hard to look like she wasn't waiting her turn.

"See you tomorrow, Empress." he said, giving her a hug as well. She returned it with surprising enthusiasm before quickly stepping back and composing herself.

"Don't be late, Tennyson." she ordered, though there was no bite to her words. "Royal time is precious."

"Until tomorrow, Ben Tennyson." EightEight added with a small nod.

As they parted ways—EightEight activating her jetpack to soar into the evening sky, and Attea heading toward Plumber HQ with an uncharacteristic spring in her step—Ben found himself smiling. Whatever this strange situation was, it was certainly never boring.

His communicator beeped again as he walked home. This time, it was a message from Charmcaster:

"Did my advice work? Are they still trying to drown you or each other? More importantly, did you figure out which one you actually like? Because from where I was standing, it looked like both. Hex says hi. Not really, he's still mad about the cake, but I fixed it. You still owe me a shopping trip. P.S. Your harem is showing."

Ben groaned, pocketing the device without responding. Tomorrow was going to be another interesting day.

Chapter Text

Ben Tennyson was yanked from his dreams by the cacophony of clanging pots and what sounded suspiciously like Incursean swearing coming from downstairs. He groaned, rubbing his eyes and checking the time on his phone - 6:45 AM. Way too early for any self-respecting superhero to be awake on a day off.

"What the hell?" he muttered, stumbling out of bed and pulling on a T-shirt.

As he shuffled down the hallway toward the stairs, the noise intensified. There was his mother's patient voice, punctuated by a familiar raspy, imperious tone that could only belong to one person—or rather, one alien princess.

"No, no, Your Highness, the eggs need to be whisked before—"

"I know how to cook primitive Earth food! I've watched enough of your cooking channels!"

Ben reached the kitchen doorway and froze at the sight before him. Attea, Princess of the Incursean Empire, stood in his family's kitchen wearing what appeared to be one of his mom's aprons over her royal attire. She was aggressively attacking a bowl of eggs with a whisk while Sandra Tennyson looked on with the patient expression of a woman who had long ago accepted that her son's heroic lifestyle would bring strange visitors.

"What are you doing here?" Ben blurted out, still half-asleep. "Shouldn't you be at Plumber HQ?"

Attea turned, splattering egg on the counter. "Well, good morning to you too, Ben." She grinned that wide Incursean smile that somehow managed to be both threatening and endearing. "I'm making you breakfast. Your primitive mother is providing guidance."

Sandra shot Ben an amused look. "Your friend is very... enthusiastic about cooking."

"Friend. Right." Ben sighed, running a hand through his bedhead. "Attea, you were supposed to be at the Plumber base. You know, the whole diplomatic visit thing with the three-day limit that begun yesterday?"

Attea shrugged, turning back to her egg massacre. "About that. The three days start from today. Yesterday doesn't count."

"That's not how it works!" Ben protested.

"It is now." Attea replied smugly, adding what looked like way too much salt to the eggs. "I'm an empress. I decide how things work."

Sandra patted Ben's shoulder. "I'll leave you two to sort this out. I need to get ready for my yoga class anyway." She leaned in and whispered, "Try to save the kitchen if you can." before slipping out.

Ben flopped down at the kitchen table. "You can't just change the rules whenever you want."

"Sure I can. It's called 'diplomatic reinterpretation,'" Attea said, pouring the egg mixture into a pan where it immediately began to burn. "Crap!"

Ben was about to respond when his phone buzzed. Unknown number. He frowned but answered it.

"Hello?"

A mechanical voice came through the speaker, precise and oddly formal. "Greetings, Benjamin Tennyson. I trust this communication finds you in adequate health and conscious state despite the early chronological position of our solar system's primary star."

Ben pulled the phone away and stared at it. "EightEight? How did you get my number?"

"The acquisition of communication coordinates for individuals of interest falls within my professional skill set. I would have thought that obvious given my vocational specialization."

From across the kitchen, Attea's head snapped up like a predator sensing prey. "Is that that bucket-head mercenary?" She stomped over and grabbed for the phone. "Give me that!"

Ben held it out of reach. "What do you want, EightEight?"

"I merely wished to inform you that, unlike the amphibious royalty currently occupying your domicile, my presence on this planet is not constrained by arbitrary temporal limitations. As a freelance security specialist, I am at liberty to extend my terrestrial sojourn indefinitely."

Attea, who had climbed halfway onto Ben to reach the phone, froze. "WHAT?" she screeched directly into Ben's ear, making him wince. "Give me that phone, Tennyson!"

Ben reluctantly handed it over, massaging his ringing ear.

"Listen here, you walking trash compactor." Attea hissed into the phone. "Just because you can hang around doesn't mean Ben wants you to. Besides, I'll find loopholes too! I'll keep coming back to Earth whenever I want, and when I'm empress, I'll just make Ben my official consort and bring him to me!"

Ben choked on air. "Your what now?"

Attea ignored him, continuing her tirade. "And don't think I've forgotten about you trying to blow us up at the carnival! Next time I see you, I'm gonna rip that fancy translator right out of your helmet and shove it up your—"

Ben snatched the phone back. "Okay! EightEight, I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Very well. I anticipate our next interaction with statistical probability favoring sooner rather than later. Farewell for now, Benjamin."

The call ended, and Ben stared at Attea, who was now standing with her arms crossed, eyes twitching irritably.

"My consort?" he asked weakly.

"You heard me." she said, lifting her chin defiantly. "Now eat your eggs before they get cold."

Ben looked at the blackened mess in the pan. "I think we're well past that point."

After a quick cereal breakfast, Attea refused to eat "those disgusting sugary pebbles" but watched in fascination as Ben wolfed them down, they headed out for the day. Ben had managed to convince Attea to use the ID mask they had given her, transforming her into her human disguise—green-tinted hair, striking yellow-gold eyes, and tan skin. With a modified version of her usual royal attire—a green crop top, black shorts, and knee-high boots.

As they walked downtown, Ben found himself fielding increasingly personal questions from the disguised princess.

"So how exactly did you and that Julie human terminate your pair-bonding?" Attea asked, dipping a chili fry into a ridiculous amount of ketchup. They'd stopped at Ben's favorite food truck, and Attea had immediately demanded "those spicy potato things you're always going on about."

Ben sighed, leaning back on the park bench they'd claimed. "It's complicated."

"Uncomplicate it." Attea demanded, mouth full of fries.

"Fine." Ben took a sip of his smoothie. "We were dating for a while, but I was always busy with hero stuff, and she had her tennis career. One day I was playing Sumo Slammers online with some friends, and I was trash-talking like crazy, you know, normal gaming stuff."

"Uh-huh." Attea said, clearly not understanding but pretending to.

"Julie called in the middle of a match, and I was yelling at this guy who kept spawn-camping me. Something like 'I can't do this anymore, you're driving me crazy, it's over!' And Julie thought..." Ben trailed off, wincing at the memory.

"She thought you were breaking up with her?" Attea cackled. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard! And I've sat through Incursean budget meetings!"

"Hey, it was an honest mistake." Ben defended. "She was already upset about me missing her tournament for a mission."

"So what happened then?" Attea asked, stealing one of his fries despite having her own.

"By the time I realized what happened, she'd already met this guy Hervé. He's some fancy photographer who actually shows up to her matches and stuff."

"Hervé?" Attea snorted. "What kind of name is that? Sounds like someone choking on a hairball."

Ben couldn't help but laugh. "He's French. Actually seems like a decent guy. He's really into tennis and photography, and he really likes Julie."

"So he's boring." Attea summarized. "Got it."

"He makes her happy." Ben said with a shrug. "That's what matters."

Attea studied him for a moment, her disguised human face still somehow conveying her natural skepticism. "You're too nice, Tennyson. If someone stole my mate, I'd have them executed. Or at least exiled to a moon somewhere. Besides, I heard about French people, they eat frogs!"

"That's why Earth doesn't have an empress." Ben replied dryly.

As they continued walking through downtown Bellwood, Attea suddenly stopped in front of a sporting goods store, her eyes fixed on a display of tennis rackets.

"Hmm." she hummed thoughtfully.

"What?" Ben asked, immediately suspicious of her tone.

"Nothing." Attea said innocently. "Just thinking about taking up a new hobby. When in Rome and all that garbage."

"You don't even know what that expression means." Ben said.

"Sure I do. Your primitive Earth sayings aren't that complicated." She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "So this Julie person... she's good at tennis?"

"Yeah, she's actually competing professionally now. She's participating in a tournament actually, I think."

Ben immediately regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Attea's eyes lit up with a gleam he recognized all too well—the same look she got right before ordering a planetary bombardment.

"Is that so?" she said sweetly. "How interesting."

Before Ben could question her further, his phone rang again. This time the caller ID showed EightEight's name—she'd apparently programmed herself into his contacts.

"When did she—" Ben shook his head and answered. "Hello?"

"Benjamin. I find myself in the vicinity of your residential district and wish to propose a social engagement. Your customs dictate shared consumption of sustenance as a bonding ritual, correct?"

Ben blinked. "Are you... asking me to lunch?"

"Your linguistic interpretation is accurate, if somewhat simplistic in articulation."

Attea's head whipped around. "Who is it? Is that the tin can again?" She grabbed for the phone, but Ben held it out of reach.

"I'm kind of already with Attea right now." Ben explained.

"The amphibian royal's presence is irrelevant to my invitation. My inquiry was directed specifically at you, not as a collective proposition."

"Let me talk to her!" Attea demanded, jumping to try and reach the phone.

Ben covered the microphone. "Will you calm down? I'm just talking to her!"

"Tell her to go rust in a swamp!" Attea hissed.

Ben sighed. "Look, EightEight, can we do this another time? I'm trying to keep Attea from destroying downtown Bellwood right now."

"Very well. I shall adjust my schedule accordingly and seek your company at a later chronological point. However, I must inform you that I will be remaining on your planet indefinitely, as previously stated. Unlike certain individuals with imposed visitation constraints."

Ben could practically feel Attea seething beside him. "Okay, thanks for understanding. Bye!" He quickly hung up.

"What did that walking scrap heap want?" Attea demanded.

"Just to hang out." Ben said, trying to sound casual. "No big deal."

"No big deal?" Attea's disguised face flushed with anger. "She tried to kill us! With bombs and guns! And her brothers were also there! Have you forgotten that?"

"She was just doing her job, I guess." Ben said reasonably. "Besides, she seems different now. Less... murdery."

"You are unbelievable." Attea growled. "Next thing you'll be telling me is that you're friends with Vilgax."

Ben winced. "Well, there was this one time in an alternate dimension—"

"I don't want to know!" Attea threw her hands up. "Let's just go somewhere else. Away from talk about that bucket-head."

As they walked, Attea's mood gradually improved, especially when Ben suggested they catch a movie. The Bellwood Cineplex was showing a marathon of "The Weird World" films—a series about alien invasions that always got the details hilariously wrong.

"Seven dollars for a tub of unpopped corn kernels?" Attea exclaimed at the concession stand. "This is highway robbery! I've conquered solar systems for less!"

"Shh!" Ben hushed her, glancing nervously at the teenager behind the counter who was staring at them blankly. "It's just how movie theaters work. They make their money on concessions."

"It's still a scam." Attea grumbled, but she let Ben buy the popcorn and a large soda to share.

As they settled into their seats for "The Weird World 3: Mars Attacks Back." Attea snickered at the opening credits.

"These special effects are pathetic." she whispered loudly. "The Martians look like they're wearing paper mache heads! Real Martians have three eyes and speak telepathically."

"Will you be quiet?" someone hissed from behind them.

Attea half-turned, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Do you know who you're talking to, Earth scum? I could have you—"

Ben quickly stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. "Sorry about my friend." he called back. "First time at the movies."

Attea chewed angrily but settled down, occasionally making loud comments about the scientific inaccuracies of the film.

"Martian tripods would never work in Earth's gravity!"

"That's not how laser weapons function! There's no visible beam in vacuum!"

"Martian reproduction doesn't involve eggs! That's disgusting!"

By the third outburst, Ben was slumped in his seat, trying to become invisible. But to his surprise, some of the other moviegoers had started to laugh at Attea's commentary, with a few even shouting their own ridiculous corrections.

"Actually, Martian tripods are made of lightweight Martian metals!" called a man from across the theater.

"Martians definitely lay eggs! I saw it on the History Channel!" yelled another.

Soon the entire theater was laughing and calling out absurd "facts" about aliens, turning the bad movie into an impromptu comedy show. Ben couldn't help but join in, making up nonsense about Martian cuisine and fashion trends.

By the time the movie ended, with the Martians defeated by Earth's bacteria, which Attea declared "actually somewhat scientifically plausible, those things are disgusting", they were both in much better spirits.

"That was actually enjoyable." Attea admitted as they left the theater. "Your species' complete ignorance about the universe is hilarious."

"Glad you had fun." Ben said, genuinely pleased to see her smiling.

As they stepped outside, Ben's phone buzzed with a text. It was from Charmcaster—or Hope, as she preferred to be called:

"Your frog princess was asking about tennis lessons. What are you getting me into, Tennyson?"

Ben's eyes widened, and he slowly turned to Attea, who was studying her nails with suspicious nonchalance.

"Attea." he said carefully. "Did you contact Charmcaster about tennis lessons?"

Attea's fake-innocent expression was almost comical. "Maybe. What's it to you?"

"Why would you need tennis lessons?" Ben asked, already dreading the answer.

"No reason." Attea said airily. "Just thought I'd try a new Earth sport. Expand my horizons. Isn't that what you're always going on about?"

"This wouldn't have anything to do with Julie's tournament, would it?"

Attea's smile turned predatory. "Now why would you think that, Benny-boo?"

Ben groaned. "Attea, you can't just show up at Julie's tournament and challenge her! That's not how it works!"

"Watch me." Attea replied simply. "Besides, I already have Hope helping me, and EightEight said she'd help too."

"EightEight?" Ben exclaimed. "When did you talk to EightEight?"

"We have a... complicated relationship." Attea said vaguely. "Sometimes we're trying to kill each other, sometimes we're plotting against your exes. It's a girl thing."

"This is a terrible idea." Ben said, rubbing his temples.

"The best ones usually are." Attea replied cheerfully. "Now come on, I want to try one of those spinning wheel things at the park."

As Ben reluctantly followed her toward the park, he couldn't shake the feeling that the next days were going to be very, very long.

Chapter Text

The following morning, Ben was awakened not by Attea in the kitchen, but by something far more disturbing—the silent, helmeted figure of EightEight standing at the foot of his bed, watching him sleep.

"GAAAH!" Ben yelped, nearly falling out of bed in shock. "What the hell, EightEight?"

The Sotoraggian mercenary tilted her head slightly. "Good morning, Benjamin. I must apologize for any startle response my presence may have induced. I was merely observing human sleep patterns for my xenobiological research database."

"That's—that's not okay!" Ben clutched his blanket to his chest. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Approximately one hour, seventeen minutes, and thirty-four seconds. Your REM cycle patterns are quite fascinating. You appear to experience precisely 27% more facial twitching than the human average."

Ben stared at her in horror. "How do you even know that statistic? You know what, never mind. You can't just break into people's houses and watch them sleep!"

"I did not 'break in' as you so crudely put it. Your maternal parental unit granted me access when I arrived bearing traditional morning sustenance ingredients."

"You brought breakfast?" Ben asked, momentarily distracted.

"Affirmative. I have been assisting mother unit, Sandra Tennyson, in the preparation of pancakes with blueberry inclusions. She found my precision in measuring ingredients to be, quote, 'a refreshing change from Carl's eyeballing everything,' end quote."

Ben flopped back onto his pillows with a groan. "Of course my mom loves you. Why wouldn't she?"

"Your progenitor displays admirable logical reasoning and appreciation for methodical approaches. Now, I suggest you perform your morning hygiene ritual and join us downstairs. The optimal pancake consumption temperature will be achieved in approximately twelve minutes."

With that, EightEight turned and left the room, her movements unnervingly precise and silent.

Ben stared at the ceiling for a long moment. "This is my life now." he muttered to himself before dragging himself out of bed.

Downstairs, Ben found an even more bizarre scene than yesterday. His mother was chatting amicably with EightEight, who was flipping pancakes with robotic precision while discussing the chemical reactions involved in baking. At the table sat Attea, arms crossed and glaring daggers at EightEight's back.

"About time you woke up." Attea snapped when she saw Ben. "Bucket-head here has been boring us with pancake science for an hour."

"The thermodynamic principles underlying the transformation of batter to solid form are hardly 'boring,' Your Amphibiousness. They represent fundamental physical laws of the universe."

"See what I mean?" Attea rolled her eyes. "Who cares how pancakes work as long as they taste good?"

Sandra smiled brightly at Ben. "Good morning, honey! Your friend EightEight is quite the chef. Did you know she can measure exactly one teaspoon just by looking?"

"Fascinating." Ben mumbled, sliding into a chair next to Attea, who immediately scooted her chair closer to his, shooting a triumphant look at EightEight.

"Your proximity adjustment is noted, Princess, though I fail to see its strategic value in the current non-combat scenario." EightEight commented, setting a perfect stack of pancakes in front of Ben.

"Thanks." Ben said, eyeing the pancakes suspiciously before taking a cautious bite. To his surprise, they were delicious. "Wow, these are actually really good."

"Your tone implies surprise at my culinary competence. I assure you, precision cooking follows the same principles as precision targeting. Both require careful measurement, timing, and execution."

"Did you just compare making pancakes to shooting people?" Ben asked through a mouthful.

"An oversimplification, but essentially correct."

Sandra patted EightEight's armored shoulder. "Well, I think they're wonderful. Will you be joining Ben and Attea today as well?"

Before EightEight could answer, Attea cut in. "Actually, I have plans with Ben today. Private plans. Just the two of us."

"I find that arrangement suboptimal." EightEight said. "Benjamin's safety would be better ensured with additional protection, particularly given the frequency with which hostile entities target him."

"Are you saying I can't protect him?" Attea bristled.

"Historical data suggests mixed results in that regard."

"Why you metal-plated—"

"Okay!" Ben interrupted loudly. "Mom, breakfast was great. We should probably get going now. Lots to do today!"

Sandra beamed. "Have fun, all of you! EightEight, feel free to come back anytime. Maybe you can teach me how to make those Sotoraggian spice cookies you mentioned?"

"It would be my pleasure, Sandra Tennyson. Your kitchen is admirably organized, if somewhat lacking in essential xenobiological ingredients."

Ben practically dragged both aliens out of the house before his mother could adopt either of them permanently.

Once outside, Attea immediately rounded on EightEight. "What do you think you're doing, cozying up to Ben's mom like that?"

"Building rapport with the maternal figure is statistically shown to improve relationship outcomes across 87% of known sentient species." EightEight replied calmly. "It is merely logical relationship strategy."

"Relationship?" Ben sputtered. "There is no relationship strategy happening here!"

Both aliens ignored him completely.

"Listen, Tin Can." Attea jabbed a finger toward EightEight's chest plate. "Ben promised to marry me years ago, so back off!"

"I was desperate and you were going to destroy the Earth!" Ben protested.

"Coerced matrimonial agreements made under duress or by those who lack legal standing in 94.3% of galactic jurisdictions." EightEight pointed out. "Furthermore, as I recall from the mission briefing files, you subsequently attempted to wed him to another against his will."

"That was different!" Attea snapped. "I was angry!"

"Can we please stop talking about this?" Ben pleaded. "Look, I promised Attea I'd hang out with her today, EightEight. Maybe we can all do something together tomorrow?"

EightEight seemed to consider this for a moment. "Very well. I shall utilize today to complete my own agenda items. However, I request a communication check-in every two hours to confirm your continued well-being."

"That won't be necessary—" Ben started.

"Fine." Attea interrupted. "Every four hours."

"Two hours and thirty minutes."

"Three hours, final offer."

"Acceptable. I shall expect your first communication at precisely 11:47 AM."

With that, EightEight activated something on her wrist and vanished in a flash of teleportation energy.

"Showoff." Attea muttered.

Ben sighed. "What exactly are these 'private plans' you mentioned?"

Attea's annoyed expression transformed into a mischievous grin. "Tennis lessons with your magician ex."

"WHAT?! Charmcaster is not my ex!" Ben protested. "And this is still a terrible idea."

"Too late to back out now. Hope is meeting us at the courts in thirty minutes." Attea grabbed his arm and started pulling him along. "Besides, don't you want to see me humiliate Julie and her hairball boyfriend?"

"Not particularly, no." Ben grumbled, but allowed himself to be dragged along.

They found Charmcaster—or Hope, as she preferred—waiting at the public tennis courts, looking thoroughly out of place in her purple outfit, though she'd at least swapped her usual magical attire for something resembling athletic wear.

"Tennyson." she greeted Ben with a nod, before turning to Attea. "Your Highness. I brought the equipment you requested."

She gestured to a pile of tennis rackets, balls, and what appeared to be several magical artifacts.

Ben raised an eyebrow. "What exactly are those for?"

"Just some training enhancements." Hope said vaguely. "Nothing illegal. By tennis standards, anyway."

"This is a bad idea." Ben repeated for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Relax, Tennyson." Attea said, picking up a racket and swinging it experimentally. "I'm not going to hurt your precious ex. Much."

"That's not reassuring." Ben muttered, sitting down on a bench to watch the disaster unfold.

To Ben's surprise, Attea proved to be a quick study. Her Incursean reflexes gave her naturally fast reaction times, and her competitive nature drove her to master the basics of tennis with impressive speed. Hope's "training enhancements" seemed to involve magical constructs that returned balls with increasing velocity and unpredictable spins.

"Faster!" Attea demanded after an hour of practice. "Make it harder!"

Hope raised an eyebrow but obliged, causing the magical tennis opponent to start hitting shots that would make professional players sweat.

"She's actually pretty good." Ben admitted to Hope when Attea took a water break.

"She's determined." Hope corrected. "There's a difference. But yes, she's picking it up quickly." She gave Ben a sidelong look. "Want to tell me why your alien fiancée is so desperate to learn tennis overnight?"

"She's not my fiancée." Ben said automatically. "And she wants to show up at Julie's tournament today to humiliate her."

Hope snorted. "Of course she does. Your love life is more complicated than most magical curses I've studied."

"It's not—we're not—" Ben sputtered. "Attea and I aren't a thing!"

"Tell her that." Hope said, nodding toward Attea, who was practicing her serve with a look of intense concentration. "And tell the bounty hunter who's been texting me about joining this tennis revenge scheme."

"EightEight contacted you?" Ben asked incredulously.

"Oh yes. Very formal messages, lots of statistics about optimal tennis strategies and the psychological impact of public humiliation." Hope scrolled through her phone. "She's quite thorough. Sent me seventeen research papers on tennis techniques."

"This is getting out of hand." Ben groaned.

"Getting?" Hope laughed. "Tennyson, you're already neck-deep in whatever this is." She stood up as Attea waved her back over. "Word of advice? Either tell them both to back off clearly, or pick one. Or keep the two, and whoever more you have 'seduced' with you heroic charms. The longer you let this continue, the messier it gets."

As Hope rejoined Attea for more training, Ben's phone buzzed with a text from EightEight:

"Status verification required. Are you maintaining adequate hydration and nutrition levels? Princess Attea's training regimen appears intensive. I am monitoring remotely and will arrive at your coordinates in 47 minutes with appropriate performance-enhancing beverages and protein sources."

Before Ben could reply, another text came through:

"P.S. I have researched Julie Yamamoto's recent performance statistics and identified seventeen exploitable weaknesses in her play pattern. Will share upon arrival."

Ben dropped his head into his hands. "Why me?"

Three hours and countless tennis balls later, Attea declared herself ready for competition. Her ID mask was adjusted to give her a slightly different appearance from her usual human disguise—this time with her hair pulled back in a sporty ponytail and tennis whites that somehow still had green accents.

"The tournament starts in an hour." she announced, checking the information on Ben's phone. "Plenty of time to register as a last-minute wild card entry."

"That's not how tennis tournaments work." Ben protested. "You can't just show up and play!"

"Actually." came EightEight's voice as she materialized beside them, making Ben jump, "with the appropriate documentation and a sufficiently compelling demonstration of skill, late entries can be accommodated under section 7, paragraph 4 of the Bellwood Open rulebook."

She held up a tablet showing the tournament regulations, with the relevant section highlighted.

"See?" Attea smirked. "Bucket-head is good for something after all."

"I have taken the liberty of creating a complete false identity for you, including a fabricated tennis history from a small European nation with notoriously poor record-keeping. The documentation has been submitted electronically and accepted by the tournament committee approximately 13.7 minutes ago."

Ben stared at her. "You hacked a tennis tournament?"

"'Hacked' is a crude terminology. I simply adjusted the digital reality to better suit our objectives."

"This is going to end badly." Ben muttered, but he followed along as the group headed to the Bellwood Sports Complex where the tournament was being held.

True to EightEight's word, Attea was admitted to the tournament as a last-minute entrant, scheduled to play in the second round against the winner of Julie's first match—assuming Julie won, which seemed likely given her seeding in the tournament.

"This is perfect." Attea hissed gleefully as they found seats to watch Julie's first match. "I'll get to crush her in front of everyone."

"Based on my analysis of her playing patterns from the last seven tournaments, she favors a strong forehand but has a slight hesitation when forced to reach for backhand shots at her feet." EightEight commented, displaying a detailed diagram on her tablet. "I suggest targeting that weakness repeatedly to induce both physical and psychological fatigue."

"Will you two stop plotting like this is some kind of military operation?" Ben whispered harshly. "It's just tennis!"

Both aliens looked at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Just tennis?" Attea repeated incredulously. "This is about honor! About showing your ex that she made a mistake!"

"It's about establishing dominance hierarchies through ritualized competition." EightEight added. "A practice common to 89.4% of sentient species."

"It's about you two being weirdly obsessed with my past relationships." Ben countered.

Before either could respond, Julie walked onto the court with her opponent. She looked professional and focused in her tennis outfit, her hair pulled back, and her game face on. In the stands nearby, Ben spotted Hervé with his camera, ready to document Julie's match.

The match itself was quick and one-sided. Julie dispatched her opponent with practiced ease, her years of training evident in every precise shot and strategic placement. The crowd applauded appreciatively as she shook hands with her defeated opponent.

"She's good." Attea acknowledged grudgingly. "But I'm better."

"Your confidence is admirable if statistically unfounded." EightEight noted. "However, I calculate a 43.2% probability of victory if you adhere strictly to the strategy I've outlined."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Attea said sarcastically.

As Julie left the court, she happened to glance up at the stands—and froze when she saw Ben. Her eyes widened slightly before she gave a small, somewhat awkward wave. Ben returned it equally awkwardly.

"Who's that guy with the big camera fawning all over her?" Attea asked, pointing to Hervé, who had met Julie at the edge of the court and was showing her some of the photos he'd taken.

"That's Hervé." Ben said. "Her boyfriend."

Attea studied him critically. "He looks like a weasel. And what's with that scarf? It's 80 degrees out!"

"The accessory likely serves as a status signifier rather than a practical warming implement." EightEight observed. "Many Earth cultures utilize unnecessary clothing items to denote social standing or aesthetic tribal affiliations."

"You know, he's French." Ben explained simply.

"That explains everything." Attea snorted.

As the next matches proceeded, tournament officials came to inform Attea that she would indeed be facing Julie in the next round, scheduled to begin in thirty minutes. Attea's predatory grin made the official take an instinctive step back.

"Perfect." she purred. "I can't wait."

The thirty minutes passed quickly, with EightEight continuously feeding Attea statistics and strategy tips while Hope made subtle magical adjustments to Attea's racket that she assured Ben were "technically not cheating, just enhancing her natural abilities."

When it was time for the match, Attea strode onto the court with the confidence of someone who had been playing tennis her entire life, rather than for just a few hours. Julie, already on the court warming up, looked confused at the late entry opponent she'd never heard of.

The confusion turned to shock when Attea approached the net and removed her ID mask just long enough for Julie to see her true face, before slipping it back on.

"Attea?" Julie gasped quietly. "What are you—"

"Good luck." Attea said with a smile that showed too many teeth. "You'll need it."

From the stands, Ben watched with a growing sense of dread as the match began. To his surprise—and apparently Julie's as well—Attea played remarkably well. Her Incursean agility allowed her to reach shots that would have been impossible for most humans, and the strategic advice from EightEight proved effective at exploiting Julie's few weaknesses.

The first set went to Julie, 6-4, but Attea took the second set 7-5 after adapting to Julie's playing style. By the third set, a crowd had gathered, impressed by the unknown newcomer giving their local champion a serious challenge.

"She's actually doing it." Ben said in disbelief as Attea dove for a particularly difficult shot and somehow returned it for a point.

"Her performance exceeds my statistical projections by approximately 17.8%." EightEight noted, sounding almost impressed. "The princess's competitive nature appears to be a significant force multiplier."

The final set reached a tiebreak, with both players showing signs of fatigue but refusing to give ground. Julie's experience was evident, but Attea's determination and alien physiology gave her an edge in stamina.

On match point, Attea executed a perfect drop shot that Julie raced for but couldn't quite reach. The ball bounced twice, and the match was over.

Attea had won.

The crowd applauded the exciting match, unaware of the shocked expression on Julie's face as she approached the net to shake hands with her opponent.

"How did you—" Julie began.

"I'm just better." Attea said smugly. "At tennis and everything else. Remember that."

She turned toward where Hervé was standing with his camera and gave him a disdainful look. "Nice scarf, Hairball."

Ben rushed down from the stands, trying to reach them before Attea could say anything worse, but he was too late. Hervé, looking confused at the insult, had already approached.

"That was an impressive match." he said with his French accent. "Julie has told me about you, but not that you were such an accomplished tennis player."

"There's a lot Julie doesn't know about me." Attea replied with a smirk. "But Ben does, don't you, Ben?"

Ben finally reached them, slightly out of breath. "Hey, Julie. Good match."

Julie gave him a look that clearly said "we need to talk" before turning to Hervé. "Could you give us a minute? I need to speak with Ben and... his friend."

Once Hervé had stepped away, Julie crossed her arms. "What is this about, Ben? Why is Attea here pretending to be a tennis player and insulting my boyfriend?"

"It's complicated." Ben began.

"It's really not." Attea cut in. "I wanted to show you that I'm better than you. At everything. Including the things you think you're good at."

Julie blinked. "Is this because I used to date Ben? That was years ago!"

"Time is irrelevant." Attea declared loftily. "It's the principle."

"The principle of what? Being childish?" Julie turned to Ben. "I thought we were past all this. I'm happy with Hervé, you seemed fine last time we talked—what changed?"

Before Ben could answer, EightEight materialized beside them, making Julie jump.

"Greetings, Julie Yamamoto. Your performance displayed commendable technical skill despite your ultimate defeat. I have cataloged thirty-seven potential improvements to your playing strategy should you wish to review them."

"Who is—" Julie began, then stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. "You know what? I don't want to know. Ben, whatever is going on with you and your... friends... please keep it away from my tournaments."

She turned to leave, then paused and looked back. "For what it's worth, I'm glad you're moving on. Even if your taste has gotten... interesting." With that, she rejoined Hervé, who put a comforting arm around her shoulders as they walked away.

Ben rounded on Attea. "Happy now?"

To his surprise, Attea looked thoughtful rather than triumphant. "It wasn't as satisfying as I expected." she admitted. "She didn't even seem that upset."

"The anticipated emotional response was indeed subdued compared to projection models." EightEight agreed. "Perhaps the subject has genuinely progressed beyond romantic attachment to Ben Tennyson."

"Of course she has." Ben said, exasperated. "That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

Hope, who had watched the whole exchange from nearby, approached with a smirk. "Well, that was entertaining. What's next on the revenge tour? Tracking down Kai Green?"

Attea and EightEight exchanged a look that made Ben's stomach drop.

"No." he said firmly. "Absolutely not. We are not bothering Kai too!"

"I have already compiled a comprehensive dossier on Kai Green's current activities, psychological profile, and potential vulnerability points." EightEight stated matter-of-factly, pulling up a disturbingly detailed file on her tablet.

"I helped." Hope added cheerfully. "Did you know she's working on a dig site just outside Bellwood? Very convenient."

"Why are you encouraging this?" Ben demanded of Hope.

She shrugged. "Entertainment value. My life gets boring between magical catastrophes."

Ben looked from Hope's amused expression to Attea's determined one to EightEight's unreadable helmet, and sighed deeply. "Can we at least get lunch first before you try to ruin another one of my past relationships?"

"A sensible suggestion. Proper nutrition is essential for optimal revenge execution."

"Fine." Attea agreed. "But I want more chili fries. Winning makes me hungry."

As the strange group left the tennis courts, Ben couldn't help but notice Julie watching them go with an expression that mixed confusion, concern, and—most worryingly—pity.

Chapter Text

The first thing Ben Tennyson noticed upon waking was the silence.

This, in itself, was a monumental event, a celestial anomaly on par with a Chronosapien arriving on time for an appointment. For the past several days–ever since his self-proclaimed Incursean fiancée, Attea, had decided to extend her unsanctioned vacation on Earth–his mornings had begun not with the gentle prodding of his alarm clock, but with the distinct and unnerving sensation of being watched.

Usually, it was Attea or EightEight, the purple-armored Sotoraggian bounty hunter, who had somehow bypassed his home security. But this morning? Nothing.

No intense staring. No sound of quiet, metallic breathing from the shadows. No whispered declarations of eternal love or muttered threats against his other female acquaintances. Just the soft, golden light of a Bellwood morning filtering through his blinds, the distant hum of traffic, and the gentle whir of his laptop in sleep mode.

Ben sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He stretched, his joints popping in a satisfying chorus. He ran a hand through his perpetually messy brown hair and glanced around the room. It was empty. His gamer chair was unoccupied. The corner was just a corner, filled with a pile of discarded hoodies. A profound sense of relief washed over him, so potent it was almost dizzying.

"Finally." he breathed out, a wide, genuine smile spreading across his face. "A normal morning."

He swung his legs out of bed, his feet hitting the cool wood of the floor. He stood, stretched again–this time reaching for the ceiling–and let out a contented sigh. Maybe things were finally calming down. Maybe Attea was learning the concept of personal space. Maybe EightEight had found a new bounty that didn't involve stalking him. Maybe–just maybe–his life was returning to some semblance of normalcy.

He padded out of his room and down the hall, the floorboards creaking softly under his weight. The house was quiet. He could hear the low hum of the refrigerator from the kitchen. No sounds of his mom making breakfast, which meant he was on his own. Perfect. That meant one thing and one thing only.

Chili fries.

The craving hit him with the force of a Kineceleran’s punch. It was primal, an undeniable need that resonated deep within his soul. Mr. Smoothy's was calling to him, a siren song of fried potatoes, savory chili, and melted cheese. It was the perfect breakfast for a hero, the fuel of champions.

He ducked back into his room, pulling on a pair of jeans and his signature black-striped green t-shirt. He grabbed his wallet and his phone, shoving them into his pockets. As his fingers brushed against the cool metal of the Omnitrix on his wrist, he paused. He glanced at it, a silent question passing between wielder and device. Should he expect trouble? The green glow of the faceplate seemed to pulse with a calm, steady rhythm. No alarms, no weird energy signatures.

"Alright, watch." he muttered. "Let's keep it that way. Today is a no-alien-drama day. It's a chili-fries-and-relaxing day."

He gave the Omnitrix a confident tap, as if sealing a pact. With a newfound spring in his step, Ben Tennyson bounded down the stairs, exited his house into the pleasant morning air, and set off toward his greasy, delicious destiny, utterly and blissfully unaware that his "normal morning" was merely the universe taking a deep breath before plunging him back into the beautiful, frustrating, and ever-expanding chaos of his love life. The silence wasn't peace; it was a prelude. And the stage for the next act was already set at a sticky table in his favorite fast-food establishment.

He whistled a cheerful tune as he walked, the sun warming his face. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he felt like a regular guy heading out for breakfast. No galactic empresses, no high-tech assassins, no universe-ending threats. Just him and the promise of a perfect meal.

It was a beautiful, fragile illusion. And it was about to be shattered into a million greasy, cheesy pieces. Ben pushed open the door to Mr. Smoothy's, the little bell above it chiming merrily, and the scent of fried food and sugary drinks enveloped him like a warm hug. He strode to the counter, his smile unwavering.

"One large order of chili fries, extra cheese." he said to the bored-looking teen behind the register.

"Coming right up, Tennyson."

He paid, took his receipt, and turned to find a table. And that's when he saw them.

Sitting in his favorite booth–the one in the back corner with the slightly torn vinyl but the best view of the street–were the two sources of his recent morning disturbances. Attea, slurping a green smoothie with noisy enthusiasm, and EightEight, sitting ramrod straight, her purple helmet tilted at an angle that suggested she was analyzing the nutritional content of the salt shaker.

Ben’s smile didn't just falter; it died a swift and tragic death. His shoulders slumped. His brief, beautiful dream of normalcy evaporated like morning mist.

"Of course." he sighed, the sound lost in the sizzle of the deep fryer. "Of course."

The universe wasn't just taking a breath. It was laughing at him. Attea looked up from her smoothie, a bit of green foam clinging to her upper lip. Her eyes lit up the moment they landed on Ben.

"Benny-boo!" she exclaimed, her voice easily cutting through the restaurant's ambient noise. Several customers glanced over. Ben felt a familiar flush creep up his neck. "I knew you couldn't resist the call of this–this glorious slop! I was just telling EightEight that your primitive human senses would guide you to us!"

EightEight, who had not moved a millimeter, offered a slight, almost imperceptible nod in his direction. Her helmet’s red optic seemed to brighten for a fraction of a second.  "Greetings, Benjamin. Your arrival was calculated with a ninety-two-point-seven percent probability based on your established dietary patterns and the time of day. It is... satisfactory to see the data proven correct."

Ben trudged over to the booth, the tray of chili fries feeling suddenly heavier in his hands. "How did you two even–you know what? I'm not even gonna ask." He slid into the booth opposite them, placing his glorious meal between them like a sacrificial offering. "Couldn't you just text?"

Attea wiped her mouth leaving a faint green smear. "And miss the look on your face? Never! Besides, we had important matters to discuss. Matters of the–harem."

Ben stabbed a fry into the chili with more force than necessary. "It's not a harem!" he grumbled, his voice low and insistent. "It's a–a collection of... friends... who happen to be girls... and who are also aliens... and who follow me around. It's totally different."

"The term 'harem' is defined as a group of women associated with one man." EightEight recited, her tone as clinical as a medical droid's. "While the historical context often implies concubinage, the modern colloquial usage fits our current dynamic with startling accuracy. Your denial is statistically insignificant."

"See?" Attea said, gesturing at the armored bounty hunter with a thumb. "Tin Can gets it. Anyway, we need to talk strategy."

Ben shoved a forkful of chili fries into his mouth, chewing with angry determination. It was delicious. The savory chili, the sharp cheddar, the perfectly crisp potatoes–it was a symphony of flavor that almost made the current conversation bearable. Almost. He swallowed. "Strategy for what? Are we invading a planet? Stealing a priceless artifact? Because if it doesn't involve punching something, I might not be interested."

"Better!" Attea leaned forward, her elbows planting firmly on the sticky tabletop. Her eyes gleamed with a mischievous, almost feral light. "Humiliation!"

Ben paused, a cheese-laden fry halfway to his mouth. "Humiliation? Who are we humiliating now? Please don't say Julie again. The whole tennis thing was weird, and she was just... nice about it. It completely backfired."

Attea waved a dismissive hand. "Pah! That ship-faced Yamamoto girl is old news. Her lack of a vengeful spirit is an insult to competitive sports. No–we have a new target. A much more deserving one."

Ben sighed, already dreading the answer. "Who? Kai?"

It was EightEight who answered, her helmet tilting slightly. "Our intelligence, procured via my associate, the reformed sorceress known as Hope, indicates that the individual designated Kai Green is currently engaged in an archaeological excavation on the outskirts of Bellwood."

Ben froze. "What did she ever do to you?"

Attea scoffed, a noise like a bullfrog being stepped on. "What did she do? Benny-boo, my sweet, naive fool–she exists! She wanders around in her little shorts, digging up old bones and pretending she's a better match for you than a literal Empress! It's preposterous! And–" she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "she once called you a doofus. I heard it. Through a wall. In a pyramid. The insult has festered!"

Ben blinked. "She calls everyone a doofus. It's kind of her thing. And that was years ago!"

"Irrelevant." EightEight stated flatly. "The insult was logged. More importantly, she represents a potential rival for your affections. All potential rivals must be assessed, and if found wanting, neutralized. It is simple threat management."

"Neutralized?!" Ben yelped, nearly upsetting his precious chili fries. "You can't just 'neutralize' Kai! She's a friend! An old friend!"

"A temporary and correctable condition." Attea said with a grin. "Don't worry, Ben. We're not going to hurt her. Much."

"We are simply going to orchestrate a scenario of such profound and memorable embarrassment that she will voluntarily choose to relocate her archaeological endeavors to a different continent." EightEight clarified. "Preferably one with poor satellite reception."

Ben stared at them, his appetite vanishing completely. On one side, a tiny, green, despotic frog empress with a penchant for dramatics. On the other, a high-tech, logic-driven assassin who viewed social interaction as a series of tactical problems to be solved. And he was stuck in the middle, the gooey, cheesy center of a very weird and potentially destructive sandwich.

"This is a terrible idea." he said, shaking his head. "Whatever you have planned, just–don't. Let's just finish our fries and... I don't know, go to the arcade or something."

Attea and EightEight exchanged a look–or at least, Attea looked at EightEight's impassive helmet, which probably constituted a look in their strange, new partnership.

"Oh, sweetie." Attea cooed, reaching across the table to pat his hand. Her webbed fingers were cool and slightly damp from her smoothie. "It's far too late for that."

EightEight’s head tilted again. The single red optic seemed to bore into him. " The plan is already in motion. Phase one was initiated approximately forty-seven minutes ago. "

Ben’s blood ran cold. He slowly pulled his hand back from Attea’s. "Phase one? What... what is phase one?"

Attea’s grin widened, all teeth. "A special delivery."

"I sent her a bomb." EightEight added, with all the casual indifference of someone mentioning they had just mailed a postcard.

The words hung in the air of the Mr. Smoothy's, thick and heavy like the grease from the fryer. Around them, life continued. A kid spilled his drink. A couple argued over which smoothie flavor was superior. The bored teen at the counter scrolled through his phone. None of them were aware that the word "bomb" had just been dropped with the casualness of a napkin.

Ben’s fork, laden with what would have been a perfect bite of cheesy potato, clattered onto his tray. His eyes were wide, his face a mask of pure, undiluted panic.

"A–a what?" he stammered, his voice a choked whisper.

"A bomb." EightEight repeated, her synthesized voice unwavering. "A contained explosive device designed to detonate upon proximity or via a timer. In this case, a proximity trigger keyed to her unique bio-signature. It was delivered via a subcontracted, untraceable courier drone disguised as a floral delivery service. The package itself was disguised as a grant approval notification from the Bellwood Historical Society. A classic bait-and-switch."

Ben could only stare, his brain struggling to process the string of horrifyingly calm words. He turned his wide, terrified eyes to Attea, silently pleading for her to say it was a joke.

Attea, however, merely took another loud slurp of her smoothie. She finished it with a guttural "Ahhh!" of satisfaction and set the empty cup down. "You sure do like bombs, don't you, Tin Can?" she remarked conversationally. "It's a little one-note, if you ask me. But–effective! I approve."

"Approve?!" Ben finally found his voice, and it came out as a strangled squawk. "You approve of sending a BOMB to one of my friends?! Are you both insane?!"

Several patrons turned to look at their booth again. Ben didn't care.

"The accusation of insanity is a common emotional response to logical, albeit extreme, problem-solving." EightEight noted. "The device is not lethal. Its purpose is not termination, but humiliation. The blast radius is minimal. The primary payload is non-injurious."

"NON-INJURIOUS?!" Ben practically shouted, slamming his hands down on the table. His chili fries jumped. "IT'S A BOMB! BOMBS ARE, BY DEFINITION, VERY, VERY INJURIOUS! THAT'S THEIR WHOLE THING!"

Attea patted his arm soothingly, though her grip was surprisingly strong. "Calm down, Ben, you're going to give yourself a vessel-pop. She's not going to get blown to bits. Just... redecorated. Right?" She glanced at EightEight for confirmation.

"Correct. The payload consists of a fast-expanding, high-adhesion foam, dyed a particularly offensive shade of pink, and two hundred kilograms of iridescent glitter. Upon detonation, she will be encased and sparkly. The subsequent social media fallout should effectively neutralize her as a romantic competitor for a minimum of six to eight weeks."

Ben stared, slack-jawed. Pink foam. Glitter. He tried to picture Kai, the serious, no-nonsense adventurer, suddenly encased in a mountain of sparkly pink goo. The image was so absurd, so utterly ridiculous, that for a split second, his panic was replaced by a bewildered sense of disbelief. Then the panic came roaring back, stronger than before.

"That's–that's still a bomb!" he insisted, his voice cracking. "What if it malfunctions? What if the courier drone crashes? What if she's standing next to some priceless, thousand-year-old artifact when your 'non-injurious' glitter-bomb goes off?!"

EightEight's helmet tilted in a gesture that might have been a shrug on a normal person. "Acceptable collateral damage in the pursuit of a primary objective."

"No! Not acceptable!" Ben shot out of his seat, his chair scraping loudly against the linoleum floor. "We have to go. Now! We have to stop it!"

Attea sighed dramatically, slumping back in her seat. "Oh, must we? I was enjoying my post-slop digestion period. And you haven't even finished your fries!"

"There's no time!" Ben grabbed Attea's arm, hauling her to her feet. She was surprisingly light. "Where is the dig site? EightEight, coordinates! Now!"

"Approximately three-point-four kilometers east of our current location." she replied, rising from her seat with a smooth, silent motion that was deeply unsettling. "My calculations suggest the courier drone is scheduled to arrive in T-minus seven minutes. Given our current modes of transportation, our probability of interception is low."

"We'll see about that." Ben said, his hand instinctively going to the Omnitrix. He was already scrolling through his aliens, his mind racing. "Jetray? Fasttrack? XLR8! Yeah, XLR8 can get us there!"

He slammed his hand down on the faceplate.

There was a flash of brilliant green light, momentarily blinding everyone in the restaurant. The familiar transformation sequence began, his body shifting and contorting. He felt himself shrinking, his skin hardening into a blue, armored carapace. Two large pincers sprouted from his back.

The light faded, leaving not the sleek, velociraptor-like form of XLR8, but the short, squat, crab-like figure of Brainstorm.

"Oh, come on!" Brainstorm screeched, his voice a nasally, intellectual squawk. He cracked open his skull plate, revealing the massive, pulsating brain within. "The crustacean cerebro-technopath? At a time like this? The Omnitrix's randomization matrix is, in a word, preposterously inconvenient!"

Attea burst out laughing, a series of high-pitched, croaking giggles. "You turned into the smarty-pants crab! Oh, this is perfect!"

"An interesting, if suboptimal, development." EightEight observed. "His intellectual capacity is now greatly enhanced, but his ambulatory velocity is significantly decreased."

"You think I am unaware of my own biomechanical limitations?!" Brainstorm snapped, waving a pincer at her. "Cease your redundant commentary! The situation is dire! My plan to utilize a Kineceleran's velocity is kaput, kaput! We must abscond with haste! Follow me!"

He scuttled sideways towards the door with surprising speed, his little crab legs clicking rapidly on the floor. "The intended recipient of the parcel is in mortal–or at the very least, extreme social–peril! There is no time for dawdling!"

Attea, still giggling, and EightEight, moving with her unnerving efficiency, followed the frantic crab-alien out of Mr. Smoothy's. The other customers just stared, mouths agape, at the half-eaten tray of chili fries left abandoned on the table, a monument to a breakfast tragically interrupted by intergalactic romantic warfare.

Chapter Text

The trio burst out onto the sunlit streets of Bellwood, a sight that would have sent any normal citizen running for cover or reaching for their phone to post on social media. First, a highly agitated, talking alien crab waving his pincers frantically. Second, a small, green, frog-like alien empress who was trying, and failing, to stifle her laughter. And third, a silent, purple-clad robotic assassin who moved with the eerie grace of a panther.

"Cease your infernal cachinnations!" Brainstorm shrieked at Attea, his voice echoing slightly in the open air. "A potential catastrophe is unfolding, and your amusement is both unhelpful and, frankly, irritating!"

"I can't help it!" Attea gasped between giggles, jogging to keep up with his sideways scuttling. "You're just so–crabby! Get it? Crabby!"

Brainstorm let out a sound that was a mixture of a groan and the static of a badly tuned radio. "The usage of such a simplistic pun in a moment of crisis is indicative of a mind ill-suited for high-stakes operations! Now, which way is east?!"

"This direction." EightEight said, pointing a sleek, metallic finger down the main street. She had already activated her jetpack, which hummed to life with a low, powerful thrum. She hovered an inch off the ground, a clear advantage. "My propulsion system will allow me to reach the target zone in approximately one hundred and twenty seconds. I can disarm the device upon arrival."

"Negative!" Brainstorm snapped, stopping so abruptly that Attea almost tripped over him. "You are the architect of this debacle! Allowing you to approach the device unsupervised is a tactical fallacy of the highest order! You might 'accidentally' fail to disarm it! We proceed as a unit!"

"Your lack of trust is noted." EightEight replied, her optic glowing a little brighter. "However, it is the most logical course of action."

"Logic begets logic, my dear Sotoraggian saboteur!" Brainstorm retorted, opening his skull plate again as if to air out his magnificent brain. "And the logic of the situation dictates that the one individual who desperately wants to prevent this explosion–namely, me, the vessel of Benjamin Kirby Tennyson's consciousness–must be present to oversee the operation! It's elementary game theory!"

Attea finally managed to control her giggles, though a smirk remained plastered on her face. "He's got you there, Tin Can. No cheating. We have to make sure the humiliation is administered correctly. Not–you know–lethally." She leaned closer to Brainstorm. "But if she gets a little singed, I wouldn't complain."

"There will be no singeing!" Brainstorm declared, resuming his frantic sideways dash. The absurdity of the situation was not lost on him. He, a being of supreme intellect, was forced to scuttle along a sidewalk while his two... accomplices?... debated the acceptable level of harm for a prank. It was mortifying.

They drew more than a few stares. A man walking his dog stopped dead in his tracks, the poodle yapping in confusion. A group of teenagers whipped out their phones, instantly recording.

"Look, it's Ben 10!" one of them shouted. "He's a crab today!"

"Awesome!" another yelled. "Do a smart thing!"

"I AM ATTEMPTING TO DO A VERY SMART THING!" Brainstorm yelled back over his shoulder-pincer. "I AM PREVENTING AN ACT OF GLITTER-BASED ALIEN TERRORISM! NOW STAND ASIDE!"

They rounded a corner, Brainstorm's brain working at incredible speed. The dig site was on the outskirts of town, near the woods. The main roads would be too slow.

"To the alleyways!" he commanded. "A more direct route! The hypotenuse of the urban triangle, if you will!"

He veered sharply into a narrow alley between a laundromat and a pizza place. The smell of garbage and marinara sauce filled the air.

Attea wrinkled her nose. "Ugh, it smells like a Florshian bog-market in here."

EightEight, hovering silently behind them, seemed unaffected. "Air quality analysis indicates high concentrations of methane, yeast particulates, and discarded tomato product. It is suboptimal, but navigable."

"Less analysis, more locomotion!" Brainstorm urged.

They were halfway down the alley when EightEight's jetpack suddenly sputtered and died. She dropped to the ground with a solid, metallic clank .

"Status?" Brainstorm demanded, skidding to a halt.

EightEight ran a quick diagnostic, her optic flickering. "My power cells are depleted. The sustained, low-altitude hovering utilized during our breakfast summit has drained them beyond operational capacity. A rookie error. I neglected to recharge after my surveillance of your domicile last night."

Ben, even in his crab-like form, felt a fresh wave of exasperation. "You were watching my house all night?!"

"Affirmative. I was observing for potential rival activity. It was a quiet night."

Attea poked one of EightEight's disabled jetpack thrusters. "So, you're grounded, rust-bucket? Ha! Guess you'll have to run like a normal person."

"My armored exoskeleton weighs approximately one hundred and fifty kilograms." EightEight stated. "'Running like a normal person' is not an efficient option. My maximum unassisted speed is a brisk walk."

Brainstorm threw his pincers up in the air in a gesture of pure frustration. "Inconceivable! We are beset by one setback after another! A mis-transformation! A power failure! The universe itself conspires against us!" He began pacing back and forth, his brain pulsing visibly. "Think, Brainstorm, think! We need speed. We need transport. How do we get a Cerebrocrustacean, an Incursean, and a grounded Sotoraggian to a location three kilometers away in less than–Good heavens, we have under four minutes!"

He paused, his multifaceted eyes scanning the alley. They fell upon a row of overflowing dumpsters, a discarded bicycle with a missing wheel, and then... a beat-up, graffiti-covered van belonging to "Mr. Baumann's Groceries." The side door was slightly ajar.

A ridiculously brilliant, and brilliantly ridiculous, idea began to form in his massive brain. It was undignified. It was illegal. It was probably very, very smelly.

But it was their only shot.

"Aha!" Brainstorm exclaimed, pointing a pincer at the van. "Behold! Our salvation! A wheeled conveyance! Attea, your diminutive stature and inherent sneakiness will be an asset! Pry open that door! EightEight, your mass will be required for momentum! We are about to engage in an act of grand theft auto!"

Attea’s eyes widened, then a wicked grin spread across her face. "Stealing a smelly Earth vehicle? Benny-boo, you do know how to show a girl a good time!"

Attea didn't need to be told twice. With the gleeful energy of a seasoned delinquent, she scurried over to the graffiti-tagged van. The side door was already ajar, a clear invitation from the universe to engage in some light-hearted felony. She wedged her green, webbed fingers into the gap and pulled. The door screeched open with a sound like a dying Pterodactyl, revealing the dark, cavernous interior.

The smell that wafted out was a complex bouquet of rotting cabbage, sour milk, and something vaguely fungal.

"Whoa." Attea said, waving a hand in front of her face. "Smells worse than my father's battle-socks."

"My olfactory sensors are identifying twenty-seven distinct forms of airborne bacteria, four of which are not native to this planet." EightEight reported from the alley entrance. "This is... intriguing."

"There will be time for bacteriological study later!" Brainstorm commanded, scuttling towards the open door. "Into the vehicle! Time is of the essence! Every second we waste is another second the glitter-bomb of Damocles hangs over Kai Green's unsuspecting head!"

He clambered inside, his crab legs slipping slightly on a patch of sticky, unidentifiable goo. He wrinkled his snout in disgust. The floor was littered with crushed boxes, wilted lettuce leaves, and the occasional squashed tomato that had become one with the grimy metal floor.

Attea hopped in after him, landing with a light thud. "Cozy." she deadpanned, kicking a shriveled potato out of her way.

EightEight followed, her heavy, metallic footsteps echoing in the enclosed space. The entire van dipped ominously to one side under her weight.

"The vehicle's suspension is inadequate for my mass." she observed. "We may experience handling issues."

"We'll cross that rickety, poorly-engineered bridge when we come to it!" Brainstorm declared. He scuttled past them, towards the front of the van. "Now, the ignition system! Most Terran vehicles of this vintage utilize a primitive key-based mechanical tumbler system. A simple matter to bypass with my electrokinetic abilities!"

He reached the driver's seat and paused. There was a problem. A very obvious, very physical problem. His short, crustacean body simply couldn't reach the steering wheel and the pedals at the same time. He was built for superior intellect, not for operating outdated human machinery.

"Ah." he said, the sound small and defeated. "A developmental oversight in my current morphology. This presents a conundrum."

Attea vaulted over the front seats, landing gracefully in the passenger side. She looked Brainstorm up and down, then at the pedals far below. "Looks like you're not tall enough to ride this ride, Brainy-crab."

"Your powers of observation are as sharp as they are unhelpful!" he snapped. Then, he sighed, a sound like air leaking from a tire. "This will require... teamwork. A symbiotic piloting arrangement." He looked from Attea to EightEight. "A most distasteful solution, but a necessary one."

His magnificent brain devised a plan in microseconds. It was humiliating. It was absurd. It was their only way forward.

"Attea!" he commanded. "You shall operate the pedals! Your reflexes, while chaotic, are swift! I shall instruct you when to engage the accelerator and the brake!"

"You want me to drive?" Attea’s grin was predatory. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

"You are not driving! You are a biological foot-extension! A pedal-pusher!" Brainstorm corrected. "I am the driver! My intellect shall steer us to victory! Now, get down there!"

Attea giggled but complied, sliding off the seat and contorting herself into the driver's side footwell. "Okay, I've got a big one and a small one down here. Which is which?"

"The larger pedal is the brake, the elongated one is the accelerator! Do not confuse them! The consequences would be–well, consequential!" Brainstorm hoisted himself onto the driver's seat. He could just peer over the dashboard. He gripped the steering wheel with his pincers. "Excellent. Now, EightEight!"

The Sotoraggian stood silently in the back. "Yes, Cerebrocrustacean?"

"Your role is crucial." Brainstorm said gravely. "This vehicle appears to possess a manual transmission. Observe the gearshift! I will announce the required gear, and you will move the lever accordingly! It requires precision and strength!"

EightEight stepped forward, her heavy form making the van groan in protest. She peered at the gearstick rising from the center console. "Understood. I will manipulate the multi-gear selection apparatus upon your command."

"Splendid!" Brainstorm declared. "A three-being piloting system! What could possibly go wrong?"

He placed his pincers on the steering column, located the ignition wires beneath, and sent a small, controlled jolt of electricity through them. The engine sputtered, coughed, and then roared to life with the sound of a thousand angry badgers. The whole van shuddered violently.

"Success!" Brainstorm cried triumphantly. "Now, Attea, depress the clutch! That's the third pedal on the far left!"

"The what?" Attea's voice echoed from the footwell. "There's another one? It's crowded down here!"

"Just push all of them!"

"Okay!"

Brainstorm felt the pedals go down. "EightEight, first gear! The upper-left position!"

"Engaging." EightEight said. She gripped the gearstick and slammed it forward with the force of a hydraulic press. There was a horrifying grinding sound of metal on metal that made Brainstorm's antennae twitch.

"Gently!" he shrieked. "It is a gearshift, not an opponent to be vanquished!"

"Noted. Recalibrating force application."

"Attea, release the clutch slowly and apply gentle pressure to the accelerator!"

"Release the which-one and push the what-now?"

"The left pedal up, the right pedal down! Slowly!"

"Got it!"

Attea's foot slipped off the clutch. The van leaped forward like a startled animal, shot out of the alley, and slammed sideways into a stack of plastic recycling bins on the curb. The sound of the impact was deafening.

"I said slowly!" Brainstorm yelled, wrestling with the steering wheel.

"My foot slipped!" Attea yelled back. "It's greasy down here!"

The van was now perpendicular to the road, blocking one lane of traffic. Cars were already honking.

"Reverse!" Brainstorm commanded, his voice strained. "EightEight, reverse gear! Bottom right! Attea, same pedal procedure!"

GRIND! CRUNCH!

The van shot backwards, this time clipping the wall of the pizza place and sending a shower of brick dust into the air.

"My apologies." EightEight's voice intoned from beside him. "I may have overestimated the structural integrity of the gear housing."

"Just get it into first gear!" Brainstorm screeched. "Attea, go! Just go!"

With a lurch and a roar, the van shot forward, swerving wildly into the correct lane. Brainstorm, using all his enhanced brainpower, managed to straighten them out. They were moving. They were a chaotic, destructive, foul-smelling missile of panic, but they were moving.

From the footwell, Attea's gleeful laughter could be heard over the groaning engine. "Again! This is the most fun I've had all day!"

Ben Tennyson, trapped in the mind of a hyper-intelligent crab, could only groan. His plan to save Kai Green from humiliation was quickly turning into a city-wide demolition derby.

The journey to the dig site was less of a drive and more of a controlled catastrophe. Brainstorm, perched on the driver's seat like a crustacean king on a very lumpy throne, found that steering the decrepit van was like trying to reason with a Pyronite in a fireworks factory. The wheel had a mind of its own, and the vehicle listed heavily to the right due to EightEight's presence.

"Maintain a steady velocity!" he yelled over the protesting engine. "Attea, your pressure on the accelerator is erratic! It vacillates between 'sloth' and 'light speed'!"

"I'm trying!" came the muffled, cheerful reply from the footwell. "But every time we hit a bump, my foot bounces!"

They hit a pothole. The van leaped into the air, landing with a bone-jarring crash. In the back, a crate of what Brainstorm could only assume were ancient, petrified oranges overturned, sending the fossilized fruit rolling across the floor.

"Second gear!" Brainstorm commanded, seeing a stretch of open road ahead. "EightEight, if you please! With delicacy!"

"Applying minimal required force." EightEight responded. She gently nudged the gearstick. There was a less-horrifying, but still unsettling, clunk . The van picked up speed with a shudder.

"We are making progress!" Brainstorm announced, a hint of genuine optimism in his voice. "My internal chronometer indicates we may yet arrive before the detonation event! My superior intellect, combined with your... rudimentary physical inputs... might just save the day!"

His optimism was premature.

As they approached a four-way intersection, the traffic light ahead turned yellow.

"Deceleration required!" Brainstorm shouted. "Attea, apply the brake! The large, middle pedal!"

"Brake it is!"

Attea stomped her foot down. Unfortunately, in the cramped and greasy footwell, her foot landed squarely on both the brake and the accelerator at the same time. The engine screamed in protest, a high-pitched mechanical wail of agony. The wheels locked up, but the engine fought against them, trying to propel the van forward. The vehicle skidded, fishtailing wildly, the smell of burning rubber filling the cab.

"You are engaging both pedals simultaneously!" Brainstorm shrieked, wrestling the steering wheel. "It is a vehicular paradox! CEASE!"

They shot through the intersection sideways just as the light turned red. A truck blared its horn, swerving to avoid them and jackknifing with a screech of tortured metal. Miraculously, no one collided.

Brainstorm managed to straighten them out, his pincers trembling from the effort. His brain felt like it was overheating. "That–that was suboptimal! Attea, from this moment forward, you are restricted to ONE pedal at a time! Is that understood?!"

"Loud and clear, Crabby-boo!" she chirped, completely unfazed. "That was a neat trick, though. We should do it again!"

"Analysis of the maneuver indicates a 3.2% chance of survival if repeated." EightEight commented dryly. "I would advise against it."

They continued their rampage through the quieter, suburban streets of Bellwood. They took a corner too wide and drove over Mr. Baumann's prized petunias, leaving a trail of uprooted flowers and dark soil in their wake. They clipped a mailbox, sending letters scattering into the wind like confetti. A garden gnome met a tragic end under their tires, shattering into a hundred ceramic pieces. It was a trail of minor property damage that would have made a younger, more reckless Ben Tennyson proud. The current, crab-like Ben Tennyson was horrified.

"My apologies, Mr. Henderson!" Brainstorm yelled out the window as the gnome disintegrated. "I will compensate you for your lost lawn sentinel!"

"He's talking to the garden decorations." Attea noted from below. "I think the stress is getting to him."

"We are almost there!" Brainstorm announced, recognizing the stretch of woods ahead. "The excavation site is just beyond this thicket! We must abandon our commandeered transport!"

He spotted a clearing off the side of the road. "Attea, prepare to brake! Gently! Like you are landing a delicate, priceless Fabergé egg made of nitroglycerin!"

"Landing the what-now?"

"Just push the brake pedal! SOFTLY!"

Attea gently applied pressure to the brake. The van slowed with a series of groans and squeals, eventually rolling to a stop in the clearing. The engine sputtered twice, backfired loudly, and then fell silent. A plume of black smoke drifted from the exhaust pipe.

Brainstorm let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief, his entire body slumping. "We have arrived. The vehicle is... parked."

He slid off the driver's seat. Attea wriggled out from the footwell, covered in a thin film of grease and dust, but grinning from ear to ear. "That was AMAZING! Can we keep it?"

"Absolutely not! This vehicle is a crime scene!" Brainstorm retorted. He turned to EightEight. "What is the status of the glitter-payload?"

EightEight’s optic glowed as she scanned the area. "The device's proximity sensor has been activated. It has detected Kai Green's bio-signature. Detonation is imminent. Estimated time until deployment: thirty-eight seconds."

Panic surged through Brainstorm once more. "Thirty-eight seconds! There's no time to lose! To the dig site! Double time!"

He burst from the van's side door and began scuttling through the underbrush towards the sounds of faint digging. Attea and EightEight were right behind him. They broke through the tree line and into a large, dusty clearing.

There, in the center of a roped-off square of earth, was Kai Green. She was on her knees, carefully brushing dust from a large, flat stone covered in strange carvings. She was completely absorbed in her work, a look of intense concentration on her face. A few feet away from her, sitting innocently on a folding table next to her water bottle, was a large manila envelope with the Bellwood Historical Society's logo on it.

The bomb.

"Kai!" Brainstorm yelled, his voice shrill with panic.

Kai looked up, her expression shifting from concentration to utter bewilderment at the sight of a talking alien crab, an Incursean empress, and a purple bounty hunter charging towards her.

"Ben?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion. "What are you–is that a Cerebrocrustacean?"

"There is no time for taxonomic identification!" he shrieked. "Get away from the envelope!"

But it was too late. As he spoke, the envelope began to vibrate, letting out a high-pitched, electronic whine.

"Get down!" Ben–in the core of his being, it was Ben, the hero–took over. He didn't think. He reacted.

He launched himself forward with all the force his little crab legs could muster. He flew through the air in a surprisingly graceful arc, positioning his hard, blue shell between Kai and the whining package. He would shield her from the blast. It was what a hero did.

He braced for the impact, for the searing heat, for the concussive force.

The bomb went off.

Chapter Text

There was no fiery explosion. There was no deafening roar. There was only a loud, wet POP , like a champagne cork being fired from a cannon, followed by a sound like a thousand tiny bells ringing at once.

Ben, still in his Brainstorm form, felt a wave of... something... wash over him. It wasn't hot. It wasn't painful. It was... soft, and oddly festive.

He opened his eyes.

The world was pink. And sparkly.

A massive, viscous wave of bubblegum-pink foam had erupted from the envelope, expanding at an impossible rate. It had completely engulfed the folding table, a pile of digging equipment, and, most importantly, him. He was encased from his eyestalks to his little crab feet in a sticky, high-adhesion cocoon. And mixed into the foam, catching the sunlight in a billion points of dazzling light, was the glitter.

Iridescent, multi-colored, ridiculously cheerful glitter. It coated everything.

Brainstorm was trapped. He tried to move a pincer, but it was stuck fast. He was a prisoner in a fortress of sparkly confection.

Through a thin spot in the foam covering his face, he could see Kai. He had managed to shield her from the direct blast. She was on her feet, stumbling backwards, her face a perfect portrait of shock and awe. She had a few pink splotches on her boots and a light dusting of glitter on her cargo shorts, but she was otherwise untouched.

His heroic dive had worked. He had saved her from the worst of it. The relief was so profound that he almost didn't mind being entombed in what looked like a unicorn's sneeze.

Then he saw Attea and EightEight at the edge of the clearing.

Attea was bent over, howling with laughter. She was pointing at him, tears of mirth streaming down her green cheeks. "You're–you're a sparkly crab-cake!" she shrieked, slapping her knee. "Oh, this is even better than the plan! Benny-boo, you look ridiculous!"

EightEight stood perfectly still, her helmet tilted. "The plan has failed." she stated, her voice flat. "The primary target was missed. The heroic-sacrificial-instincts of Benjamin Tennyson were not factored into my projections. This is a significant data oversight. The result is... suboptimal."

Suboptimal? Ben fumed from within his pink prison. It was a complete and utter disaster! He was trapped, Kai was staring at him like he'd just sprouted a second head, and his so-called allies were offering no help whatsoever!

"A little assistance would be appreciated!" he managed to yell, his voice muffled by the foam.

Kai finally snapped out of her trance. She cautiously approached the massive, glittering pink mound that had once been Ben 10. "Ben? Are you okay in there? What just happened?"

"It was a glitter bomb!" he yelled back. "A very poorly thought-out plan to... humiliate you! I am so, so sorry!"

Kai stared at the mess, then at Attea, who was still laughing hysterically, and then at the silent, imposing figure of EightEight. A slow, dawning comprehension spread across her face, followed by a flicker of annoyance.

"Humiliate me?" she repeated, putting her hands on her hips. "Why would you want to humiliate me?"

Before Ben could offer a foamy, apologetic explanation, EightEight took a step forward. Her red optic seemed to pulse. "My analysis of the failed operation indicates a follow-up action is required to achieve the primary objective of embarrassment."

"No!" Ben shouted from inside his pink prison. "No follow-up actions! The plan is cancelled! Abort! Abort!"

EightEight ignored him. She raised her arm, and a small, previously unnoticed compartment slid open on her wrist gauntlet. A sleek, futuristic-looking water pistol, colored in matching shades of purple and black, emerged from within.

"Secondary humiliation protocol: engage." she announced.

She took aim at Kai and fired.

A powerful, perfectly aimed stream of water shot across the clearing and hit Kai square in the chest.

It wasn't a huge blast, but it was enough. Kai yelped in surprise, soaked from her neck to her belt. The water plastered her t-shirt to her skin and dripped from the brim of her hat. She stood there, dripping and stunned, a few stray pieces of glitter from the air now stuck to her wet clothes.

Silence descended on the dig site, broken only by Attea's fading giggles and the gentle dripping of water.

Kai Green slowly lowered her gaze from her soaked shirt to the water pistol in EightEight's hand. Then she looked at Attea, who was wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. Then she looked at the giant, sparkling pink crab-mound that was Ben. Her expression hardened. The confusion was gone, replaced by pure, unadulterated anger.

And it was all directed at him.

"BENJAMIN. KIRBY. TENNYSON." she said, her voice dangerously calm. "What is going on?"

Ben's magnificent Cerebrocrustacean brain, capable of solving trans-dimensional physics problems and calculating the trajectory of asteroids, could only come up with one, single, pathetic thought.

Uh oh.

The fury radiating from Kai Green was a palpable force, more intimidating than any alien warlord Ben had ever faced. It was the quiet, simmering anger of someone whose patience had not just been tested, but had been launched into orbit, nuked, and then scattered across the cosmos.

"A glitter bomb." she said, her voice still deceptively level. She gestured with a dripping hand towards the pink, sparkling mountain that was Brainstorm. "And a squirt gun." She pointed a trembling finger at EightEight. "You brought an assassin and a... frog-princess... to my active, scientifically significant archaeological dig site... to shoot me with glitter and water."

From within his foamy prison, Ben winced. When she put it like that, it sounded even worse. "It wasn't my idea! I tried to stop them! This whole–this whole heroic dive thing–was me stopping them!"

Kai's eyes narrowed into slits. "And who, exactly, are 'they,' Ben?"

Attea, having finally caught her breath, decided this was the perfect moment to assert her authority. She strode forward, planting her webbed hands on her hips in a perfect mimicry of Kai's stance.

"We are 'they,' bone-digger." Attea announced, her voice dripping with condescension. "I am Empress Attea, future ruler of the galaxy and Benny-boo's one and only fiancée. And we have decided that you are a nuisance. So we came here to... encourage you to dig for old pots somewhere else. Like, on Pluto."

Kai's gaze shifted to Attea. There was no fear in her eyes, only a sort of weary disdain. "His fiancée? Ben, is this true?"

"NO!" Ben's voice was a desperate, muffled roar. "NOT TRUE! VERY, VERY UNTRUE! IT'S A LONG, COMPLICATED, ONE-SIDED STORY!"

EightEight holstered her water pistol with a soft click. "My actions were a logical, albeit flawed, attempt to neutralize a perceived rival for the affections of Benjamin Tennyson. He is a high-value asset. Your continued proximity was deemed a potential threat to relational stability."

Kai stared at EightEight's impassive helmet. She looked at Attea's smug grin. She looked at the glitter-entombed crab-alien who was supposed to be her friend. She took a deep, steadying breath.

"A rival." Kai repeated slowly, as if tasting the word. "You two think... I'm your rival... for Ben?"

A strange sound escaped her. It started as a low chuckle, then grew into a full-blown laugh. It wasn't a laugh of amusement like Attea's had been. It was a laugh of pure, incredulous disbelief.

"You–you think I'm here for Ben ?" she finally managed to get out, wiping a tear from her eye. "I'm here for a recently unearthed pre-Mayan temple complex that could rewrite our understanding of ancient cross-continental travel! I'm on the verge of the biggest discovery of my career! You think I have time for... for this ?" She gestured wildly at the whole chaotic scene.

Attea's smugness faltered. "But... you're always hanging around him. And you went on that date to the museum!"

"That was years ago! We were kids!" Kai exclaimed. "And yes, he's my friend! Or at least I thought he was, until he started bringing his personal entourage of alien stalkers to my workplace to assault me with craft supplies!"

"It's not a harem!" Ben yelled defensively, a phrase that was becoming his mantra.

"I didn't say it was a harem!" Kai snapped back. "I said it's an entourage of alien stalkers! And you, Ben Tennyson, are apparently the grand marshal of this whole pathetic parade!"

Her anger, which had been simmering, finally boiled over. She stomped her foot, sending up a puff of dust.

"I have permits to be here! I have research grants! I have a team arriving tomorrow morning! And now I have to explain to them why a significant portion of quadrant B looks like it was attacked by a Care Bear! This foam is probably leaching weird chemicals into the soil! You could have damaged the artifacts! This whole area is now a compromised site!"

She jabbed a finger at Ben's sparkly prison. "Get out of that... thing. And then you, your fiancée-who-is-not-your-fiancée, and your robot girlfriend can get off my dig site before I call the Plumbers and report you for illegal use of glitter, unregistered alien presence, and general, all-around doofus-behavior!"

With that, she turned her back on them, marching over to her gear pack and pulling out a satellite phone. She was actually going to call the Plumbers. On him.

Ben felt a pang of genuine hurt. Kai had never been this angry with him before. He had messed up. Or rather, his associates had messed up, and he had failed to stop them in a way that didn't end with him becoming a lawn ornament.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry!" he said. "Just–let me get out of this stuff."

He began to struggle in earnest, trying to generate an electrical charge to dissolve the foam. But it was thick and weirdly insulating. It was going to take a minute.

Attea, however, was not taking the dismissal well. "Did she just call me a stalker and then turn her back on me? On an Empress?! Oh, that is it! No one insults my Benny-boo and then ignores me!"

She lunged forward, her sharp little claws extended.

"Negative." EightEight said, her voice cutting through the tension. In a flash of movement, she shot out an arm and caught Attea by the back of her uniform, lifting her into the air like a misbehaving kitten. "Further escalation is illogical. The target is angered. Our position is untenable. A tactical retreat is the optimal course of action."

"Put me down, you oversized can opener!" Attea squirmed, kicking her legs futilely. "I'm going to teach her some respect!"

"EightEight's right!" Ben yelled, still struggling. "We need to go! Now! Before Grandpa Max shows up and grounds me for life!"

Finally, with a surge of bio-electricity, Brainstorm managed to short-circuit the foam's adhesive properties. It sizzled, turned a disgusting shade of brown, and dissolved into a sticky, glittery puddle at his feet. He was free. And covered in shimmering particles.

He shook himself off, sending a cloud of glitter into the air. He looked at Kai, who had her back to them, speaking angrily into her phone. He looked at the furious, dangling Attea. He looked at the impassive EightEight.

This had been, without a doubt, the single worst attempt at a prank in the history of the universe.

"Let's go." he said, his voice heavy with defeat. He started walking towards the woods, not even bothering to time out. He was too tired and too embarrassed to deal with being human right now.

EightEight, still holding Attea, turned to follow.

"This isn't over, bone-digger!" Attea shrieked over EightEight's shoulder. "You'll rue the day you disrespected Empress Attea! Rue it!"

Kai didn't even turn around. She just lifted a hand and gave them a single, dismissive wave, before going back to her phone call.

It was, Ben thought, the most humiliating outcome imaginable. And it hadn't even happened to Kai.

The trip back to Ben's house was a long, quiet, and deeply awkward affair. Brainstorm, still in his crab form because the thought of having to explain his glitter-caked human body to any passerby was too mortifying to contemplate, scuttled along the edge of the sidewalk. Each clack of his little legs on the pavement felt like a drumbeat of failure. He was a walking, talking disco ball of shame.

Attea, whom EightEight had finally set down once they were a safe distance away, marched beside him, her arms crossed and a thunderous pout on her face. Her earlier amusement was gone, replaced by the bitter sting of being so thoroughly dismissed by Kai.

"I can't believe she just–waved us off!" Attea fumed, kicking at a loose pebble. "Like we were flies! I've had rebels on a dozen worlds show me more respect before I had them jettisoned into a sun!"

"Her emotional state was highly agitated." EightEight commented, walking on the other side of Brainstorm with her usual unnerving silence. Her heavy footfalls were the only sound breaking the tension. "A non-confrontational dismissal was a predictable, if irritating, response. It denied you the satisfaction of a direct conflict. "

"Don't analyze it, you walking calculator!" Attea snapped. "I wanted to fight her! Or at least see her covered in goo! The whole trip was a bust!"

"A bust?" Brainstorm stopped, turning to face her. Glitter flaked off his shell as he moved. "A bust?! Attea, we committed grand theft auto, destroyed half a dozen gardens, terrorized a city intersection, and assaulted an old friend with a foam-and-glitter bomb! I'd say it was a pretty eventful morning!"

"But we didn't win !" she insisted. "The point of the exercise was to establish dominance! To make her cry and run away so I can have Benny-boo all to myself! All we did was make her slightly damp and very cross."

Brainstorm let out a long, weary sigh. "The point of the exercise was a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad idea from the start! I told you it was! But did you listen? No! Because you're obsessed!"

"I am not obsessed!" Attea retorted, her cheeks puffing out. "I am... royally dedicated. There's a difference."

"The physiological and behavioral indicators of obsession and royal dedication are remarkably similar." EightEight chimed in helpfully. "Increased heart rate, fixation on a single subject, disregard for social norms... the data points overlap."

"Be quiet, both of you." Brainstorm grumbled, resuming his scuttling march. "I need to think about how I'm going to apologize to Kai. A fruit basket? A new set of digging tools? Maybe I can get Upchuck to eat all the glittery foam out of the soil..." He shuddered. "No, bad idea. That never ends well."

They walked in silence for another block, the weight of their failure hanging over them. Ben felt a headache coming on, a phantom pain that even Brainstorm's massive cranium couldn't process away. This was his life now. Mediating arguments between his alien admirers after they failed to successfully prank his other friends. It wasn't what the brochures for being a galactic hero advertised.

As they turned onto his street, Attea finally spoke again, her voice smaller this time.

"So... she's really not into you?" she asked, looking at Brainstorm. "The bone-digger? You're sure?"

Brainstorm sighed. "Yes, Attea. I'm sure. She's dedicated to her work. She thinks of me as a friend, maybe even a slightly annoying little brother sometimes. That's it."

Attea kicked at a crack in the sidewalk. "Hmph. Well. Good. She's not worthy of you anyway. Her taste in hobbies is boring, and her shorts are unflattering."

Despite his frustration, a small smile touched Ben's... face-plate? He wasn't sure of his own anatomy anymore. It was a classic Attea response: when proven wrong, insult the other person's fashion choices.

"This new information significantly alters my threat matrix." EightEight stated. "Kai Green's designation can be downgraded from 'Active Rival' to 'Non-Threatening Platonic Associate.' This frees up processing power to focus on more immediate competitors." Her helmet slowly swiveled to stare directly at Attea.

Attea stopped and stared back. "What are you looking at, rust-bucket?"

"I am recalculating the hierarchy." EightEight said. "With Kai Green removed from the equation, you and I remain the primary contenders."

"Contenders?" Attea scoffed. "There's no contest! I'm the fiancée! I'm number one! You're... the weird bodyguard who lives in the shadows and smells faintly of ozone."

"Your claim of 'fiancée' is legally unsubstantiated on this planet and in 27 known galactic sectors." EightEight retorted coolly. "My consistent proximity to the subject and my superior tactical abilities grant me a higher operational value. By any logical metric, I am the prime candidate."

"Oh, you want to talk logic?!" Attea squared up to the much taller bounty hunter. "Here's some logic! I'm an empress! I can give Benny-boo an entire army, a fleet of warships, a planet made of solid gold! What can you give him? A well-organized sock drawer and a lifetime supply of bombs?"

"A stable, protected environment, free from logistical complications." EightEight shot back. "And my loyalty is not predicated on conquest or titles. It is based on a dispassionate, yet thorough, assessment of his positive attributes. Also, my sock drawer organization is flawless."

Brainstorm groaned, pressing his pincers to his temples. They were back to this. He had just survived being a glitter-bomb shield, and now he had to listen to them argue over who was the "prime candidate."

"That's it! I've had enough!" he announced. He slammed his hand–or rather, his pincer–down on the Omnitrix symbol on his chest. There was a flash of red light, and he began to shrink, the hard shell melting away, the glitter falling off in shimmering sheets.

In a moment, he was back to being Ben Tennyson, standing in the middle of the sidewalk in his jeans and t-shirt, now thankfully free of sparkles. He felt exhausted, but human.

"Alright, listen up, you two." he said, pointing a finger back and forth between them. "There is no 'prime candidate.' There is no 'number one.' There are no 'contenders.' This whole thing is not a competition! Can we please, for just one afternoon, act like normal... people?"

Attea and EightEight stared at him. Then they looked at each other. A silent, unspoken understanding seemed to pass between them.

"Fine." Attea said with a sniff.

"Agreed." EightEight stated. "A temporary cessation of hostilities is acceptable."

Ben sighed in relief. Maybe he had finally gotten through to them. "Thank you. Now let's just go home. I need to sit in my room and play video games for at least six hours to forget this morning ever happened."

He turned and walked towards his front door, feeling a sliver of hope.

Behind him, Attea leaned towards EightEight and whispered, "He's so commanding when he's all worked up, isn't he?"

EightEight's optic glowed. "Affirmative. The display of assertive dominance has increased his desirability rating by six percent."

Ben heard them. He didn't turn around. He just kept walking, his shoulders slumped in defeat. There was no escape.

Chapter Text

Ben's room was his sanctuary. It was the one place in the universe–usually–where he was in charge. The posters on the wall were his. The chaotic pile of clothes in the corner was his. The video game consoles under the TV were his. After the morning's spectacular failure, all he wanted was to retreat into the familiar, pixelated world of "Sumo Slammers 4: Hyper-Slamdown."

He flopped face-first onto his bed, the springs groaning in protest. The faint smell of clean laundry and dusty electronics was comforting. He could stay here forever.

The illusion of solitude lasted for approximately twelve seconds.

The door creaked open. "Benny-boo? Are you pouting?"

Ben groaned into his pillow. "I'm not pouting. I'm... processing."

He heard the light footsteps of Attea crossing the room, followed by the heavy, rhythmic clank... clank... clank... of EightEight. A moment later, the bed dipped significantly on one side. He rolled over to see Attea sitting next to him, looking at him with an uncharacteristically concerned expression. EightEight stood at the foot of the bed, a silent, purple sentinel.

"Is it because the bone-digger was mean to you?" Attea asked, poking his shoulder. "Because I can still go back there and... rearrange her fossil collection. Alphabetically. And then throw it in a volcano."

"No." Ben sighed, sitting up and rubbing his face. "It's not because Kai was mean. She had every right to be angry. It's because... everything is just so... complicated. All the time." He gestured vaguely at the two of them. "This. This is complicated."

Attea’s expression softened. She patted his knee. "Being an emperor is complicated. Ruling a galaxy, managing fleets, suppressing rebellions... it's a lot of work. You're just getting a taste of it. But don't worry." she added, her usual confidence returning, "you have me to help you."

" She is correct." EightEight added. "Managing multiple high-maintenance assets is a complex logistical task. My skills in organization and threat assessment could streamline your daily operations significantly. I could create a schedule."

Ben stared at her. "A schedule? For what?"

"To allocate your time efficiently between your various... associates." EightEight explained. "For example: 09:00 to 11:00, foiled bank robbery with Rook Blonko. 12:00, chili fries with Empress Attea. 14:00 to 16:00, patrols and/or rival neutralization with myself. 18:00, mandatory family dinner. It would maximize productivity and minimize conflict."

"That is the most terrifyingly practical and completely insane thing I have ever heard." Ben said, shaking his head in disbelief. "My life is not a business meeting that you can optimize."

He stood up and walked over to his game console, needing a distraction. He powered it on, the familiar chime filling the room. "I'm just going to play a game. You two can... watch. Silently. Please."

He grabbed a controller and plopped down on the beanbag chair in front of the TV. The "Sumo Slammers" title screen appeared, bright and cheerful. For a moment, it worked. The chaos of his life receded as he focused on selecting his character, Ishiyama, obviously.

Attea, surprisingly, seemed to respect his request. She hopped off the bed and settled on the floor near him, watching the screen with genuine curiosity. EightEight remained standing, her posture unchanged, her red optic fixed on the television. The room was quiet, save for the clicks of the controller and the game's energetic music.

It was almost peaceful.

Ben started the first match, his thumbs flying across the buttons. He dodged, he slammed, he executed a perfect Mega-Stomp combo. It felt good. It felt normal.

"So." Attea said, breaking the silence. "The big one is you, right?"

"No, that's Nya." Ben explained without looking away from the screen. "She's the 'adorable but deadly' one. I'm Ishiyama. The classic. The champion."

"Why doesn't he just use his giant belly to crush the little girl?" Attea asked. "It seems like a design flaw."

"The parameters of the simulation likely require a balance of character abilities to ensure fair and engaging gameplay." EightEight offered. "A simple 'crush' maneuver would negate all strategy."

"Strategy is for people who can't win with brute force." Attea sniffed.

Ben sighed, his concentration broken. He paused the game. "Okay, look. If you're going to stay here, you have to understand the lore. The Sumo Slammers franchise is built on a rich tapestry of honor, rivalry, and the sacred code of the Dohyo-Ring..."

He launched into a detailed explanation of the game's backstory, from the original "Sumo Slammers" to the controversial "Sumo Slammers in Space" spin-off. To his surprise, they both listened intently. Attea seemed fascinated by the concept of fighting for sport and glory rather than planetary conquest, while EightEight appeared to be mentally logging every detail, filing it away for future analysis.

For a little while, they were just three... individuals... hanging out in a room, talking about video games. There were no romantic rivalries, no bombs, no chases. It was calm. It was nice.

Ben was starting to relax, a real smile on his face, when a high-pitched, warbling ringtone suddenly filled the room. It was a sound he didn't recognize, a series of triumphant trumpet blasts mixed with what sounded like laser fire.

It was coming from Attea.

She pulled a small, frog-shaped communication device from a pocket. Her eyes widened when she saw the caller ID.

"Oh, crud." she muttered. "It's the royal guard."

She flipped the device open, and a small, holographic image of two burly, green Incursean soldiers appeared above it. They were wearing full battle armor, but they were sitting at a table piled high with Earth food–pizza, burgers, tacos, and a giant bucket of fried chicken. One of them had ketchup on his cheek.

"My Empress!" the first soldier said, his mouth full of what looked like a hot dog. He saluted awkwardly. "We have completed our... culinary reconnaissance mission as ordered!"

"Excellent, Captain." Attea said, her voice all business. "Report. Is the 'fried chicken' as glorious as the transmissions indicated?"

"It is, my Empress!" a second soldier, chimed in. "It's crunchy, yet moist! A true delicacy! We have secured three dozen 'buckets' for the glory of the empire!"

Ben stared at the hologram. "You have your royal guard stationed on Earth... eating fast food? I thought they were in some cantina near Khoros..."

Attea waved a dismissive hand at him. "They needed something to do while I was busy with... diplomacy. And they were curious about your planet's obsession with fried poultry. Now, what is it, Numbskull? I'm in a very important... strategy session."

The soldier, Numbskull, swallowed his mouthful of food and his expression turned serious. "My Empress, we have an urgent report. Our long-range sensors have detected an approaching vessel. A Tetramand battleship. It's broadcasting a single, repeating message."

Attea's posture stiffened. "And? What's the message?"

The soldier gulped. "It's... a marriage proposal. Directed at Ben Tennyson. From Princess Looma Red Wind." He paused, then added, "She says she's coming to collect her husband."

The calm in the room shattered. The peace was over. The storm had arrived. The name "Looma Red Wind" echoed in the sudden, deafening silence of Ben's room. The cheerful music from the paused video game seemed to mock the palpable tension that had just descended.

Ben's blood ran cold. He remembered Looma. Oh, he remembered Looma. The hulking, four-armed Tetramand princess who fought first and asked questions never. The one who had decided, through some twisted, gladiatorial logic, that because he had defeated her in combat, by accident, mostly, he was honor-bound to be her husband. He thought he'd settled that. He thought she understood.

Apparently not.

Attea's face had gone through several shades of green, finally settling on a pale, sickly chartreuse. Her grip on her frog-communicator was so tight her knuckles were white.

"Looma." she hissed, the name tasting like poison in her mouth. "That four-armed, muscle-bound, red-skinned brute. She's coming here ?"

"Affirmative, my Empress." Numbskull said from the hologram, oblivious to the crisis he had just announced. He took another large bite of pizza. "Her ship is on a direct course for this planet. ETA is... well, it's pretty quick. She's not exactly observing local speed limits."

Ben felt a wave of dizziness. "No, no, no. This can't be happening. We had an agreement! I gave her Kevin's car as a dowry! She was supposed to marry Warlord Gar of the House of Red Wind!"

"It would appear that arrangement has been terminated." EightEight stated, her red optic focused on Ben, likely scanning his rising heart rate and perspiration levels. "A competitor of a higher threat level has just entered the field. Threat Level: Crimson."

"This is more than a competitor, Tin Can!" Attea snarled, snapping her communicator shut and silencing her soldiers. "This is a disaster! Looma doesn't play by the rules! She doesn't do 'humiliation' or 'pranks'! Her idea of a first date is a fight to the death!"

She started pacing back and forth in the small space, her mind clearly racing. "She's strong, she's loud, and she's completely unreasonable! And she's going to come in here and try to literally carry Benny-boo off to her stupid planet to be her arm-candy husband!"

"I am not arm-candy!" Ben protested weakly, sinking back into his beanbag chair. He felt small. He felt doomed.

Attea ignored him, her tactical mind taking over. "This changes everything. We were squabbling over who gets to sit next to him at the movies. This is a battle for his very freedom!" She stopped pacing and pointed a commanding finger at her two holographic soldiers, who had reappeared.

"Numbskull! Gumboil! Your reconnaissance mission is over! Assemble the troops! Your Empress has a new decree! Operation: Protect the Benny-boo is now in effect!"

"The troops, my Empress?" Numbskull asked, confused. "You mean... all four of us?"

"YES, ALL FOUR OF YOU!" Attea roared. "Get to Ben Tennyson's location immediately! Set up a defensive perimeter! Arm yourselves with your heaviest ordnance! No one–and I mean no one –gets to the future Prince Consort before I do! Now go!"

"For the glory of the Empress!" the soldiers yelled, tossing their food aside and scrambling out of view. The hologram vanished.

Attea turned, a look of fierce determination on her face. "Don't you worry, Benny-boo. I won't let that oversized amazon lay a single one of her four meaty hands on you."

"I think I'm going to be sick." Ben mumbled, putting his head in his hands. His house was about to become a warzone. His lawn was about to be a defensive perimeter for an Incursean honor guard of four. And a very large, very enthusiastic Tetramand princess was on her way to "collect" him.

Today had started with the unsettling silence of being alone. He would give anything to have that back.

EightEight, who had been silently processing the new data, finally spoke. "The arrival of a Tetramand princess dramatically alters the strategic landscape. Attea's assessment is correct. Princess Looma represents a direct, physical threat to the asset's autonomy."

"He's not an asset! He's my Benny-boo!" Attea corrected her sharply.

"Our objectives, for the moment, align." EightEight continued, ignoring the interruption. "A temporary alliance is the most logical course of action to repel this new, more aggressive rival. Our combined skills–your command experience, my tactical precision, and Benjamin's... unpredictable transformational abilities–offer the highest probability of success."

Attea looked at EightEight, then at Ben, then back at EightEight. She clearly hated the idea. The thought of formally allying with the bounty hunter who had tried to blow her up was galling. But the thought of Looma succeeding was even worse.

"Fine." she spat out, as if the word burned her tongue. "An alliance. But let's be clear about the terms. We work together to get rid of Red-Wind. The moment she's off-planet, the alliance is dissolved, and we go back to being mortal enemies. Agreed?"

EightEight gave a single, sharp nod. "Acceptable terms."

They both turned to look at Ben, who was still slumped in his beanbag chair, looking like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

"Benny-boo?" Attea said, her voice softer. "Are you with us? We need you. You're the one who beat her before."

Ben looked up, his eyes wide with a sort of weary horror. "Beat her? I didn't beat her! I turned into Four Arms, we wrestled, I accidentally pinned her, and she declared us engaged! That's not a victory, that's a romantic comedy plot gone horribly wrong!"

Before anyone could respond, a low, deep rumbling sound started to fill the air. It wasn't thunder. It was the sound of a very large, very powerful engine entering the atmosphere at high speed. The windows in Ben's room began to vibrate. A framed picture of him and Gwen at their fifth-grade graduation rattled on the wall.

The rumbling grew louder, turning into a roar. It sounded like it was right on top of them.

"She has arrived." EightEight stated, her voice calm amidst the growing chaos. "Her method of approach is... direct."

"Everyone down!" Ben yelled, diving for the floor.

Attea and EightEight dropped into defensive crouches just as a massive, fiery object streaked past the window, so close that the heat from its atmospheric entry washed over the glass. It was followed by a deafening SONIC BOOM that shook the entire house to its foundations.

Somewhere downstairs, Ben's mom yelled, "Ben Tennyson, what was that?!"

The roar of the engine cut out, replaced by a series of loud, metallic crashes from down the street, followed by the distinct sound of a car alarm wailing.

A moment of silence.

Then, a new sound. A heavy, rhythmic THUMP... THUMP... THUMP... that seemed to shake the very ground. It was getting closer.

And then, a voice, a booming, cheerful, female voice that carried with it the force of a battering ram, echoed through the neighborhood.

"BENNY-POO! MY DARLING HUSBAND! YOUR BRIDE HAS COME TO CLAIM YOU! COME OUT AND PREPARE FOR OUR GLORIOUS WEDDING!"

Ben Tennyson closed his eyes. It was happening. The Tetramand Menace had landed.

The front door of the Tennyson residence didn't stand a chance. It wasn't knocked down or blown open. It was simply... removed. A massive, red, four-fingered hand punched straight through the wood, gripped the other side, and tore the entire door off its hinges with a screech of tortured metal and splintering wood.

Looma Red Wind stood framed in the doorway, a silhouette of immense power against the bright afternoon sun. She was even bigger than Ben remembered. Well over ten feet tall, a mountain of red-skinned muscle clad in golden, gladiator-style armor. Her black hair was tied back in a warrior's ponytail, and a wide, gleeful, fang-filled smile stretched across her face. She held the mangled front door in one of her lower hands as if it were a disposable party plate.

"Hello?" she boomed, her voice making the light fixtures tremble. "Is my beloved home?" She tossed the door aside. It clattered onto the lawn, right next to where one of Attea's Incursean soldiers was hastily trying to set up a laser turret. He froze, looked at Looma, looked at his turret, and wisely decided to duck behind a bush.

Ben, Attea, and EightEight were peering down from the top of the stairs, a tableau of horrified anticipation.

"She redecorated the entrance." Attea whispered, a grudging respect in her tone. "It's bold. I'll give her that."

"Her methods lack subtlety." EightEight observed quietly. "But they are undeniably effective at making an entrance."

"She's going to destroy the whole house." Ben moaned, his hands gripping the banister. His mind was racing through his aliens. Who could handle Looma? Four Arms was a bad idea, that's what started this whole mess. Humungousaur? Maybe, but that would definitely level the neighborhood. Rath? Absolutely not. Rath would probably propose back.

Looma took a giant step inside, her armored boots thudding on the hardwood floor. She looked around the living room, her expression one of childish delight. "What a quaint little dwelling! So tiny! It will make a perfect vacation home for us, my sweet!"

She spotted them at the top of the stairs. Her eyes, a striking yellow, lit up as they locked onto Ben. Her already massive smile somehow grew even wider.

"THERE YOU ARE!" she bellowed with pure joy. "My handsome, clever, surprisingly strong little champion! I have missed you so!"

She started towards the stairs, her movements eager and powerful. Each step she took seemed to shake the house.

This was it. The moment of confrontation. Attea, true to her word, stepped forward, placing herself between Ben and the ascending Tetramand.

"That's far enough, you oversized rock-crusher!" Attea shouted, her voice sharp and commanding despite the massive size difference. "This is my future consort's home, and you are not welcome here!"

Looma paused, one foot on the second step. She looked down at Attea, blinking her large, yellow eyes as if just now noticing the small, green frog-person.

"A talking newt?" Looma said, her head cocked in genuine confusion. "How curious. Step aside, little one. I am here to collect my husband."

"Husband?" Attea let out a derisive laugh. "You must have a rock for a brain. Benny-boo is my fiancé! We have a pre-existing claim! So take your four arms and your ridiculous muscles and go climb a mountain somewhere!"

Looma's smile finally faltered, replaced by a look of stern annoyance. "I am Princess Looma of the Royal House of Red Wind. My claim is sealed by combat and honor. Who are you to challenge it?"

"I am Empress Attea of the Incursean Empire!" she declared, puffing out her chest. "And my claim is sealed by galactic decree and my own superior taste! Ben Tennyson belongs with me!"

While this clash of titans, and one tiny, very loud frog, was happening, EightEight moved with silent efficiency. She slipped past Ben, her form hugging the wall. She was analyzing, calculating, looking for a weakness.

Looma, however, was completely focused on the verbal sparring. She waved a dismissive upper hand at Attea. "Your 'empire' is a swamp. Your 'decree' is meaningless. Ben Tennyson is mine. I will not be denied by a loud amphibian."

She took another step up.

"That's it!" Attea yelled. "You've insulted my empire, my decree, and my entire phylum! You've left me no choice!"

She lunged. It was a brave, if foolish, attack. She leaped into the air, aiming a flying kick at Looma's knee.

Looma didn't even flinch. With the casualness of swatting a fly, she caught Attea in mid-air with one of her lower hands. She held the struggling, kicking Incursean empress up to her face, examining her like a strange bug.

"You are spirited." Looma admitted, a small smile returning. "I admire that. But you are also very, very small."

She then gently–for a Tetramand–tossed Attea over her shoulder. Attea sailed through the air, letting out an indignant squawk, and landed in a large, potted fern near the ruined doorway.

The plant exploded in a shower of dirt and leaves.

"Now." Looma said, turning her attention back to Ben. "As I was saying, my love..."

This was EightEight's moment.

From her position on the stairs, she fired a thin, almost invisible filament from her wrist gauntlet. It wrapped around Looma's ankle, and with a flash of brilliant blue energy, delivered a powerful electro-shock. It was the same kind of charge that could incapacitate a Vaxasaurian.

Looma's leg seized up. "Yow!" she yelped, more in surprise than pain. She looked down at her sparking ankle and then at EightEight, who now stood protectively in front of Ben, a plasma rifle appearing in her hands.

"The subject is under my protection, Tetramand." EightEight stated, her voice dangerously calm. "Your aggression is unwelcome. Withdraw, or I will be forced to escalate to Class-4 munitions."

Looma's eyes widened, a look of genuine interest on her face. She stomped her foot, the shock filament shattering into dust. "A warrior! A silent, well-armed warrior! Another of my Benny-poo's amazing vassals! How wonderful!"

She clapped her upper hands together in delight. "First a feisty newt, now a stoic machine-maiden! My husband surrounds himself with such amusing retainers! You two will make fine handmaidens for our royal court!"

Attea, crawling out of the ruined fern and covered in soil, spluttered with rage. "HANDMAIDEN?!"

EightEight's optic glowed a furious red. The barrel of her plasma rifle began to glow.

Ben decided he had to intervene before his house became a crater. "STOP!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "Everybody just–stop!"

All eyes–yellow, green, and red-optic–turned to him.

"Looma." he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "We need to talk. There's been a misunderstanding."

Looma's expression softened instantly into one of adoration. "Of course, my sweet. Whatever you wish. We have a lifetime to talk." She then completely ignored Attea and EightEight, bounding up the rest of the stairs in two giant leaps to stand directly in front of him. She beamed down at him, her sheer size blocking out the light.

"But first." she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper as she leaned down, "a kiss for my beloved groom!"

She puckered her lips and leaned in. Ben was frozen, trapped in the path of an oncoming romantic freight train.

Ben’s hero instincts, honed by years of near-death experiences, finally kicked in. As Looma’s face, a vast continent of red skin and affection, descended upon him, he did the only thing he could think of: he dropped. He fell to the floor in a heap, and Looma’s kiss met nothing but empty air, the force of it creating a small whoosh that ruffled his hair.

He scrambled backwards on all fours, crab-walking away until his back hit the wall. "Whoa! Looma! Personal space! We talked about this!"

Looma straightened up, looking momentarily confused, like a puppy who had missed a thrown ball. "But... it is tradition for the bride to greet her groom with a sign of affection!"

"Not when the groom hasn't agreed to the wedding!" Ben protested, getting to his feet.

This was the moment Attea chose to re-enter the fray. She had brushed most of the dirt from her uniform and now stood with her hands on her hips, her eyes burning with righteous fury.

"See?" she said, pointing a triumphant finger at Looma. "He doesn't want to kiss you! He resists your clumsy, oversized affections! He clearly prefers my more refined, sophisticated, and appropriately-sized romantic gestures!"

To prove her point, she blew a kiss at Ben. It was a theatrical, dramatic gesture that involved a lot of wrist-flicking.

Ben just stared at her. "Please don't."

Looma, however, completely ignored Attea’s declaration. Her focus remained solely on Ben, her expression shifting to one of profound hurt. "He does not want my kiss? But... why? Am I not a suitable bride? I am the champion of the Khoros gladiatorial circuit! I can bench-press a battle tank! I brought you a dowry!" She gestured vaguely towards the street with one of her thumbs. "Three crates of priceless G'rrnaylan power gems! I left them on the neighbor's car."

Ben's eyes went wide. "Mr. Henderson's car? Oh no, he just got that waxed..."

"This is getting ridiculous." a new voice said, cutting through the chaos.

Everyone turned. Standing in the ruined doorway, looking utterly unimpressed, were Rook Blonko and his date, Fistina. Rook had his Proto-Tool aimed, not at any of the aliens, but at the ceiling, as if he was prepared for it to collapse at any moment. Fistina, her metallic face a mask of concern, peered around him at the scene.

Rook’s gaze swept across the room. He took in the demolished door, the destroyed fern, the fuming Attea, the battle-ready EightEight, the lovesick Looma, and the cornered Ben. He let out a long, slow, deeply weary sigh. It was the sigh of a man who had seen too much, and who knew his partner was the cause of 99% of it.

"Ben." Rook said, his voice flat. "I received a call from a Kai Green, who was... distressed. Then I received a Level 7 property damage alert for this address. And now I see we have... company." He looked at Looma. "Princess Looma. It has been a while. I see you are still... enthusiastic."

Looma beamed at him. "Magister Blonko! It is good to see you! Have you come to witness my wedding?"

"Wedding?" Rook's brow furrowed. He glanced at Ben, who was frantically shaking his head. "I believe you are mistaken, Princess."

He then looked at Attea and EightEight, who were now flanking Ben like a bizarre set of royal guards. He sighed again, louder this time.

"At least." Rook muttered, mostly to himself, "my romantic entanglements are less... plural." He gestured with his head towards Fistina, who gave a small, shy wave. "Fistina is just one person. And she is generally... a bit more reasonable."

Fistina stepped forward, her expression gentle. "Perhaps I can be of assistance? There seems to be great deal of... heightened emotion in this room. Maybe we could all just calm down and talk things through?"

It was a sweet, noble effort. It was also doomed to fail.

"Talk?" Looma scoffed, though her tone was not unkind to Fistina. "The time for talk is over! I am here to claim what is mine by right of combat!"

"He is not a 'what'!" Attea snapped. "He is my fiancé, and your claim is bogus!"

"My claim is based on logical compatibility and superior protective capabilities." EightEight added, her plasma rifle still humming. "Both of your claims are based on antiquated traditions and emotional fallacies."

The three of them began to argue, their voices rising in a cacophony of competing claims.

"I will build him a castle in the sky!" Looma declared, puffing out her chest.

"I will give him an entire planet!" Attea retorted, getting right up in Looma's space, despite having to crane her neck back to do so. "A planet with excellent Wi-Fi!"

"I will ensure his personal security with a ninety-nine-point-nine-eight percent success rate and provide a comprehensive, color-coded organizational system for his entire life." EightEight stated coolly, as if this was the ultimate trump card.

"I DO NOT WANT A COLOR-CODED LIFE!" Ben yelled, his voice finally cracking under the strain. He threw his hands up in the air. "This is insane! I'm not a prize to be won! I'm a person! A guy! A normal guy who just wants to play video games and eat chili fries and maybe, just maybe, not have his house invaded by a rotating cast of alien fiancées!"

The arguing stopped. All three women stared at him.

There was a moment of heavy silence.

Then Looma spoke, her voice soft and earnest. "But... you would be a very, very nice prize."

"And a very handsome one!" Attea added quickly.

"An optimally desirable asset." EightEight corrected.

Ben just stared at them, his mouth hanging open. He looked at Rook, a silent, desperate plea for help in his eyes.

Rook just shook his head slowly, a look of profound sympathy on his face. "You are on your own, my friend. This is beyond even the Plumbers' jurisdiction."

Fistina, however, was not so easily deterred. "Now, ladies." she said, her voice firm but kind as she stepped into the middle of the three women. "I am sure we can come to some sort of compromise–"

She was cut off as Looma, Attea, and EightEight all started shouting their proposals at Ben again, each trying to be louder and more convincing than the others, completely ignoring the well-meaning robot in their midst. The chaos had returned, stronger than ever.

It was at that exact moment, with the house in ruins and his love life in a state of multi-alien meltdown, that Sandra Tennyson chose to arrive home from her book club meeting.

She walked in through the gaping hole where the front door used to be, holding a bag of groceries. She stopped dead. She took in the scene: her son being backed into a corner by three alien women, another alien robot trying to play mediator, a Revonnahgander Plumber looking on in despair, and a giant red princess arguing with a tiny green empress.

She put her groceries down on the floor very, very slowly. She looked at the destroyed fern. She looked at the cracks in the wall. She looked at the crowd of people on her staircase.

She sighed. It wasn't a sigh of anger, or fear, or confusion. It was the deep, bone-weary sigh of a mother who had long ago accepted that her life was never, ever going to be normal.

"Ben." she said, her voice dangerously calm. "Who is the big red one?"

All motion, all sound, ceased. Sandra Tennyson’s voice, calm and measured, had cut through the cacophony with the precision of a surgeon's scalpel. Every eye in the room–alien, human, and robotic–swiveled to face her.

Ben felt a new kind of terror, one far worse than facing down Vilgax. It was the terror of having to explain this multidimensional mess to his mom.

"Uh... Mom." he stammered, "Hi. You're home early."

Sandra's eyes did not leave Looma. "I asked you a question, Benjamin. Who. Is. The big. Red. One?"

Looma, for her part, seemed suddenly shy. She stood up a little straighter and smoothed down her armored tunic with her lower set of hands. "I am Princess Looma Red Wind of Khoros, madam." she said, her booming voice now respectfully modulated. "It is an honor to meet the mother of my beloved."

Sandra's gaze shifted to Ben. One of her eyebrows arched, a silent and terrifying question mark.

"She's, uh... she thinks we're engaged." Ben explained weakly. "It's a Tetramand thing. A cultural misunderstanding. A really, really big one."

Sandra's eyes then moved to Attea, who was still covered in a light film of potting soil. "And I know you, dear. You're the little frog empress who also thinks you're engaged to my son."

Attea gave a prim little nod. "Empress Attea. And my claim is far more legitimate."

Finally, Sandra's gaze fell upon EightEight, who stood impassively with her plasma rifle still at a low ready. "And you... you're the mercenary girl. And very purple one. Let me guess, you're here to–"

"Offer a logically superior alternative for a long-term compatible partnership, yes." EightEight finished for her.

Sandra Tennyson looked from Looma, to Attea, to EightEight, and then back to her son. She closed her eyes for a full three seconds. When she opened them again, the weary resignation had been replaced by a steely resolve that Ben knew all too well. It was the look she got right before she organized a massive bake sale or single-handedly re-landscaped the entire backyard in one weekend. It was the look of a woman taking charge.

"Right." she said, clapping her hands together once. "Everybody downstairs. Living room. Now. We're going to have a talk."

There was no room for argument. It wasn't a request; it was a royal decree that would have put Attea's to shame.

Slowly, the bizarre assembly shuffled down the stairs. Looma had to duck to get into the living room. Attea hopped onto the arm of the sofa. EightEight chose a strategic position near the wall, her optic scanning the room. Ben and Rook hovered awkwardly near the fireplace, while Fistina stood kindly near Sandra, as if offering moral support.

Ben watched in a state of surreal disbelief as his mother began to direct his alien suitors like a seasoned diplomat.

"You–Looma, dear–you can sit on the ottoman. Please be careful, it's an antique. Attea, you stay there. You–the robot–"

"Designation: EightEight." the bounty hunter supplied.

"EightEight, yes..." Sandra continued without missing a beat. "You can... stand. But please, dear, point that weapon somewhere else. It's making me nervous."

EightEight considered this, then retracted the plasma rifle back into her gauntlet with a quiet hum.

While his mom was organizing the most surreal family meeting in history, Attea, with a sly look on her face, scurried over to EightEight.

"Okay, listen up, Tin Can." she whispered urgently, her voice low so only the Sotoraggian could hear. "This is bad. The 'Mom-Unit' is involved. And that red behemoth is trying to play the 'polite and respectful' card. We're losing ground."

EightEight's helmet tilted. "Your assessment is correct. The introduction of the maternal authority figure has altered the social dynamics. What is your proposal?"

"A temporary truce isn't enough anymore." Attea whispered. "We need a more formal pact. An alliance. Against her." She jerked her head towards Looma, who was currently trying to figure out how to sit on the ottoman without crushing it. "She's the biggest threat. She's stronger than both of us combined and she's got the 'honor and tradition' angle locked down. We need to unite."

"A united front." EightEight processed. "Logically sound. What are the terms of this 'pact'?"

"Simple." Attea said, a cunning glint in her eyes. "We establish a hierarchy. We're the top dogs. The originals. I'm Ben's number one–his right-hand woman. You... you can be his number two. His left-hand woman. We work together to drive Looma out, and then we solidify our positions at the top of the–the food chain."

EightEight was silent for a full five seconds, her optic glowing as she ran countless simulations. A partnership with a chaotic, egotistical Incursean was a high-risk proposition. But Looma was a higher-risk, more immediate threat.

"The 'right-hand' and 'left-hand' designations are arbitrary, but I find the core proposal strategically viable." EightEight finally replied. "I will agree to this pact. You are Number One. I am Number Two. We will cooperate to eliminate the Number Three threat. For now."

"Excellent." Attea grinned, sealing the deal with a nod. They turned their attention back to the room just as Sandra Tennyson cleared her throat, calling the bizarre assembly to order.

"Alright." Sandra began, her voice calm but firm. "It's clear to me that there are... a lot of competing interests here. And all of them seem to revolve around my son." She looked directly at Ben. "And Ben, we will be having a very long talk later about responsible intergalactic dating."

Ben slumped. "It's not dating! And it's not a harem!"

"Whatever it is." his mom continued, "it's currently demolishing my house and scaring the neighbors. So, here's what's going to happen. There will be no more fighting, no more threats, and no more breaking things. We are going to find a civilized, temporary solution."

She looked at Looma. "Looma, dear. I understand you've come a long way. You are welcome to stay– temporarily –as a guest in our home, provided you agree to follow our house rules. Rule number one: no smashing. Rule number two: Ben is not your husband, and you will not refer to him as such until and unless he agrees. Is that clear?"

Looma looked crestfallen, but she saw the iron will in Sandra's eyes. "Yes, ma'am." she mumbled, her voice a low rumble.

Then Sandra looked at Attea and EightEight. "And you two. I know you've been here for a few days. The same rules apply. You will be polite to our new guest. This is not a competition. This is my home, not a gladiatorial arena."

Attea and EightEight, now secretly allied, exchanged a look and nodded in unison.

"Perfect." Attea said with a sickly-sweet smile. "We would be delighted to help our... new friend... feel welcome."

"Affirmative." EightEight added. "We will provide all necessary assistance to ensure her stay is... comfortable."

Ben could see the scheming glint in Attea's eyes. He could practically hear the gears turning in EightEight's helmet. This wasn't a truce. This was a cold war. And his house was Berlin.

"Wonderful." Sandra said, clearly not buying their act for a second but willing to accept the surface-level peace. "Now, if you'll all excuse me, I need to go call a contractor about a new door. And possibly a new foundation."

She walked out of the room, leaving a tense, simmering silence in her wake.

The three women stared at each other. Looma looked confused and sad. Attea and EightEight looked smug and united. The newly formed alliance of Number One and Number Two was about to begin its covert war against the unsuspecting Number Three. And Ben was trapped right in the middle of it.

Rook sidled up to him. "Your mother is a formidable woman." he whispered.

"You have no idea." Ben whispered back. "She just officially sanctioned the harem."

Chapter Text

The atmosphere in the Tennyson house for the rest of the afternoon was thick with a strange, sugary-sweet, and utterly fake politeness. It was a brand of tension Ben was grimly familiar with from certain Thanksgivings involving his extended family.

Attea, in her new role as the "welcoming committee." appointed herself Looma's personal tour guide.

"And this." Attea would say, gesturing to the toaster with a grand flourish, "is the magical bread-warming box! It uses primitive heating coils to turn soft, bland bread into a crispy, delicious treat! It is one of this planet's greatest technological achievements."

Looma would peer at it, fascinated. "Incredible! On Khoros, we just toast our bread by holding it over a lava vent."

EightEight, meanwhile, shadowed them silently, offering "helpful" commentary.

"I should note that inserting any metallic or non-bread items into the device will result in an electrical short circuit, potential fire, and a ninety-eight percent chance of tripping the home's circuit breaker." she would state, her optic fixed on Looma's large, curious hands.

Ben spent most of the afternoon hiding in his room with Rook and Fistina, who had decided to stay to provide "moral support" and "emergency Plumber backup."

"This is a nightmare." Ben groaned, flopped on his bed. "My mom just invited them all to stay. Here. In my house."

"It was a tactically sound decision." Rook reasoned, examining one of Ben's Sumo Slammers figurines. "Your mother has contained the conflict. By bringing them all under her roof, she can enforce a truce and monitor their activities. It is better than having them wage war across Bellwood."

"It does seem very wise." Fistina added kindly. "It gives everyone chance to cool down."

"Cool down? They're not cooling down! They're plotting!" Ben insisted. "Did you see the look Attea gave EightEight? They've teamed up! It's two against one now!"

Rook sighed. "Ben, perhaps you are overthinking this. They are simply... passionate individuals."

"Passionate? Rook, Looma's 'passion' once leveled three city blocks during a 'friendly' sparring match! Attea's 'passion' involves invading planets she's annoyed with! And EightEight's 'passion' is to solve every problem with either a bomb or a spreadsheet! My house is going to be a smoking crater by morning!"

As if on cue, a loud crash echoed from downstairs, followed by Looma's booming voice. "OH! My apologies! This 'refrigerator' door is not as strong as it looks!"

Ben buried his face in his pillow and screamed.

The breaking point came later that evening. After a dinner where the three women vied for Ben's attention by piling his plate with food ("You need more protein for your warrior's body, my love!" - Looma), ("Don't listen to her, Benny-boo, have some greens, they're good for your complexion!" - Attea), ("I have calculated the optimal nutritional ratio for your mass and activity level. You require precisely 67 grams of carbohydrates and 34 grams of protein. This serving of mashed potatoes is sufficient." - EightEight), Sandra Tennyson made the fateful announcement.

"Alright." she said, standing up from the table. "It's getting late. And since our guest rooms are currently filled with your father's model train equipment, and I don't think any of you would be comfortable on the sofa..." She paused, taking a deep breath. "...it seems the only solution is for everyone to have a sleepover. In Ben's room."

Dead silence.

Ben’s fork slipped from his fingers and clattered onto his plate. "What?"

Rook, who had stayed for dinner, choked on his water. Fistina patted his back gently.

"It's the biggest room." Sandra explained calmly, as if this was the most normal suggestion in the world. "And it will be easier to... keep an eye on things... if everyone is in one place. We'll bring in some sleeping bags. It will be fun. Like camping."

"Fun?" Ben squeaked. "Mom, you can't be serious! You're putting me in a room overnight with... with them!"

"Oh, I'm very serious." she said, giving him a look that dared him to argue. "You got yourself into this mess, Benjamin. Now you can sleep in it. Literally."

Attea's eyes lit up. "A slumber party? With Benny-boo? What a splendid idea, Mrs. T!"

Looma clapped her hands together excitedly. "Yes! We can tell stories of glorious battle and braid each other's hair! It will be a bonding experience for the new bride and her handmaidens!"

Attea and EightEight both bristled at the "handmaiden" comment, but the prospect of an entire night in close proximity to Ben seemed to outweigh the insult.

"A shared enclosure for a designated rest period." EightEight analyzed. "This presents numerous opportunities for observation and influence. The strategic value is high. I approve."

And so it was decided. Despite Ben's frantic, whispered protests, his room was officially designated as the sleepover zone. His mom, with an evil glint in her eye that he'd never seen before, produced a stack of sleeping bags and pillows.

The room was... crowded. Ben's personal space, already a rare commodity, had officially ceased to exist. The air was thick with a mixture of Attea's vaguely swampy scent, the metallic ozone smell of EightEight's armor, and Looma's... surprisingly pleasant, cinnamon-like aroma.

"This is a violation of my rights." Ben muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed, which he now had to share. "The Geneva Convention must have a rule against this."

"Do not be such a spoilsport, my love!" Looma boomed, plopping down next to him. The entire bed frame groaned under her weight and visibly sagged. "This will be wonderful!"

The central conflict of the evening began almost immediately. It was a simple, yet profoundly important question: who was going to sleep next to Ben?

"The place of honor next to the groom belongs to his bride!" Looma declared, planting herself firmly on his right side.

"Nonsense!" Attea snapped, hopping onto the bed on his left. "The position of primary consort belongs to me, his one true fiancée! You can sleep on the floor, four-arms!"

"The floor is for peasants and defeated enemies!" Looma retorted. "You sleep on the floor, newt!"

"Logically, the most protected position is in the center." EightEight stated, approaching the bed. "As Benjamin's primary protector, that space should be allocated to me, to shield him from potential threats."

She attempted to wedge herself between Ben and Attea.

"Hey! Back off, Tin Can!" Attea shoved at her armored leg. "Find your own spot!"

"There is no room for three suitors on one standard Terran mattress!" Looma argued, pushing back against EightEight from the other side. "I was here first!"

The bed was now the epicenter of a three-way shoving match. Ben was caught in the middle, being squished between an immovable Sotoraggian, a surprisingly strong Incursean, and a Tetramand who could literally move mountains.

"Guys! Stop!" he wheezed, his ribs compressing. "The bed's not gonna–"

CRACK.

It was not a small sound. It was the loud, agonizing splintering of wood, followed by a sudden, sickening lurch. The mattress, Ben, Looma, Attea, and EightEight all collapsed into the middle as the bed frame gave way, folding in on itself like a taco.

They landed in a tangled heap of limbs, armor, and blankets on the floor.

Silence.

Then, Looma, from the bottom of the pile, spoke. "Oops."

The aftermath of the bed's spectacular demise was a scene of pure, unadulterated chaos. Ben was wedged between Looma's armored shoulder and the now-vertical side of his mattress. Attea was sprawled on top of the pile, looking dazed. EightEight had somehow managed to land on her feet next to the wreckage, her posture as perfect and balanced as ever.

The door to the room flew open. Sandra Tennyson stood there, holding a plate of cookies. She stopped, her eyes widening at the sight. The plate tilted in her hand, and a single chocolate chip cookie slid off, tumbling to the floor in slow motion.

"My bed." Ben groaned from the wreckage. "My vintage 'Sumo Slammers' bed frame. It's... it's broken."

Sandra didn't say a word. She just set the plate of cookies down on Ben's desk, turned around, and walked out, closing the door softly behind her. Ben knew that quiet retreat was far more terrifying than if she had yelled. He was going to be doing chores until he was thirty.

Looma, looking deeply ashamed, carefully extricated herself from the pile, lifting the mattress with one hand. "My sincerest apologies, Ben. I... I sometimes forget my own strength. And your Earth furniture is so... fragile."

"It's fine." Ben sighed, climbing out of the splintered remains of his bed. "It's not like I'll ever be allowed to sleep in peace again anyway."

Attea dusted herself off, scowling at the Tetramand princess. "Nice going, 'bride.' You broke the matrimonial bed before the wedding even happened. That's got to be a bad omen."

"It was an accident!" Looma insisted, her cheeks flushing a deeper shade of red.

"The structural failure was inevitable." EightEight interjected, running a quick scan of the broken frame. "The combined mass of three individuals, two of whom are significantly denser than the average human, exceeded the wood's tensile strength by a factor of twelve. The conflict over positioning was merely the catalyst."

"So it's our fault?" Attea demanded, pointing at herself and Looma.

"It is a factual observation of physics, not an assignment of blame." EightEight replied coolly.

"Okay! Enough!" Ben said, holding up his hands. He felt a weird sense of detachment, as if he were watching a sitcom about his own life. "The bed is broken. Yelling about it won't fix it. We need a new plan. For sleeping."

He looked around his now-devastated room. The floor was the only option. It was going to be a long, uncomfortable night.

A new debate, just as intense as the first, immediately erupted. This time, it was about floorspace.

"I will sleep next to Ben!" Looma declared, planting a sleeping bag directly beside him. "To protect him!"

"You'll probably roll over and crush him!" Attea argued, squeezing her own sleeping bag in on his other side. "A light, agile guardian is what he needs! Like me!"

"Proximity is not the only measure of protection." EightEight stated. She surveyed the room, her gaze falling on the closet. "A strategic overwatch position is superior. I will take the closet. From there, I can monitor all entrances and exits."

She walked over to the closet, opened it, and began methodically removing Ben's clothes and piling them on his desk chair.

"Hey! My hoodies!" Ben protested weakly, but he was too tired to fight it.

And so, the new, deeply strange sleeping arrangements were finalized. Ben was sandwiched on the floor between Looma and Attea. The broken bed, a monument to their rivalry, lay in a heap in the corner. And EightEight, after creating a surprisingly neat pile of his clothes, settled into the closet, leaving the door slightly ajar so her single, glowing red optic could sweep across the room like a prison searchlight.

"Well." Ben muttered into his pillow, "this is cozy."

"Goodnight, my almost-husband!" Looma's voice boomed from his right.

"Sweet dreams, Benny-boo." Attea whispered from his left.

"Commencing sleep-cycle surveillance." EightEight's voice echoed metallically from the closet.

Ben groaned and pulled the blanket over his head.

An hour passed. Then two. Ben couldn't sleep. Every time he started to drift off, Looma would let out a snore that sounded like a rockslide, or Attea would mumble something in her sleep about "planetary conquest" and "more statues of Benny-boo." And through it all, the unnerving red glow from the closet swept back and forth, back and forth.

It was sometime after 2 AM, when the house was finally, truly quiet, that he heard it. A small, almost inaudible sound from Attea's sleeping bag. He thought she was having another dream, but this was different. It sounded like... a sniffle.

He cautiously peeked over his pillow. In the dim light filtering through the window, he could see Attea's back. Her shoulders were shaking slightly. She was crying.

Ben's heart, despite all his frustration, twisted. He had seen Attea angry, smug, and ridiculously overconfident. He had never seen her sad.

"Attea?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Are you... okay?"

She flinched, clearly thinking he was asleep. She quickly wiped at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm fine." she whispered back, her voice thick. "Just... an atmospheric irritant in my eye."

"The air in my room is irritating you?" Ben asked, unconvinced.

She was silent for a moment. Then she let out a long, shaky sigh. "No." she admitted, her voice small and vulnerable. "It's not the air."

She rolled over to face him, her large green eyes glistening in the faint light. "It's just... this is all harder than I thought it would be."

Ben was at a loss for words. "What is? Taking over the world?"

"No." she said, a faint, watery smile on her lips. "Liking you."

The confession hung in the air between them, more shocking than any explosion or alien invasion. It wasn't a declaration of ownership or a claim of fiancée status. It sounded... real.

"I came here because you promised you'd marry me." she continued, her voice barely a whisper. "And I was angry. I wanted to stake my claim, to prove to everyone you were mine. It was a political move. An empress securing an asset."

She reached out and gently touched the little crowned frog plushie, Mr. Ribbington, which was sitting on his nightstand. "But then... we went to the carnival. And you won me this stupid frog. And we ate chili fries, and you didn't even flinch when I threatened the carny. And you... you make me laugh."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "I've never... laughed like that before. On Incursea, everything is about power and fighting and showing no weakness. But here, with you... it's different. I can just be... Attea."

She looked at him, her expression a mixture of desperation and genuine affection. "I still want to conquer a few planets, don't get me wrong. But... I also just want to sit and eat chili fries with my Benny-boo."

She sniffled again. "And now that big, red oaf is here, and she's so strong and confident, and your mom seems to like her, and I'm just... I'm afraid I'm going to lose."

She wasn't talking about losing a fight. She was talking about losing him.

Before Ben could process this, before he could even think of what to say, another voice, sharp and clear, cut through the darkness from across the room.

"She's right, you know."

Ben and Attea both jumped. It was Charmcaster. Or Hope. She was leaning against the doorframe, her arms crossed, a shimmering, magical aura faintly illuminating her.

"Hope?" Ben whispered, shocked. "How did you get in here?"

"Magic door." she said with a shrug. "Attea, you called me earlier. Sounded like you needed backup. And from the looks of this room." she said, her eyes sweeping over the broken bed and the sleeping Tetramand, "I'd say you were right."

She looked from the crying Attea to the stunned Ben, and a knowing, slightly wicked smile played on her lips.

"So." Charmcaster said, her voice full of theatrical glee. "The plot, as they say, thickens."

The sudden appearance of Charmcaster–or Hope, as she now preferred–was like pouring gasoline on an already raging fire. Ben scrambled into a sitting position, his mind reeling. How many more people were going to show up in his bedroom tonight? Was he going to open his closet and find Vilgax making a sandwich?

Looma, awakened by the new voices, sat up with a snort. Her four eyes blinked sleepily, trying to make sense of the new figure in the doorway. "Who is the glowing one?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

From the closet, EightEight’s red optic swiveled to focus on Charmcaster. "Subject identified: Hope, formerly known as Charmcaster. Anodite-human hybrid. Level-7 magic user. Known associate of Empress Attea. Her sudden appearance is strategically significant."

Hope ignored them all, her attention fixed on Attea. She glided into the room, her movements silent and fluid, and sat down next to the still-sniffling empress.

"So." Hope said softly, putting a comforting arm around Attea’s shoulders. "The big red lady has you spooked, huh?"

Attea nodded miserably, wiping her eyes. "She's just so... much. And Benny-boo's mom likes her. She called her 'dear'!"

"Moms are suckers for politeness." Hope said with a knowing smirk. "It's a universal constant. But that doesn't mean she's won." She looked over at Ben, her magenta eyes sparkling with mischief. "You've just been playing the game all wrong."

Ben held up his hands. "Whoa, whoa. Game? It's not a game! It's my life!"

"Everything's a game, Tennyson." Hope countered smoothly. "And right now, you're the ball. These two." she gestured to the sleepy Looma and the ever-watchful EightEight, "are playing checkers. Brute force and simple logic. But Attea." she squeezed the empress's shoulder, "you and I, we play chess."

Attea looked up, a flicker of her old fire returning to her eyes. "Chess? What do you mean?"

"I mean we stop trying to out-muscle or out-argue them." Hope explained, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "We use our heads. We use subtlety. We use magic." She winked. "And we remind Ben why a girl with a little bit of chaos and a whole lot of ambition is way more fun than a walking protein shake or a talking spreadsheet."

Looma, who had been listening with growing confusion, finally spoke up. "I am not a protein shake! I am a proud Tetramand warrior!"

"Close enough." Hope said dismissively without looking at her. She turned her full attention back to Attea. "Here's the plan. Tomorrow, we don't fight. We don't argue. We befriend."

Attea recoiled. "Befriend?! Her?! The four-armed home-wrecker?!"

"Exactly." Hope said, her smile widening. "We get close to her. We learn her weaknesses. We find out what makes her tick. And then, at the perfect moment, we use it against her to orchestrate a situation so embarrassing, so utterly humiliating, that she'll run back to Khoros and never show her red face on this planet again."

It was, Ben noted with a sinking feeling, almost the exact same plan they had tried to use on Kai. And that had ended with him covered in glitter-foam.

But Attea was captivated. The tears were gone, replaced by a cunning gleam. "Humiliation... I like it. It's my favorite."

"I knew you would." Hope said. "So, tomorrow. Operation: Trojan Handmaiden is a go. We will be the most helpful, most supportive, most friendly 'handmaidens' she's ever seen."

Looma, who was only half-understanding the whispered plotting, beamed. "You will truly serve me as handmaidens? Oh, this is wonderful! I have always wanted handmaidens!"

"A plan based on deception and psychological manipulation." EightEight observed from the closet. "It is a high-risk, high-reward strategy. As per our prior agreement, Attea, I will offer my support. My analytical skills will be useful in identifying psychological vulnerabilities."

"See?" Hope said to Attea. "Even the rust-bucket is on board."

Ben just stared at the three of them–the plotting sorceress, the scheming empress, and the calculating assassin–now united in a complex conspiracy to psychologically torment the giant, sweet-natured alien warrior sleeping five feet away from them.

"This is officially the weirdest sleepover in the history of the universe." he muttered.

"Oh, it's about to get weirder." Hope promised with a grin. "Now, first thing's first. Looma, my dear." she said, her voice now dripping with fake sweetness. "Tell us all about yourself. What are your hobbies, besides breaking furniture?"

Looma's face lit up, completely oblivious to the trap being laid. "Oh, wonderful! I enjoy competitive asteroid throwing, writing epic poetry about my glorious victories, and, of course, planning my wedding to my beloved Benny-poo!"

As Looma launched into a detailed, hour-long description of a traditional Tetramand wedding ceremony, which apparently involved wrestling a giant, six-headed beast called a Grobblewock, Ben watched as Hope and Attea listened intently, taking mental notes. EightEight's optic glowed rhythmically, no doubt recording every word for later analysis.

Ben Tennyson closed his eyes and prayed for morning. He felt like a UN peacekeeper at a summit where all the delegates were secretly planning to pants each other. This wasn't going to end well. It was going to end in tears, explosions, and probably more property damage. And he had a horrible, sinking feeling that he would, once again, end up right in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

Ben awoke to the smell of pancakes. And bacon. And a faint, lingering scent of ozone.

He opened his eyes, momentarily forgetting the absolute circus his life had become. For a blissful second, he was just a young man in his room, waking up to the promise of breakfast. Then he saw the splintered remains of his bed in the corner, and it all came rushing back.

He sat up. The room was mostly empty. Looma’s and Attea’s sleeping bags were gone, as was Hope. The closet door was wide open, revealing an empty space where a Sotoraggian assassin had spent the night. For a terrifying moment, he wondered if it had all been a very strange, stress-induced dream.

Then he saw the note.

It was stuck to Mr. Ribbington’s crown with a small glob of what looked like ectoplasm. He picked it up. The handwriting was a looping, elegant script.

Tennyson,

Took your girls downstairs for breakfast and strategy. Try not to break anything else while we're gone. The fate of your romantic future is in my very capable hands.

XOXO,
Hope

P.S. Your mom makes killer pancakes.

Ben groaned and let his head fall back onto his pillow. "It wasn't a dream."

He dragged himself off the floor, his back aching from the hard surface. He felt like he'd aged ten years overnight. He pulled on a fresh shirt and jeans and trudged downstairs, drawn by the smell of food and the morbid curiosity of what new fresh hell awaited him.

He found them in the kitchen. It was a scene of surreal domesticity.

His mom was at the stove, flipping pancakes like a seasoned pro. Looma was sitting at the kitchen table, a bib tucked into the collar of her armor, looking utterly delighted as Attea placed a stack of ten pancakes in front of her.

"And here you are, Looma dear." Attea said, her voice dripping with false sincerity. "A hearty breakfast for a hearty warrior. You must keep up your strength!"

"Oh, thank you, little handmaiden!" Looma boomed, patting Attea's head with a hand the size of a dinner plate. Attea's eye twitched, but she maintained her smile. "You are so thoughtful!"

Hope was leaning against the counter, sipping a cup of coffee and watching the scene with the smug satisfaction of a master puppeteer. EightEight was standing by the refrigerator (which now had a large, hand-shaped dent in the door), holding a tablet and seemingly cross-referencing Looma's nutritional intake with a database.

"Your current caloric consumption is 3,400 calories over the recommended daily amount for a sedentary Tetramand." EightEight announced. "However, given your high muscle mass and potential for combat, it is an acceptable surplus."

"See? Even the robot says I should eat more!" Looma said cheerfully, before dousing her pancake stack in an entire bottle of maple syrup.

Ben sidled up to his mom. "Mom, what is happening?" he whispered.

Sandra Tennyson, without taking her eyes off the pancakes, whispered back, "It's called 'de-escalation through breakfast foods,' Ben. A time-honored maternal technique. Also, your new friends are being surprisingly... civil."

"It's a trap, Mom." Ben hissed. "They're lulling her into a false sense of security before they psychologically destroy her."

His mom flipped a pancake perfectly. "Well, as long as they do it quietly and without breaking any more furniture, I'm willing to let it play out. Now go sit down before Looma eats all the bacon."

Ben reluctantly took a seat at the table, as far from the epicenter of the charm-offensive as possible. Hope slid into the chair next to him.

"Morning, sleepyhead." she said with a grin. "Phase one of Operation: Trojan Handmaiden is a rousing success. The target is unsuspecting and consuming carbohydrates at an alarming rate."

"This is a terrible idea." Ben muttered, grabbing a piece of bacon. "She's going to figure it out, and then she's going to be really, really mad. And hurt."

"Please." Hope scoffed. "She's a Tetramand. They're not exactly known for their emotional nuance. She'll be fine." She leaned closer. "Besides, we already have our angle."

"Angle?"

"Her poetry." Hope whispered gleefully. "She spent two hours last night reciting verses from her epic masterpiece, 'The Glorious Conquests of Looma Red Wind.' It's terrible. I'm talking 'so bad it could be used as a weapon' terrible. The rhymes are forced, the metaphors are mixed... it's a literary car crash."

Attea, who had overheard, chimed in. "The plan is simple, Benny-boo! We're going to convince her to hold a public poetry reading! We'll tell her the whole town is dying to hear her work!"

Ben's blood ran cold. "A public poetry reading? You want to humiliate her in front of the whole town?"

"Exactly!" Attea's eyes gleamed. "We'll invite everyone! Rook, Fistina, your parents, that grumpy Mr. Baumann... everyone! When they hear how awful her poetry is, they'll laugh her right off the planet! It's brilliant! And completely non-violent!"

"The probability of public ridicule causing a significant psychological break is estimated at eighty-seven percent." EightEight added from her corner. "The subsequent emotional distress would likely compel her to retreat to her home world. The plan is sound."

Ben stared at them, horrified. It wasn't just a prank. It was cruel. Looma, for all her flaws, was earnest and sincere. She genuinely thought her poetry was good. To have that thrown back in her face by a crowd of strangers...

"No." Ben said, his voice firm. "Absolutely not. We are not doing that. That's going too far."

Hope rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be such a boy scout, Tennyson. All's fair in love and war."

"This isn't love, and it's not a war!" he insisted. "It's just... mean."

His protest was interrupted by Looma, who had finished her pancakes and was now wiping her mouth with a napkin that looked like a postage stamp in her giant hand.

"A poetry reading?" she asked, her big yellow eyes wide with excitement. She had overheard them. "Do you truly think the people of Bellwood would wish to hear my verses?"

Before Ben could scream "NO, IT'S A TRAP!", Hope jumped in.

"Of course they would, Looma!" she said, her voice full of fake enthusiasm. "A real, live Tetramand princess and warrior-poet? They'll be lining up around the block! It will be the cultural event of the season!"

Looma's face broke into a massive, joyous smile. "Oh, this is more wonderful than I could have ever imagined! To be recognized not just for my strength, but for my art! I must go and prepare! I will select my most moving cantos!"

She stood up, nearly upending the table, and marched out of the kitchen, presumably to go practice her terrible, terrible poetry.

Ben put his face in his hands. It was happening. The train of cruelty had left the station, and he hadn't been able to stop it.

He looked at Hope and Attea, who were sharing a triumphant high-five. This was their idea of winning. And Ben had never felt more like a loser.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of sinister planning disguised as helpfulness. Hope, a natural promoter, used her magic to create and distribute flyers for the "First Annual Bellwood Intergalactic Poetry Slam, Featuring Princess Looma Red Wind." The flyers, which appeared magically on every lamppost and bulletin board in town, featured a dramatic, heroic-looking silhouette of Looma against a backdrop of exploding stars.

Attea, meanwhile, took on the role of Looma's creative consultant.

"Are you sure you want to open with Canto 12?" she'd ask, tapping her chin thoughtfully as Looma recited her work in the living room. "It's powerful, yes, but I feel like Canto 5, 'The Lament of the Crushed Foe,' has more... emotional vulnerability. It really shows your softer side."

"You think so?" Looma would ask, her brow furrowed in concentration. "But Canto 12 has that wonderful rhyme of 'decapitate' with 'annihilate'!"

"A classic, to be sure." Attea would concede. "But trust me. Vulnerability is key."

Ben watched this unfold with a growing sense of dread. He tried to intervene, to plant seeds of doubt in Looma's mind.

"You know, Looma." he said, catching her as she practiced her dramatic poses in front of a mirror. "Public speaking can be tough. Sometimes people... don't get it. They might not understand the deep warrior symbolism."

"Nonsense, my Benny-poo!" she boomed, striking a pose that involved flexing all four of her biceps. "My poetry is for the people! Its meaning is as clear as a freshly polished battle-axe! They will love it!"

His attempts were futile. She was completely swept up in the dream Hope and Attea were weaving for her.

Even EightEight was involved, in her own, terrifyingly efficient way. She had secured a "venue"–the stage in the town park's amphitheater–and handled all the "logistics." which included setting up a high-fidelity sound system "to ensure every poorly constructed metaphor is heard with crystal clarity."

Ben felt utterly powerless. He was supposed to be the hero, the one who saved people. But how could he save someone from her own enthusiastic C-plus poetry and the machinations of his so-called friends?

His only hope was Rook. He found his partner in the Plumber's truck, calibrating his Proto-Tool.

"Rook, you have to help me." Ben pleaded, climbing into the passenger seat. "They're going to humiliate Looma in front of the entire town!"

Rook sighed, not looking up from his work. "Ben, I have been monitoring their communications, as is my duty. Their plan, while... distasteful... does not violate any Plumber statutes. There is no law against hosting a bad poetry night."

"But it's cruel!" Ben insisted. "It's emotional warfare!"

"Indeed." Rook agreed. "And you seem to be the epicenter of it. Have you considered that the only way to end this 'warfare' is to... make a choice?"

Ben recoiled. "A choice? What do you mean?"

"I mean." Rook said, finally looking at him, his expression serious, "that Attea, Looma, and EightEight are not fighting each other. They are fighting for you . As long as you remain an un-claimable prize, they will continue to escalate their tactics. Perhaps if you were to make your own intentions clear, this would all... cease."

Ben stared at him, dumbfounded. "My intentions? My intention is for them all to go home and leave me alone!"

"Is it?" Rook asked quietly. "Attea has been here for days. You took her to a carnival. You seem... fond of her, in your own chaotic way. EightEight provides a level of security you have never had. And even Looma... you seem more exasperated than hateful. You do not truly want her to be hurt."

Rook's words hit Ben with the force of a physical blow. Was he right? Had his own refusal to deal with the situation, his constant denial of the "harem." actually made things worse? By trying to keep everyone at arm's length, was he just encouraging them to try harder, to fight dirtier?

He left Rook's truck with his head spinning. He wandered through the town, seeing the magical flyers everywhere. He saw Mr. Baumann squinting at one, then chuckling to himself and saying, "Alien poetry? Ought to be a laugh."

The seeds of doubt were no longer in Looma's mind. They were in his.

He ended up back at his house, in his ruined bedroom. He sat on the floor where he had slept, the ghost of last night's conversations still hanging in the air. He looked at Mr. Ribbington, the crowned frog plushie sitting on his nightstand.

Attea's tear-streaked face flashed in his memory. "I also just want to sit and eat chili fries with my Benny-boo."

She was a tyrannical, planet-conquering despot with a massive ego. But she was also... lonely. And maybe, just maybe, she was starting to genuinely care about him, beyond just wanting to own him.

He thought of EightEight. Silent, logical, always there. She'd tried to blow him up once, sure. But since then, she'd been an oddly steady presence. Her plan to humiliate Kai was terrible, but her motive was... affection? In its own weird, Sotoraggian way?

And Looma. Loud, destructive, and completely overwhelming. But she was also honest. There wasn't a manipulative bone in her body. She genuinely admired him and thought her poetry was a gift she could share. Hurting her felt... wrong. Deeply wrong.

Ben Tennyson, hero of the universe, defeater of Vilgax, wielder of the Omnitrix... was a complete and utter coward when it came to his own feelings.

"Rook's right." he said to the empty room. "This is my fault."

The poetry reading was scheduled for sunset. He had a few hours to figure out what to do. He could let it happen, and watch Looma get her heart broken. Or he could intervene. But how? If he just told Looma it was a trap, Hope and Attea would be furious, and their scheming would only get worse. If he tried to cancel it, they'd find another way.

He had to do something bigger. Something that would change the game entirely.

An idea began to form in his mind. It was crazy. It was risky. It was probably going to make at least two of the three women furious with him. But it was better than letting them be cruel.

He stood up, a new determination on his face. He knew what he had to do. He just had to hope he had the guts to go through with it.

The Bellwood town park amphitheater was surprisingly full. It seemed the novelty of an "Intergalactic Poetry Slam" was enough to draw a crowd. Mr. Baumann was there, as promised, sitting in the front row with a bag of popcorn. Gwen and Kevin had shown up, looking both confused and morbidly curious. Rook and Fistina took a seat near the back, observing with professional stoicism. Even Julie Yamamoto was there, having seen a flyer and, in her own unfailingly polite way, thought it would be "interesting to experience alien culture."

Ben stood at the side of the stage, his heart pounding. His mom and dad were in the audience, having been "strongly encouraged" to attend by Hope. They both gave him a weak, supportive smile.

Backstage, which was really just the area behind the stage's back wall, the atmosphere was electric. Looma was pacing back and forth, clutching a scroll of paper, her face a mask of nervous excitement.

"Oh, my palms are sweating!" she boomed. "This is more nerve-wracking than wrestling a Korg-Beast!"

"You'll be wonderful, dear." Attea said, patting her arm. Her smile was sharp and predatory.

"Just remember to project." Hope added, checking the microphone for the fifth time. "We want them to hear every single word."

EightEight stood nearby, tablet in hand. "Crowd mood analysis indicates high levels of curiosity mixed with amusement. The conditions are optimal for our desired outcome of public humiliation."

Ben took a deep breath. It was time.

He walked over to the group. "Hey, Looma? Can I talk to you for a sec?"

Looma stopped pacing and beamed at him. "Of course, my love! Have you come to wish me luck?"

"Sort of." Ben said. He led her a few feet away, out of earshot of the others. "Listen. I know you're excited. But I have to be honest with you. This whole thing... it's a set-up."

Looma's smile faltered. "A set-up? What do you mean?"

"Attea and Hope... they don't think your poetry is good." Ben said, the words tasting like acid. "They think it's bad. They organized this whole thing because they think people will laugh at you. They want to embarrass you so you'll leave."

He braced himself for the explosion. He expected her to roar, to smash something, to get angry.

Instead, Looma just looked at him, her large yellow eyes surprisingly clear. A strange, sad smile touched her lips. "I know." she said quietly.

Ben's jaw dropped. "You... you know?"

"I am not a fool, Ben Tennyson." she said, her voice a low rumble of surprising gentleness. "I am a warrior. I have been in command of armies since I was a child. I know when I am being flattered. I know when I am being manipulated." She looked over at Attea and Hope, who were whispering and giggling together. "Their 'friendship' was as convincing as a G'rrnaylan peace treaty. It is always a trap."

"But... then why are you going through with it?" Ben asked, completely bewildered. "Why let them do this to you?"

"Because." she said, and her gaze on him was intense and full of a depth he had never seen before, "it was the only way you would talk to me. Truly talk to me. Not as a problem to be solved, or a monster to be fought, but as... Looma." She sighed, a sound like shifting continents. "And because I hoped that when you saw what they were doing, the honorable warrior I fell for would not allow it to happen. It seems." she said, her sad smile widening slightly, "I was right."

Ben was speechless. He had underestimated her completely. She wasn't just a mountain of muscle and enthusiasm; she was a princess, a commander. She had been playing her own game all along.

"I... I'm sorry, Looma." he said, and he meant it. "I let this get out of hand."

"It is alright." she said. She gently placed one of her giant hands on his shoulder. "Now. What shall we do about it?"

A wide grin spread across Ben's face. "I have an idea."

A few minutes later, Hope stepped up to the microphone. "Welcome, Bellwood, to a truly historic evening! Tonight, we have the distinct pleasure of hearing the poetic stylings of a true galactic warrior! Please give a warm welcome to the Poet-Princess of Khoros... Looma Red Wind!"

The crowd applauded politely. Looma walked onto the stage, her head held high. She looked magnificent and terrifying. She reached the microphone, unfolded her scroll, and took a deep breath. Attea and Hope, watching from the wings, leaned forward in anticipation, their faces alight with malice.

"My first poem." Looma announced, her voice booming across the park, "is a duet. I will be joined on stage by my collaborator... and my chosen husband... Ben Tennyson!"

A collective gasp went through the crowd. In the wings, Attea's and Hope's jaws dropped in unison. EightEight's optic made a sound like a camera shutter, capturing the moment.

Ben strode onto the stage, a confident smile on his face, and took a second microphone from its stand. He stood beside Looma, looking small but determined.

"This is a piece we co-wrote." Ben said into the mic. "It's a little something we call... 'Ode to a Harem I Insist I Don't Have.'"

He looked at Looma. She nodded.

And then they began.

Ben, in a clear, strong voice, recited, "A frog princess came from the sky..."

Looma followed, her voice a booming counterpoint, "...Her attitude was rather sly! She claimed my hand, a cosmic prize..."

"...But looked at me with goo-goo eyes." Ben finished.

He then pointed to the wings. "Your turn, Attea!"

Attea was frozen, her face a mask of pure, horrified shock. The spotlight swiveled and landed directly on her. The crowd turned to look.

The plan hadn't just backfired. Ben had turned it into a guided missile and aimed it right back at them. The public humiliation was still on. It just had a new target.

Chapter Text

Attea was trapped. The spotlight was a cage of pure white light, and the expectant faces of the crowd were the bars. She looked from Ben’s challenging grin, to Looma’s triumphant smirk, to the hundreds of people staring at her. Her mind, usually so quick and cunning, went completely blank. She was the one who set traps, not the one who got caught in them.

"Come on, Attea." Ben's voice boomed from the speakers, full of cheerful menace. "Don't be shy. You helped plan this whole event. The stage is calling."

Hope, who had been standing next to Attea, quickly sidestepped out of the spotlight's glare, abandoning her co-conspirator without a moment's hesitation. She gave Attea a look that said, You're on your own.

With a low growl of frustration, Attea stalked onto the stage, her face the color of a thundercloud. She snatched the microphone from Ben's hand.

"Fine." she hissed into it. The crowd murmured. "A bounty hunter then appeared..."

Looma boomed, "...Her motives were not very cleared! She spoke in words both big and grand..."

"...And followed us all through the land!" Attea finished, glaring at EightEight, who was still standing in the wings, her impassive helmet giving nothing away. The spotlight immediately swung to find the Sotoraggian.

EightEight, unlike Attea, did not hesitate. She strode calmly into the light, taking a spare microphone from a techie as she walked. She did not look embarrassed or angry. She looked... analytical.

"A Tetramand princess, full of might." EightEight recited, her synthesized voice oddly poetic, "Arrived and started a new fight. She broke the bed with joyful glee..."

Looma then turned to the crowd, a playful glint in her eyes. "...And was much stronger than all three!" She flexed all four of her arms. The crowd laughed and applauded. They were loving this. It wasn't a poetry reading; it was a roast.

This was Ben's masterstroke. He hadn't just saved Looma; he had taken control of the entire narrative. He had turned their weapon of cruelty back on them, but in a way that was funny and theatrical, not mean-spirited. He was showing them, and the entire town, just how ridiculous this whole situation was.

He took the mic back from Attea. "So here we stand, a motley crew..."

"A hero and his fan club, it is true!" Looma added.

"One is a frog, one is a bot." Attea grumbled into her mic.

"The other one... she hits a lot." EightEight deadpanned. The crowd roared with laughter. Even Kevin could be seen wiping a tear from his eye.

Ben took center stage. "So let it be known, across the stars..."

Looma joined in, "Whether in hovercrafts or cars..."

Attea, EightEight, Ben, and Looma all said the last line together, their voices a bizarre chorus of human, Incursean, Sotoraggian, and Tetramand.

"...Ben Tennyson's love life is truly bizarre!"

The poem ended. For a moment, there was silence. Then, the amphitheater erupted in thunderous applause. People were cheering, whistling, stamping their feet. They hadn't just witnessed a poetry reading; they had witnessed the weirdest, most entertaining piece of public performance art in Bellwood's history.

Ben took a bow. Looma took four, one for each direction. Attea and EightEight just stood there, stunned by the turn of events. Their brilliant plan for humiliation had transformed into a resounding success–for Ben and Looma.

As the applause died down, Ben spoke into the mic one last time. "Thank you, Bellwood! And let's give an extra-special round of applause to my... very complicated friends. Attea and EightEight!"

He beamed at them. It wasn't a mean smile. It was a smile that said, Checkmate.

Attea looked like she was going to spontaneously combust. Hope, who had been watching from the wings with a look of horrified admiration, just shook her head and vanished in a puff of pink smoke. The master puppeteer knew when the show was over.

Later that night, back at the Tennyson house. which now had a brand new, very solid-looking front door, the mood was... different.

Looma was ecstatic. She had been the star of the show, she had performed her art, and she had bonded with her "beloved" in a way she never expected. She seemed to have completely forgotten that the whole event was supposed to be a trap.

Attea and EightEight, on the other hand, were silent. They sat together on the sofa, the "Right and Left-Hand Woman" alliance in tatters. They had been outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and publicly outed as schemers.

Ben found them there when he came downstairs for a glass of water.

"Tough night, huh?" he said, trying to sound sympathetic.

Attea just glared at the floor. "You humiliated us."

"No." Ben said gently, sitting down in the armchair opposite them. "You tried to humiliate Looma. I just... changed the punchline." He looked at them both, his expression serious. "Look. I get it. You both... like me. In your own ways. But this–the plotting, the fighting, trying to hurt each other or other people–it has to stop."

He leaned forward. "Rook said something to me today. He said this would all keep happening as long as I didn't make a choice." He took a deep breath. "He was right. So, I'm making one."

Attea and EightEight both looked up, their expressions a mixture of hope and terror. This was it. The moment of truth.

"My choice." Ben said slowly, "is that I don't want a harem."

Attea rolled her eyes. "We know that, you say it all the–"

"Let me finish." Ben interrupted. "I don't want a harem. I don't want a competition. I don't want fiancées or contenders or handmaidens. What I want... is friends."

He looked at Attea. "Attea, you're a princess. You're brilliant and funny and terrifying. And I like hanging out with you. I want to be your friend. Your real friend. Not your... 'Benny-boo' property."

Then he looked at EightEight. "And you... you're one of the most capable people I've ever met. And somewhere under all that armor and logic, I think there's someone interesting. I'd like to get to know her. As a friend."

He stood up. "That's my choice. Friendship. All of you. Take it or leave it. But the fighting is over."

He left them sitting there in silence and went back upstairs to his room, where Looma had "helped" by setting up his sleeping bag on the floor with a dozen pillows. His heart was pounding. He had finally laid his cards on the table. He had no idea if it would work, or if it would just make everything explode in a completely new way.

But for the first time in a long time, he felt like he had done the right thing.

Chapter Text

The next morning, the Tennyson house was quiet. Eerily quiet. Ben woke up on his pillow-fortress on the floor and, for the first time in what felt like a month, he didn't immediately sense the presence of three different alien species vying for his attention.

He sat up and looked around. The room was empty. The sleeping bags belonging to Looma, Attea, and EightEight were gone. The wreckage of his bed was still in the corner, a lonely monument to the chaos.

A sense of unease settled in his stomach. Had his "friendship" speech been so offensive that they had all just... left? Had he won, only to lose everyone in the process?

He got dressed and hurried downstairs. The house was clean, tidy, and empty. His parents had already left for work. A single note was on the kitchen table, this time in his mom's handwriting.

Ben,
Had to work early. There's breakfast in the fridge. Please try to keep the number of alien invasions to a minimum today. Love, Mom.

No sign of anyone. No dented appliances, no discarded armor pieces, no lingering smell of ozone or cinnamon. It was as if the last 48 hours had never happened.

The quiet felt... wrong. It wasn't peaceful, like the morning he'd craved just a few days ago. It was hollow.

He was just about to resign himself to a lonely breakfast of leftover pancakes when he heard a noise from the backyard. He peered through the kitchen window.

Looma was there. She wasn't breaking anything. She was sitting cross-legged on the grass, a large travel bag at her side. She was just... watching the clouds.

Ben walked out the back door. "Looma? I thought you'd left."

She turned and gave him a small, gentle smile. It was a smile he was starting to get used to. "Not yet. My transport is arriving shortly. I came to say goodbye."

Ben sat down on the grass next to her. "You're leaving? But... why? I thought you were having fun."

"I did have fun." she said, her voice a low, pleasant rumble. "The poetry reading was the most glorious battle of wits I have ever been a part of. We were victorious." She looked at him, her yellow eyes soft. "But I suppose you were right, Ben Tennyson. I have been trying to claim you like a prize. It is the Tetramand way. But, maybe it is not your way."

She sighed. "On my world, strength is everything. The strongest warrior wins the greatest honors. But you... you have a different kind of strength. You did not fight them with your fists; you fought them with your heart. You protected me from humiliation, even when it would have been easier to let it happen. That is a strength my people do not understand. It is a strength... I admire."

She stood up, towering over him. "I cannot be your 'friend,' Ben Tennyson. It is not in my nature. I am a princess, and I must have a consort. But." she added, a hint of her old fire in her eyes, "I will find one who is worthy of me. One who I can defeat in honorable combat and who will accept the traditions of my people. And I will not accept a substitute."

A low hum filled the air as a sleek, red Tetramand shuttle descended from the clouds, hovering over the backyard. A boarding ramp extended.

"You have taught me something, Ben Tennyson." Looma said, picking up her bag. "You have taught me that there is more to a potential husband than just his fighting prowess. There is also his honor." She gave him a respectful nod, a gesture between equals. "For that, I thank you. Farewell."

She turned and walked up the ramp into her ship. The ramp retracted, the humming intensified, and with a powerful gust of wind that flattened Mr. Henderson's prize-winning roses next door, the ship shot up into the sky and vanished.

Ben sat there on the grass, stunned. Looma... understood. She had listened, she had learned, and she had left. On her own terms. With her dignity intact. It was the most mature and reasonable thing that had happened all week.

He felt a strange mix of relief and... something else. A little bit of sadness. He was actually going to miss the big, red, walking catastrophe.

He went back inside, his mind reeling. One down, two to go. He braced himself, expecting to find a resignation note from Attea or an invoice for services rendered from EightEight.

But the house was still empty. And the silence was starting to feel very, very lonely. He wondered if he had made a huge mistake. Maybe the chaos was better than the quiet. Maybe he had pushed away the only people in the universe who were crazy enough to want to hang out with him.

He slumped onto the sofa, the silence of the house pressing in on him. This was what he wanted, right? Normalcy? Peace and quiet?

So why did it feel so much like being left behind?

Ben spent the next hour wandering his quiet, empty house like a ghost. He tried to play video games, but the "Sumo Slammers" theme music sounded hollow without Attea there to question the characters' motives or EightEight to analyze the gameplay mechanics. He tried to make a smoothie, but he just ended up staring at the spot where Looma had dented the fridge.

The silence was deafening. He had single-handedly dismantled his own harem, and the prize was a profound sense of loneliness.

"This sucks." he muttered to the empty living room.

He was about to give up and call Rook just to have someone to talk to when he heard a faint noise coming from the garage. It was a series of small, metallic clinks and whirs .

His curiosity piqued, he opened the door to the garage and peeked inside.

The sight that greeted him was almost as surreal as the sleepover had been.

Attea and EightEight were there. They weren't fighting. They weren't arguing. They were... working. Together.

They were bent over the engine of Kevin's car–the one he kept stored in the Tennyson garage when he was out of town. The hood was up, and the engine was in pieces, spread out neatly on a tarp on the floor.

Attea, holding a specialized Incursean multi-wrench, was carefully tightening a bolt on a piece of machinery that glowed faintly. EightEight was standing next to her, a holographic schematic of the engine projected from her wrist gauntlet. She would point to a part on the schematic, and Attea would pick up the corresponding physical part and install it.

They were working in perfect, silent sync, like a seasoned pit crew.

Ben just stood in the doorway, watching them, completely baffled.

"The tertiary plasma injector is now aligned." EightEight stated, her voice calm and professional. "Proceed with the installation of the energy conduit."

"On it." Attea grunted, her tongue sticking out slightly in concentration as she fitted a glowing tube into place. She wiped a smudge of grease from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"Uh... what are you guys doing?" Ben finally asked, his voice making them both jump.

Attea looked up, startled. For a second, he saw a flicker of the old defensiveness in her eyes, then it was gone. She just looked... tired.

"What does it look like we're doing, Benny-boo?" she said, her voice lacking its usual sarcastic bite. "We're fixing a car."

"Kevin's car?" Ben asked, stepping into the garage. "Why?"

It was EightEight who answered, without looking up from her schematic. "Post-event analysis of our recent conflicts indicated a recurring theme: a lack of productive, shared objectives. Our 'alliance' against Looma was predicated on negative reinforcement–the desire to remove a rival. It was inherently unstable."

"So... you decided to fix a car?" Ben asked, still not understanding.

"Your 'friendship' speech was... annoyingly insightful." Attea admitted, refusing to meet his eyes. She focused on tightening another bolt. "You said the fighting had to stop. But you didn't say we had to leave."

She sighed, putting her wrench down. "Look. After you went upstairs last night... we talked. The Tin Can and me."

"A post-mortem of our failed strategies was conducted." EightEight clarified. "We concluded that our rivalry was inefficient and emotionally taxing, with a low probability of achieving the desired outcome–namely, your exclusive affection."

"So we made a new deal." Attea said, finally looking at him. There was no cunning in her eyes, just a sort of weary resignation. "No more fighting. No more schemes. No more trying to one-up each other. We're... trying your way. Friendship."

She said the word like it was a strange, foreign food she wasn't sure she liked yet.

"And 'friendship'... involves advanced auto repair?" Ben asked.

"It involves finding something to do ." Attea said, gesturing around the garage. "So we don't just sit around plotting how to get you to marry one of us. We were bored. EightEight discovered a sub-optimal power-to-fuel ratio in this car's engine. So we decided to fix it. To... optimize it."

"By retrofitting the existing combustion engine with a salvaged Sotoraggian micro-fusion core and an Incursean plasma-injection system, we can increase its horsepower by approximately six hundred percent while also making it fully compliant with Level-4 galactic emissions standards." EightEight explained matter-of-factly. "It is a productive application of our combined skill sets."

Ben stared at the souped-up, glowing engine. "You're turning Kevin's car into a spaceship."

"A very fast spaceship." Attea corrected him with a faint smile. "He'll thank us."

Ben couldn't help it. He laughed. A real, genuine laugh. It was the most absurd, most ridiculous, most perfectly them solution he could have imagined. They couldn't just be friends; they had to have a project. A ridiculously complex, probably dangerous, intergalactic engineering project.

He walked over and picked up a wrench. "So. Where do we start?"

Attea and EightEight exchanged a surprised look.

"You want to help?" Attea asked.

"Yeah." Ben said with a shrug. "It's my friend's car. And my garage. And honestly? It looks kind of fun."

He grinned at them. "Besides. If we're going to be friends, we should probably do friend stuff together, right?"

Attea looked at EightEight. EightEight looked back at Attea. A new alliance was being forged. Not one based on rivalry or shared hatred, but on grease, fusion cores, and a mutual, unspoken agreement to try something new.

For the first time all day, the silence didn't feel lonely. It felt... peaceful. The days that followed settled into a strange, new kind of normal. The Tennyson household was no longer a warzone. It was more like... a very weird, highly advanced, intergalactic co-op.

The mornings were still quiet, but now it was a comfortable quiet. Ben would come downstairs to find Attea reading up on Earth history ("Your 'Genghis Khan' was an amateur, but he had potential." she'd comment), while EightEight would be silently calibrating some piece of alien tech at the kitchen table.

The project in the garage became their central focus. Ben, Attea, and EightEight would spend hours working on Kevin's car, which was looking less like a muscle car and more like something that could win the Kessel Run. Ben, with his intuitive understanding of mechanics, found he was actually pretty good at bridging the gap between Attea's "hit it with a bigger wrench" approach and EightEight's hyper-precise, millimeter-perfect instructions.

There was still bickering, of course.

"The plasma conduit needs to be rerouted through the passenger-side dashboard!" Attea would insist.

"That would expose any potential passenger to unacceptable levels of gamma radiation." EightEight would counter. "A sub-floor routing is the only logical solution."

"But the dashboard route is shorter! It's more efficient!"

"It's also a cancer ray, you dolt!"

Ben would usually step in at that point. "Okay, how about we use a lead-lined conduit and route it through the center console?"

The two would consider it, nod, and get back to work. They were becoming a team. A very dysfunctional, argumentative team, but a team nonetheless.

One afternoon, Rook and Fistina stopped by to check on them. They walked into the garage to find Ben holding a flashlight, EightEight welding a joint with a laser torch, and Attea elbow-deep in the engine, humming a cheerful Incursean battle hymn.

Rook just stared, his mouth slightly agape. "I... do not know what I was expecting. But it was not this."

"Isn't it wonderful?" Fistina said, her voice full of warmth. "They are collaborating!"

Attea popped her head out of the engine, her face smeared with grease. "Hey, Rook! Fistina! Grab a wrench! The inertial dampeners aren't going to install themselves!"

Even Ben's parents got used to the new status quo. His dad would occasionally wander into the garage, offer some unsolicited advice based on his own limited car knowledge ("You sure that big spinny thing is supposed to glow like that?"), and then wander back out, shaking his head with a smile. His mom seemed content as long as no one was breaking furniture or declaring war in her living room.

The tension that had crackled between the three of them had been replaced by a shared purpose. The rivalry hadn't vanished completely–it had just been channeled. Now, instead of fighting over who got to sit next to Ben, they fought over who had the better idea for increasing the engine's thrust-to-mass ratio.

One evening, after a particularly long day of work, the three of them were sitting on the garage floor, sharing a bag of chips and watching the newly installed micro-fusion core pulse with a soft, blue light.

"You know." Attea said, crunching on a chip. "This is... not terrible."

"The collaborative process has been ninety-two percent efficient." EightEight agreed, delicately eating a single chip by retracting a small portion of her faceplate. It was the most of her face Ben had ever seen, and it was gone in a flash.

"I'm glad you guys didn't leave." Ben said quietly, admitting it out loud for the first time.

Attea glanced at him, a rare, soft expression on her face. "Yeah, well. Where else am I gonna get free chili fries and a chance to build a hyperdrive?"

"My continued presence is logically justified by the ongoing project and the opportunity to observe human-alien social dynamics in a controlled, non-hostile environment." EightEight added. But Ben thought he detected something warmer in her synthesized voice.

He smiled. This was good. This was progress. Maybe, just maybe, his life could be both completely insane and peacefully stable at the same time.

He looked at his two... friends. The tiny frog empress and the silent, armored assassin. They were the strangest friends in the universe. But they were his.

The car was almost finished. They just needed to test it. And Ben had a feeling that the road trip to end all road trips was just around the corner. The thought didn't fill him with dread. It filled him with excitement. For the first time, he wasn't just a prize to be fought over. He was part of the crew.

A few nights later, the project was complete. Kevin's car sat in the garage, looking deceptively normal on the outside. But under the hood, it was a masterpiece of alien engineering, a fusion of Incursean brute force and Sotoraggian precision. The micro-fusion core hummed softly, a quiet promise of unimaginable power.

"We did it." Ben said, a sense of real accomplishment in his voice. He wiped a final smudge of grease from the fender. "We actually did it."

"Of course we did." Attea said, puffing out her chest. She stood with her hands on her hips, admiring their work. "Was there ever any doubt?"

"All systems are operational." EightEight confirmed, closing her diagnostic tablet. "The vehicle is now capable of achieving speeds of Mach 3 in atmospheric flight and .5 past lightspeed in vacuum. I have also installed a superior sound system and heated seats."

"Heated seats!" Attea exclaimed. "Oh, you do have a heart in there somewhere, Tin Can."

They were all tired, covered in grease, but happy. A comfortable silence settled over them, the kind that only comes from shared hard work.

That night, there was no argument about sleeping arrangements. The wreckage of the bed was gone (Ben's dad had sadly hauled it to the curb), and they had all tacitly agreed that the floor was their domain, at least until Ben got a new bed. They laid out their sleeping bags in a loose triangle, a comfortable distance apart. No one was fighting for the spot next to Ben.

Ben lay in his sleeping bag, staring at the ceiling, a genuine, contented smile on his face. The house was quiet. The garage held their shared triumph. The two aliens sleeping in his room were, for the moment, just his friends. Everything felt... right.

He drifted off to sleep easier than he had in weeks, the low hum of the finished hyperdrive from the garage a strange and comforting lullaby.

Sometime in the deep, quiet hours of the morning, when the moon was high and the world was still, Attea stirred in her sleep. She wasn't having a nightmare about rebellions or a power-fantasy dream about conquering Earth. Her expression was soft, peaceful.

She rolled over, her hand reaching out, not for Ben, but for the crowned frog plushie, Mr. Ribbington, which she had taken to keeping by her side. She pulled it close, cuddling it like a child with their favorite toy.

A small, quiet sigh escaped her lips. And then, in a voice so soft it was barely a whisper, a sleepy, unguarded murmur from the deepest part of her heart, she spoke.

"I think... I think I actually, genuinely like him."

From across the room, where the moonlight didn't quite reach, a single, red optic glowed silently in the darkness.

EightEight had heard everything.

And she was recalculating.

Chapter Text

The new normal, as Ben had come to call it, lasted for precisely two and a half days. It was a golden age of relative peace, marked by the smell of ozone, the hum of a micro-fusion core, and the distinct lack of property damage claims from his neighbors. The truce between Attea and EightEight, forged in grease and plasma conduits, held strong. They were less like rivals and more like begrudging lab partners who had discovered a shared passion for dangerously over-powered engines.

But all golden ages must end. Attea’s three-day extension on Earth, the one she had wheedled, demanded, and ultimately received from her father’s grand vizier, was running out. The final day dawned not with the sounds of collaboration from the garage, but with a palpable sense of melancholy.

Attea wasn't in her usual spot in the kitchen, critiquing Earth television ("This 'reality TV' is preposterous! Where are the death matches? The ritual combat? It's just people yelling in kitchens!"). Instead, Ben found her in his room, sitting on the floor where her sleeping bag usually went, staring out the window. Mr. Ribbington, the crowned frog plushie, sat in her lap.

"Hey." Ben said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "You're up early."

"Empresses do not 'sleep in'." she said, her voice quiet and lacking its usual bravado. "We rise with the fourth sun of Incursea... or, in this case, the one, rather pathetic sun of Earth." She sighed, running a webbed finger over Mr. Ribbington's fabric crown. "It's my last day."

The words hung in the air, heavier than a Tetramand's fist. The countdown clock that had been ticking silently in the back of Ben's mind was now blaring.

"Oh." he said, the sound small and inadequate. "Right."

He walked over and sat on the floor opposite her. "So... I guess the hyperdrive is going to have to wait."

A small, sad smile touched her lips. "I suppose so. Just when we were getting to the fun part–the weapons systems."

They sat in silence for a moment, a comfortable quiet that would have been impossible a week ago. Ben found himself searching for something to say, something to fill the looming emptiness of her departure. He was used to wanting her to leave. He was not prepared for the fact that he didn't want her to go.

"You know." he started, "Earth isn't that far from Incursea. I mean, in the grand scheme of the galaxy. You could... visit."

"Visit?" She looked at him, her large green eyes searching his. "As a friend?"

"Yeah." Ben said, his voice a little shaky. "As a friend."

Attea looked down at the plushie in her lap. "An Empress of the Incursean Empire does not simply 'visit' other planets for social calls, Benny-boo. It requires treaties, diplomatic clearances, a full security detail... My father would have a fit. He only tolerates my 'extended vacations' because he thinks I'm scouting for strategic weaknesses in Earth's defenses."

"Are you?" Ben asked, a hint of a smile on his face.

"Of course." she said with a sniff, though there was no heat behind it. "Your planet's greatest weakness is its abundance of these 'chili fries.' They are a dangerously addictive substance. A few thousand tanker ships full of them dropped into our enemies' water supply, and their society would grind to a halt. It's diabolical."

Ben laughed, a real, genuine laugh. "I'm gonna miss you, you weirdo."

The laughter faded, and the melancholy returned. Attea's smile vanished, replaced by a look of genuine sadness. "I will miss you too." she whispered, the words so soft he barely heard them. "More than is... strategically wise."

She stood up abruptly, her posture shifting back into that of an empress. The moment of vulnerability was over. "Well! No sense in moping about! It is my last day on this mudball, and I intend to make the most of it! We are going to the mall."

Ben blinked. "The mall? You want to go to the mall?"

"Of course!" she declared, her old fire returning. "I have analyzed your culture. The 'mall' is the central hub of your society. It is a temple of commerce, a labyrinth of confusingly similar shoe stores, and it possesses a 'food court'–a neutral territory where all tribes may gather to consume fried goods on sticks. It is the perfect final Earth experience."

She marched towards the door, then paused. She looked back at Ben, then at EightEight, who had appeared silently in the doorway, drawn by the conversation.

"And you two are coming with me." Attea commanded. "It will be our last mission as a... team. Operation: Acquire Meaningless Souvenirs and Consume Questionable Food Court Pizza. Now, let's move out!"

She strode out of the room, leaving Ben and EightEight in her wake. Ben looked at the Sotoraggian.

"The mall?" he asked.

EightEight's helmet tilted. "Statistically, it is one of the most common destinations for Terran adolescents. Her logic is sound. And." she added, a new, almost eager tone in her synthesized voice, "I have a list. There are several Earth-based technologies and apparel items I wish to procure."

Ben sighed, but he was smiling. A day at the mall. It was the most normal, most mundane, most perfectly couple thing they could do. And for some reason, it felt like the most fitting end to the most insane week of his life. One last, strange, chaotic day with his... friends. He wouldn't have missed it for the world.

The Bellwood Mall on a Saturday was a chaotic ecosystem all its own. It was a swirling vortex of screaming children, angsty teenagers, and power-walking seniors. The air was thick with the smell of popcorn, perfume, and desperation. To Ben, it was just the mall. To his companions, it was a fascinating alien world.

Attea marched through the automatic doors like she was leading an invasion, her eyes wide with a mixture of wonder and disdain. "Incredible! The sheer volume of useless trinkets! This place could fund my war effort for a decade!"

EightEight, walking silently beside her, was in full analytical mode. Her red optic swept across the storefronts, cataloging and assessing. "Observation: The ratio of stores selling footwear to stores selling practical survival gear is approximately forty-seven to one. This indicates a culture that prioritizes fashion over function. A potential tactical weakness."

"So, where to first?" Ben asked, feeling like a tour guide on another planet. "We've got the food court, the arcade, that store that only sells scented candles..."

"The arcade!" Attea declared immediately. "I wish to test my might against your primitive digital combat simulations!"

The arcade was a cavern of flashing lights and electronic noise. Attea was instantly drawn to a fighting game, "Galaxy Annihilators 5." She chose a character that looked suspiciously like a four-armed Tetramand and proceeded to button-mash her way to a stunning victory against a ten-year-old kid who looked like he was about to cry.

"HA! VICTORY!" Attea crowed, pumping her fist in the air. "Did you see my combo, Benny-boo? The 'face-pummel of eternal sorrow'! It was magnificent!"

The kid ran off, sobbing, to find his mom.

Ben sighed. "Attea, you're supposed to let the little kids win sometimes."

"Nonsense! Weakness must be crushed, in the real world and the digital one! It is the only way they learn!"

Meanwhile, EightEight had discovered the claw machine. She wasn't playing it. She was studying it. She stood before the glass box full of plush toys for a full five minutes, her head tilted, her optic glowing.

"Fascinating." she muttered, mostly to herself. "A game of skill designed to appear as a game of chance. The actuator's grip strength is deliberately calibrated to be insufficient for the weight of ninety-three percent of the prizes. It is a system engineered for failure. A study in applied frustration."

She then inserted a token, her movements precise. She maneuvered the claw with terrifying accuracy, positioning it directly over a small, purple alien plushie that looked a bit like her. The claw descended, gripped the toy, and lifted it. For a moment, it looked like she would succeed. Then, just as she'd predicted, the claw weakened, and the toy dropped.

EightEight didn't seem frustrated. She seemed... satisfied. "Hypothesis confirmed." She then opened a small compartment on her gauntlet, produced a miniature laser cutter, and, with surgical precision, began to cut a perfect circle in the glass.

"Whoa! EightEight, no!" Ben yelped, rushing over and pulling her away. "You can't just break into the machine! That's stealing!"

"It is not stealing." she countered calmly. "It is... unscheduled prize retrieval. The system is rigged. I am merely balancing the scales."

Ben managed to drag her away before she could commit a felony over a fifty-cent stuffed animal. The "mall mission" was already going about as well as he'd expected.

They decided the food court was a safer option. Ben got his chili fries, Attea got a slice of pizza she declared "a greasy, triangular masterpiece." and EightEight... EightEight presented a challenge.

She ordered chili fries as well, a decision that surprised Ben. The problem, as always, was the helmet.

"So... how are you going to eat that?" Ben asked, gesturing with a fry.

EightEight stared at her tray of cheesy, chili-covered potatoes. She seemed to be processing the problem. After a moment, she picked up a drinking straw from the dispenser. She then inserted the straw into what Ben assumed was a small, almost invisible filtration or vocalizer port near the "mouth" area of her helmet.

She then, with methodical precision, began to suck up the chili, one little bit at a time, through the straw. She would occasionally use the straw to spear a piece of melted cheese or a tiny fragment of potato. It was the most bizarre, inefficient, and strangely compelling thing Ben had ever seen.

Attea stared, her pizza slice halfway to her mouth. "You... you're drinking your chili fries."

"It is the most efficient method of nutrient ingestion that does not require me to compromise the integrity of my helmet's environmental seal." EightEight explained between sips.

The conversation that followed was equally strange. Attea, in a surprisingly sentimental mood, began quizzing Ben on what he would miss most about her.

"My brilliant tactical mind?" she asked.

"Well..."

"My sparkling conversational skills?"

"Uh..."

"My undeniable charm and royal grace?"

"I'm gonna miss you getting into arguments with pigeons in the park." Ben said with a grin.

Attea huffed, but she was smiling. "They were looking at me funny! They were plotting! I know a revolutionary when I see one."

The mood was light, almost wistful. It was the end of an era, however brief and chaotic that era had been. As Attea polished off her pizza and EightEight meticulously finished her chili-slurry, Ben felt a genuine pang of sadness. This weird little trio, this dysfunctional team, was about to be broken up.

"Okay." Attea said, clapping her hands together, a look of finality on her face. "My transport arrives in one hour. There is one last place I wish to go."

"Where's that?" Ben asked.

"The 'Build-A-Bear' workshop." she said with utter seriousness. "Mr. Ribbington needs a traveling companion. And I shall build him a worthy squire."

Ben just shook his head and smiled. Of course. That was the only way this day could possibly end. With an alien empress on the verge of tears, an assassin drinking her lunch through a straw, and a mission to build a stuffed frog a sidekick. It was, he had to admit, a perfect day.

The hour passed in a blur of fabric, stuffing, and tiny, customizable outfits. Attea meticulously crafted a new plush companion for Mr. Ribbington–a small, green bear she outfitted in a tiny military uniform and named "Sergeant Cuddles." The ceremony where she performed the "heart" ritual, making a wish and placing the small satin heart inside the bear, was conducted with the solemnity of a royal coronation.

But the clock was relentless. Soon, they were standing on the roof of the mall's parking garage, the designated pickup point. The sun was beginning to set, painting the Bellwood sky in shades of orange and purple.

A sleek, dark green Incursean stealth ship shimmered into existence above them, its engines a low, powerful hum. A boarding ramp extended.

It was time.

Attea turned to face them. Her empress facade was gone, leaving only the small, vulnerable frog-girl Ben had gotten to know.

"Well." she said, her voice thick. "I guess this is it."

She looked at EightEight first. "Tin Can." she said, her voice surprisingly soft. "Try not to blow anything up while I'm gone. And... take care of him."

"Your concern is noted and reciprocated." EightEight replied. "Travel safely, Empress."

Then Attea turned to Ben. She didn't say anything for a long moment. She just looked at him, her large green eyes filled with a universe of unspoken emotions. She stood on her tiptoes and gave him a quick, clumsy hug.

"Don't forget me, Benny-boo." she whispered into his shirt.

"I won't." he whispered back, his own throat feeling tight. "I promise."

She pulled away, clutching Sergeant Cuddles and Mr. Ribbington. She gave them one last, watery smile, then turned and marched up the ramp into her ship without looking back. An empress does not show weakness.

The ramp retracted, the ship shimmered again, and then it was gone.

Chapter Text

The rooftop was suddenly very quiet, and very empty. Ben and EightEight stood in silence for a long time, watching the spot where the ship had been. The wind whipped around them, cold and lonely.

"So." Ben said finally, his voice sounding loud in the quiet. "Just us now."

"Affirmative." EightEight said. "The triumvirate has been reduced to a duumvirate. The dynamic has shifted."

"Yeah." Ben sighed. "It sure has."

They took the bus back to his house. The silence between them wasn't awkward, but it was heavy with the absence of Attea's constant, chaotic energy. When they got back, the house felt cavernous. The garage, with the completed, gleaming car, felt like a monument to a team that no longer existed.

"I'm... gonna order a pizza." Ben said, needing to do something, anything, to break the quiet.

"I am not hungry." EightEight replied. "My nutrient paste is sufficient. However, I will observe the process."

They ended up in the living room, Ben eating a slice of pepperoni pizza and EightEight sitting ramrod straight on the armchair, watching him.

"You're being really quiet." Ben noted. "Even for you."

"I am processing." she said. "The departure of Empress Attea has created a significant variable shift. I am re-calibrating my social interaction protocols."

"You mean you're trying to figure out how to act now that it's just the two of us?"

"A crude but accurate summation, yes."

Ben smiled faintly. "You don't have to 're-calibrate' anything. Just... be you."

EightEight's helmet tilted. "That is a complex directive. My 'self' is comprised of multiple subroutines: warrior, bounty hunter, tactician, data analyst... and, more recently... 'friend'."

She stood up and walked over to him, her movements smooth and deliberate. "As a gesture of this... 'friendship'... I will teach you something of my culture. A sign of trust."

"Okay." Ben said, intrigued.

"My people, the Sotoraggians, have a spoken language, but our primary form of communication is more complex. It involves a series of clicks, snaps, and glottal stops made with the tongue and throat. It is... difficult for outsiders to master."

She then produced a series of sounds that was utterly alien. It was a rapid, percussive sequence of clicks and pops, like a Geiger counter mixed with a drum machine. It was fascinating and completely indecipherable.

"Whoa." Ben said. "What did you just say?"

"A simple greeting." she replied. "'The stars shine bright, may your aim be true.'" She produced another, shorter series of clicks. "That means 'hello'. Try to repeat it."

Ben tried. What came out of his mouth was a clumsy, wet-sounding clicking noise that sounded less like a language and more like he was choking on a piece of popcorn.

EightEight was silent for a moment. "Your attempt was... suboptimal. The glottal stop lacked percussive force. Try again. From the diaphragm."

They spent the next half-hour in a bizarre language lesson, with Ben trying and failing to replicate the complex sounds and EightEight offering clinical, unhelpful corrections. It was frustrating, ridiculous, and, to Ben's surprise, incredibly funny. He found himself laughing harder than he had all day. The melancholy of Attea's departure began to fade, replaced by the simple, absurd joy of the moment.

"Okay, okay, I give up." he finally said, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. "My tongue is not built for that."

"A logical conclusion." EightEight said. But Ben could have sworn he heard a faint hint of amusement in her synthesized voice. A low, almost inaudible hum that was her version of a chuckle.

The laughter subsided, and a different kind of quiet settled between them. It was more comfortable now, more intimate.

"You know." EightEight said, her voice returning to its usual flat tone. "There is another custom. A gesture of extreme trust and affection, reserved for a mate-claimant."

Ben's smile froze. "Oh boy. Here we go."

"Throughout this entire endeavor–the bombs, the glitter, the alliances–there is one thing that has not occurred." she stated, taking a step closer. She was standing directly in front of him now, her single red optic seeming to bore into him. "A kiss."

Ben's heart started hammering in his chest. "Uh, EightEight, I don't think–"

"I do not require your input." she interrupted. "I require your compliance."

Before Ben could react, her hands came up to her helmet. There was a series of soft clicks and hisses, like pneumatic locks disengaging. Ben's eyes widened. Was she... was she going to take it off?

But she didn't. Instead, only the lower portion of her helmet, the part that covered her mouth and jaw, retracted upwards into the main part of the helmet with a soft whir .

It revealed... a mouth. And a chin. They were surprisingly human-like, with smooth, pale grey skin and thin, dark purple lips. It was just a small part of her, a tiny window into the person beneath the armor, but it felt more revealing than if she had taken off the entire thing.

She leaned down, her movements slow and deliberate. Her now-visible lips were inches from his.

"I have analyzed Terran romantic fiction." she whispered, her real voice a surprisingly soft, low alto, completely different from the synthesized one he was used to. It sent a shiver down his spine. "The data suggests that this is the pivotal moment."

She expected him to flinch, to be repulsed by the alienness of it, the cold metal of her helmet against his cheek. But Ben Tennyson had been through too much to be scared of a kiss. He'd seen the inside of a Gourmand's stomach. He'd been turned into a dozen different aliens. A girl with a retractable faceplate was the least weird thing he'd dealt with this week.

He didn't pull away. He just looked at her, at the small, vulnerable part of her she had chosen to show him, and waited.

She closed the final distance and her lips met his. It was a strange kiss. It was hesitant, yet firm. Her lips were cool, but not cold. It wasn't a passionate, fiery kiss like he imagined Looma's would be, or a teasing, possessive one like Attea's might have been. It was... analytical. It was a kiss that was trying to gather data, to understand a foreign concept through direct experimentation.

It only lasted a few seconds. She pulled back, the lower part of her helmet sliding back into place with a soft click, hiding her away again.

She stared at him, her red optic glowing intently, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for the disgust, the rejection.

Ben just blinked, processing what had just happened. He touched his own lips.

"Huh." he said finally.

"'Huh'?" her synthesized voice repeated, a note of what might have been disappointment in it. "Is that the full extent of your data assessment?"

"No, it's just..." Ben shook his head, a slow smile spreading across his face. "For what it's worth... I've been kissed by a girl made of mud, a girl with a tail, and I've turned into an alien that's basically a giant mouth. A little grey skin and purple lips doesn't even make the top ten weirdest things that have happened to my face." He looked her right in the optic. "I didn't care."

EightEight was silent for a very long time. The only sound was the faint hum of her armor's power core.

"Data accepted." she said finally, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper. "And... appreciated." She then turned, without another word, and walked silently out of the room, leaving Ben sitting on the sofa, completely stunned, with the ghost of a cool, analytical, and surprisingly sweet kiss still on his lips.

Chapter Text

Life with just EightEight was... different. It was quiet, orderly, and punctuated by moments of intense, baffling strangeness. Ben's life had found a new rhythm. He'd go to school, come home, do his homework, and then find EightEight in the garage, methodically re-calibrating the hyperdrive they'd built, or in the living room, silently watching documentaries about black holes.

Their "friendship" was a work in progress. It consisted of shared silence, occasional language lessons where Ben still sounded like he was gargling marbles, and Ben trying to explain the concept of humor to a being who thought the most hilarious thing in the universe was a perfectly executed statistical anomaly.

The kiss was an unspoken thing between them. It had happened, a data point logged and filed away, but it had changed something. There was a new level of comfort between them. A silent understanding. EightEight's protective presence seemed less like a bounty hunter guarding an asset and more like... a friend looking out for a friend. A friend she had kissed. It was complicated.

About a week after Attea's departure, they were in the middle of one of these comfortable silences. Ben was on the sofa, deep into a "Sumo Slammers" marathon. EightEight was at the dining table, meticulously disassembling and cleaning her plasma rifle. It was their version of a quiet night in.

Suddenly, Ben's laptop, which was open on the coffee table, chimed loudly with an incoming video call. The ringtone was a series of triumphant Incursean war horns.

"Oh no." Ben groaned. "I know that ringtone."

He leaned over and accepted the call. The screen flickered to life, revealing the command bridge of an Incursean flagship. And seated on the massive throne in the center, looking every bit the glorious empress, was Attea. She was wearing full royal regalia, complete with a ridiculously large shoulder-pauldron that looked like it could deflect an asteroid.

"Benny-boo!" she boomed, her voice echoing slightly in the vast throne room. "Greetings from the glorious heart of the Incursean Empire!"

"Attea! Hey!" Ben said, a genuine smile on his face. "How's... uh... empress-ing?"

"Tedious!" she declared, slumping in her throne in a very un-empress-like manner. "It's all paperwork and groveling ministers and budget reports. I haven't gotten to blow anything up in a week! It's dreadfully boring." She then leaned forward, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Which is why I require a diversion. A diplomatic visit, if you will."

Ben's smile faltered. "A diplomatic visit? To Incursea?"

"Precisely!" she said. "I am inviting you, my future Prince Consort–I mean, my dearest friend –to visit my home world! To see the glorious empire you will one day help me rule–I mean, to experience our rich and fascinating culture!"

EightEight, who had paused her weapon-cleaning, walked over to stand behind the sofa, her optic fixed on the screen.

"Greetings, Empress Attea." EightEight said.

Attea's eyes lit up when she saw her. "Ah! Tin Can! I'm glad you're there! You're invited too! You can be... the official security consultant for the visit. Or something. Just don't analyze the structural integrity of my palace. It's old."

She clapped her hands, and the camera view suddenly swiveled. "And I have another surprise!"

The screen now showed a different part of the bridge. Standing there, looking slightly out of place in her gladiatorial armor amidst all the high-tech consoles, was Looma Red Wind. She was holding a massive, spiky Incursean war hammer and examining it with professional interest.

"Looma?!" Ben yelped. "What are you doing on an Incursean ship?"

Looma looked up and her face broke into a joyous grin. "Benny-poo! Hello! Empress Attea invited me! She said my expertise in traditional combat would be invaluable for her upcoming military review! And she has a most impressive armory!" She hefted the war hammer. "This has excellent balance!"

"You invited Looma ?" Ben asked Attea, bewildered.

"Of course!" Attea said, waving a dismissive hand. "She's... well, she's big. It's good for diplomatic appearances. Makes us look tough. Also, she was getting bored on her home world, and I owed her one for that poetry slam business. So, what do you say? A three-day trip. All expenses paid. My father is still off fighting some pointless war on the Fungus-people of Yorp, so I have the whole planet to myself. It'll be fun!"

Ben's mind was racing. A trip to Incursea. To see Attea's home, her empire. A week ago, the idea would have terrified him. But now... it sounded like an adventure. A chance to see her world, to understand her better.

Before he could answer, another voice cut in, sharp and familiar.

"Absolutely not."

The screen split, a new video window popping up. It was Gwen, looking stern, with Kevin visible over her shoulder, munching on a sandwich.

"Gwen!" Ben said, surprised. "How did you get on this call?"

"I put a tracker on your Plumber's badge after the 'glitter-bomb' incident." Gwen said matter-of-factly. "Anytime you receive a call from a known hostile—or, in this case, a 'chaotically-aligned romantic interest'—I get an alert. Ben, you cannot be serious. Going to the home world of the Incursean Empire? It's a trap!"

"It is not a trap!" Attea protested, offended. "It is a perfectly legitimate cultural exchange!"

"Your idea of a cultural exchange is usually a precursor to an invasion!" Gwen shot back. "Ben, think about this logically. She'll get you on her home turf, declare you her husband by some obscure Incursean law, and you'll never be allowed to leave!"

"She has a point, dude." Kevin mumbled through a mouthful of bread. "Sounds risky."

"It's not risky! It's an invitation! From a friend!" Ben argued, finding himself defending Attea. "She wouldn't trap me. We have an understanding now."

"An 'understanding'?" Gwen's eyebrow arched skeptically. "Ben, this is Attea we're talking about. Her 'understandings' have footnotes, and the footnotes are usually 'and then I get what I want'."

"I am right here!" Attea yelled from her screen. "I can hear you, red-headed know-it-all!"

The call descended into a four-way argument. Ben defending the trip, Gwen listing all the logical reasons it was a terrible idea, Attea insisting on her noble intentions, and Looma occasionally interjecting with comments about the quality of Incursean metallurgy.

EightEight remained silent through it all, processing.

Finally, Ben had enough. "QUIET!" he yelled.

Everyone fell silent.

"Gwen, I appreciate you looking out for me." he said, his voice firm. "I do. But this is my decision. Attea is my friend. And I trust her." He looked at the screen, directly into Attea's eyes. "I'm coming."

Gwen sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "Fine. But when you're locked in a dungeon and forced to write thank-you notes for your own wedding presents, don't call me." She ended her call with a frustrated click.

Attea was beaming, her smile lighting up the entire command bridge. "Excellent! I'll send a transport for you immediately! Pack your bags, Benny-boo! You're about to see how a real planet is run!"

She ended the call, leaving Ben and EightEight in the quiet living room.

"Well." Ben said, a nervous but excited energy buzzing through him. "I guess we're going to Incursea."

EightEight finally spoke, her helmet tilted in contemplation. "Gwendolyn Tennyson's assessment of the situation carried a seventy-eight percent probability of being correct. This is, logically, a trap."

"You think so too?" Ben asked, his confidence wavering slightly.

"Yes." EightEight replied. She then picked up her plasma rifle, which was now reassembled and gleaming. "However." she added, checking the charge on its power cell, "my primary function is to protect you from traps. This will be an excellent opportunity to field-test my skills in a hostile environment. I find the prospect... stimulating."

Ben stared at her. Even his own bodyguard thought it was a trap, but she was excited about it. He shook his head and laughed. His life was utterly, completely insane. And he wouldn't have it any other way.

The Incursean transport ship was less of a ship and more of a flying, green, militaristic brick. It was all hard angles, dark metal, and the faint, unmistakable smell of swamp gas and floor polish. Inside, Ben, EightEight, and Looma were the sole passengers in a troop compartment designed to hold two hundred heavily armed soldiers.

The journey was... interesting.

Looma, delighted to be on the move again, spent most of the trip challenging the ship's auto-pilot to a game of "Galactic Conquest." which she played on a holographic table. She was surprisingly good, conquering entire star systems with a cheerful, booming laugh.

EightEight spent her time interfacing directly with the ship's computer, downloading the entire history of the Incursean Empire, its military protocols, and its political structure. "One can never have too much data." she'd stated. "Knowledge is ammunition."

Ben, meanwhile, just tried to relax, which was difficult when Looma would occasionally slam her fist on the holo-table in triumph, making the whole ship shake.

After several hours of hyperspace travel that felt strangely like being inside a giant, rumbling washing machine, a klaxon blared.

"Approaching Planet Incursea. Seat yourselves for atmospheric entry." a synthesized voice announced.

Ben strapped himself into one of the troop seats. He looked out the viewport, his breath catching in his throat.

Incursea was beautiful. From orbit, it was a swirling marble of deep greens and brilliant blues, dotted with continents that looked like lily pads floating in a vast, cosmic pond. It looked peaceful, lush, and serene.

Then they entered the atmosphere, and the "peaceful" illusion shattered.

The moment they broke through the clouds, Ben saw the reality of the Incursean home world. The entire planet seemed to be one massive, sprawling, heavily industrialized city-swamp. Towering, dark green skyscrapers, shaped like cattails and thorny vines, pierced the perpetually overcast sky. Canals of murky, green water snaked between the buildings instead of roads, filled with skiffs and military patrol boats. The air was thick with a hazy, green smog, and the whole planet hummed with the sound of machinery and, faintly, the croaking of a billion unseen frogs.

"Welcome to my humble home." a voice said over the intercom. It was Attea, sounding smug.

The ship descended towards the heart of the capital city, a place where the skyscrapers were tallest and the smog was thickest. They landed on a massive platform atop the highest tower–the Imperial Palace.

The boarding ramp lowered with a hiss, revealing a reception committee. Attea stood at the center, no longer in her full regalia, but in a sharp, black-and-green military-style tunic. She looked powerful and confident. Flanking her were two dozen elite Incursean soldiers in gleaming armor, holding long, electrified pikes.

"Welcome." Attea said with a grand gesture, "to the seat of my power. The Imperial Palace of Incursea."

Ben, Looma, and EightEight walked down the ramp. Looma looked around, impressed. "A fine fortress! The kill-zones are well-established!"

EightEight was already scanning everything. "Multiple layers of energy shielding detected. Extensive automated defense turrets. The security is... adequate."

Ben just tried not to look too intimidated. "So... this is your place. It's... green."

"The color of conquest!" Attea said proudly. "And money. Mostly conquest. Come, let me show you around."

The tour of the palace was an exercise in sensory overload. The walls were made of a dark, polished metal that felt damp to the touch. The hallways were vast and echoing, lit by glowing green crystals. Holographic banners depicting famous Incursean victories hung from the ceilings. Everything was designed to inspire awe and intimidation.

"And this." Attea said, leading them into a massive chamber, "is the Throne Room."

It was the same room from the video call, but seeing it in person was different. The throne was carved from the skull of some colossal, long-dead space monster. The floor was a map of the known galaxy, with the territories of the Incursean Empire glowing a triumphant green.

"Impressive, right?" Attea said, plopping down onto the throne and kicking her feet up on the armrest.

"It is... large." Looma commented, tapping the giant skull-throne with a curious finger. "What beast did this belong to?"

"A Gormandian Sludge-Wyrm." Attea said with a yawn. "My great-great-grandfather killed it. Used its intestines to tie his shoes, or so the story goes."

Ben just stared at the galactic map on the floor. He could see Earth. It was small, blue, and, thankfully, not glowing green.

"So." Attea said, leaning forward and fixing Ben with an intense stare. "What do you think of my world, Benny-boo? Ready to move in?"

There it was. The trap Gwen had warned him about. He could feel EightEight tense beside him, her hand drifting towards her weapon's holster.

Ben met Attea's gaze. "It's your home, Attea. It's... you. Loud, a little scary, and very, very green." He smiled. "I'm glad you're showing it to me."

He hadn't confirmed or denied her question. He'd just... answered. As a friend.

Attea seemed momentarily thrown off by his non-committal, yet sincere, response. Her intense stare softened. "Hmph. Well. Don't get too comfortable. The tour isn't over."

She hopped off the throne. "Next stop: the royal dining hall. I hope you're hungry. Tonight's special is live G'rrnaylan Swamp Grubs."

Ben's face went pale. Looma's eyes lit up. EightEight simply stated, "My nutrient paste remains sufficient." The tour, and Ben's three days on the frog planet, had officially begun.

Chapter Text

The Royal Dining Hall was less of a hall and more of a cavern. The table was a single, long slab of black stone that could have seated a hundred. Attea sat at the head, with Ben placed in the "seat of honor" to her right. Looma and EightEight sat opposite, looking small in the cavernous space.

"So." Attea began, gesturing to the empty plates in front of them with a grand wave. "In Incursean high society, it is customary for the host to provide entertainment before the meal. A display of power and culture."

On cue, two massive doors at the far end of the hall swung open. A troupe of Incursean performers marched in. They weren't musicians or dancers. They were warriors, acrobats, and... poets.

What followed was a bizarre floor show that was part circus, part gladiatorial combat, and part open-mic night. Two Incurseans in elaborate armor would engage in a stunning display of combat, their electrified pikes clashing and sparking. Then, a third would jump in and begin reciting epic poetry about the battle as it was happening.

"Behold the glorious parry of Grak!" the poet would shout. "His foe, Zorp, will soon taste my sack!"

Looma was enthralled, clapping her four hands together with delight. "Brilliant! Combat and commentary, combined! It is performance art!"

Ben was mostly just trying to follow the action without getting whiplash. EightEight watched with detached curiosity, her optic glowing as she recorded the "cultural display."

Finally, the performance ended, and the food arrived. Incursean servants, tall, lanky amphibians with serious expressions, brought out platters piled high with... things.

The main course, as promised, was the G'rrnaylan Swamp Grubs. They were thick, purple, and wriggling. They were served on a bed of what looked like moss, and they occasionally tried to crawl off the platter.

"Tuck in!" Attea said cheerfully, grabbing a grub with her bare hands and popping it into her mouth with a satisfying crunch. "They're best when they're still feisty!"

Ben felt his stomach do a flip. His face must have turned the same color as the palace walls, because Attea laughed at him.

"What's wrong, Benny-boo?" she teased. "Not a fan of fresh cuisine?"

Looma, however, did not hesitate. "A warrior eats what is put before her!" she declared, scooping up a handful of the grubs and swallowing them whole. "Mmm! Peppery!" she announced, a single grub antenna wiggling from the corner of her mouth.

Ben looked desperately at EightEight, hoping for an ally in his disgust. But EightEight was calmly producing a small, metallic cylinder from a pouch on her belt. She uncapped it, revealing a thick, grey paste.

"I will stick with my nutrient rations." she stated, squeezing a dollop of the paste into a small, almost invisible port on her helmet.

Ben was on his own. All eyes were on him. Attea was watching him with amusement. Looma was watching him with encouragement. This was a test. A cultural test. Could the "future Prince Consort" handle a simple Incursean delicacy?

He took a deep breath. He thought about all the weird alien things he'd eaten as Upchuck. This couldn't be worse than that. Probably.

He slowly reached out, his hand trembling slightly, and picked up one of the smaller, less-agitated grubs. It wiggled in his fingers. He closed his eyes, held his breath, and put it in his mouth.

He chewed. Once. Twice.

The texture was... chewy. And slimy. But the taste... was surprisingly not terrible. It was spicy, salty, and tasted vaguely like a chili pepper mixed with a mushroom.

He swallowed. He opened his eyes.

"Well?" Attea asked, a smug grin on her face.

"It's..." Ben said, his voice a little hoarse. "It's actually... kind of good."

Attea's jaw dropped. She had clearly expected him to gag, to spit it out, to fail the test. The fact that he'd not only eaten it but seemed to enjoy it had completely thrown her.

Looma let out a booming laugh. "Ha! My Benny-poo has the stomach of a warrior! He is a worthy mate!"

Ben, feeling a surge of confidence, reached for another grub. This time, he ate it without hesitation. He was Ben Tennyson. He'd faced down world-ending threats. He wasn't going to be beaten by a little purple worm.

The rest of the dinner was a blur of strange and exotic foods. There were black, crunchy fungus-chips that tasted like barbecue, a bubbling green soup that numbed his tongue, and a dessert that was basically a rock covered in crystallized sugar that you had to lick. By the end of it, Ben was full, his palate was thoroughly confused, and he had, somehow, passed the un-winnable test.

As they left the dining hall, a wave of nostalgia hit Ben so hard he almost stumbled. The bizarre symphony of flavors in his mouth had triggered a memory, sharp and vivid. He could almost smell it: the rich, savory aroma of Grandpa Max’s famous "Megawatt Chillidogs." a concoction of chili, cheese, and secret ingredients that was probably illegal in several states. He remembered the gooey, perfect mess of it, the way the cheese stretched from the bun to his chin, the comforting heat of the chili that was nothing like the aggressive, tongue-numbing spice of the Incursean soup.

For a split second, he would have traded the entire imperial banquet, the wriggling grubs and the sugar-rocks and all of it, for one of his grandpa's weirdest, most disgusting-sounding but ultimately delicious creations. A "Slimy Yet Satisfying" omelet made from eggs that definitely weren't chicken eggs. A "Gravy-Foot" sandwich that somehow tasted like Thanksgiving. Even one of his infamous "Roadkill Surprises." Anything that tasted like home, and not like a conquering empire trying to show off.

He shook his head, clearing the thought. Attea was giving him a strange look. "You okay, Benny-boo? Still got a grub stuck in your throat?"

"Nah." Ben said, forcing a smile. "Just... full. Really, really full."

Attea was unusually quiet as they walked. She kept giving Ben those strange, speculative looks.

"You continue to surprise me, Ben Tennyson." she said finally, as they walked down a long, echoing corridor.

"What can I say?" Ben said with a shrug, the phantom taste of chili dogs finally fading. "I'm full of surprises."

"Hmph." she grunted. But he could see a new level of respect in her eyes. He wasn't just the human boy she had a crush on anymore. He was someone who could sit at her table, eat her food, and not flinch. In the world of the Incurseans, that meant something.

Later that night, after the tour of the armory, the group found themselves in one of the palace's many lounges. The room was opulent, with low, comfortable seating and a large, circular table perfect for games. The adrenaline from the day was fading, leaving a comfortable, quiet energy.

"So." Ben announced, clapping his hands together. "Who's up for a game? A real, Earth game. Let's play some poker."

Looma tilted her head. "Poker? This is a game of war?"

"More like a game of strategy and bluffing." Ben corrected. "And luck. Mostly luck for beginners."

EightEight's optic lens focused on him. "I have accessed the rules. Probability of victory: 32.7% based on standard play. I am equipped to participate."

Attea flopped onto a large cushion, looking intrigued. "A game from your world? Does it involve explosions?"

"Not usually." Ben laughed. "But it can get pretty intense. Okay, first things first, we need cards." He looked around the lavish room, which was conspicuously lacking in a simple deck of cards.

Attea snapped her fingers. A servant seemed to materialize from the shadows. "Bring us the finest gaming implements in the empire!" she commanded.

The servant bowed and scurried away, returning moments later with an ornate box. Inside, nestled on velvet, was a deck of cards. But they weren't paper; they were thin, transparent slices of crystal, etched with glowing, shifting symbols that depicted various alien beasts and weapons.

"Whoa, fancy." Ben said, picking one up. It was cool to the touch.

"Only the best for my guests." Attea preened. "Now, explain this 'poker'."

"Right." Ben said, shuffling the crystalline cards. They made a pleasant chiming sound as they slid against each other. "Okay, so the first thing you gotta do is ante up. You put something valuable in the middle, that's the pot. The winner takes it."

Looma immediately slammed a large, vicious-looking dagger onto the table. "I ante this! A worthy prize for the victor!"

"Whoa, okay, maybe we start smaller." Ben said, gently pushing the dagger back toward her. "Like... I don't know, credits? Or... those little sugar-rock things from dinner?"

Attea rolled her eyes. "Boring." She reached into a pouch on her belt and pulled out a handful of gleaming, iridescent pearls. "Gems from the core of a gas giant. Now that's an ante."

Ben sighed. This was going to be a long night. "Fine, gems it is. Okay, so I deal the cards. You get two, face down. Those are your... uh... hole cards? I think that's the term. Then there's betting. You can bet, raise, call, or fold."

"Fold?" Looma asked, horrified. "A warrior does not fold! She fights to the last card!"

"It's not about fighting, it's about knowing when you're beat." Ben tried to explain.

"This is a coward's game!" Looma declared, though she was leaning forward, utterly fascinated.

EightEight simply stated, "My calculations indicate folding is a statistically sound strategy in 18% of scenarios."

As Ben launched into a confusing explanation of flops, turns, and rivers, Attea watched him with a mischievous glint in her eye. She reached up and, for the first time since Ben had known her, unlatched and removed her ornate military hat.

As he’d suspected, and like all Incurseans, her head was perfectly smooth and bald. It made her look younger, softer. A few faint, almost invisible spots dotted her scalp, a lighter green against her skin. She placed the helmet carefully beside her and ran a hand over her head.

Ben couldn't help but smile. "You know, for a terrifying empress of a mighty empire, you're actually kinda cute without your hat."

Attea’s face immediately flushed a deep emerald green. She sputtered, trying to regain her composure. "I-I am not 'cute'! I am fierce and... and... formidable! This is for aerodynamic efficiency during atmospheric re-entry!" But she couldn't hide the pleased, flustered look on her face, and she made no move to put the helmet back on.

Ben just chuckled and continued trying to teach them hand rankings. "So, a pair is two cards of the same number. Two pair is... well, two pairs. And a flush is when you have five cards all of the same... uh... symbol type?" He stared at the alien icons on the crystalline cards—a plasma blast, a tentacle, a skull, a swamp flower. "Okay, this is harder than I thought."

After several rounds of chaotic, rule-breaking "play" where Looma kept trying to win by intimidating others into folding and EightEight quoted probability statistics aloud, Attea cleared her throat.

"You know." she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence. "When I was researching Terran games of chance, I found a much more... interesting ... variant of this game. It was called... Strip Poker." She leaned forward, a predatory grin on her face. "The rules seemed far more engaging. And the stakes... much higher."

The room went silent. Looma looked intrigued. "You remove armor as a penalty for failure? This is a warrior's game!"

EightEight's optic lens flickered. "The strategic implications of clothing-based wagers are... illogical. My chassis is not removable for recreational purposes."

Ben's eyes went wide, his face turning bright red. "NO! Nope! Absolutely not! We are not playing that! Game over! Poker is cancelled!" He frantically gathered up the crystal cards, nearly dropping them. "New game! Right now! We're playing Spin the Bottle!"

Attea pouted, her plan foiled. "Spin the... what? That sounds childish."

"It's a classic!" Ben insisted, grabbing an empty bottle of some glowing Incursean soda from a nearby table. "Way simpler. We sit in a circle. You spin the bottle. Whoever it points to when it stops... you have to, you know." He gestured vaguely. "Kiss them. On the cheek! Just on the cheek. It's no big deal."

Looma looked skeptical. "A kissing game? What is the tactical advantage?"

"It's not about advantage, it's about... fun?" Ben said, though it sounded like a question.

EightEight analyzed the bottle. "The outcome is purely random. There is no skill involved. This is an inefficient use of time."

But Ben had already placed the bottle in the center of the table and given it a firm spin. The four of them watched as it whirled, the green glass blurring, before it slowly came to a stop.

It was pointing directly at Attea.

A huge, triumphant grin spread across her face. "Well, well, well. Looks like I win, Benny-boo." Before Ben could even process it, she had scrambled around the table, planted her hands on his shoulders, and kissed him squarely on the cheek. It was a quick, smacking kiss, more cute than passionate, but she held it for a second longer than necessary.

She pulled back, her emerald blush returning. "Hmph. Not a bad prize. For a simple game."

Ben, flustered, spun the bottle again. It landed on Looma. The Tetramand princess laughed, a loud, booming sound, and gave Ben a kiss on his other cheek with such enthusiastic force that it nearly knocked him over. "A strange custom! But I approve of its directness!"

The next spin landed on EightEight. The Android stared at the bottle, then at Ben. "My design does not facilitate organic displays of affection. The transfer of saliva contains approximately 100 million bacteria per milliliter. It is... unsanitary. But for you, Benjamin, I make an exception"

"It's okay, EightEight." Ben said quickly, relief washing over him. "We can just—"

He was cut off as EightEight leaned forward with mechanical precision and gently bonked the front of her smooth, cold helmet against his forehead. It made a soft clink sound.

"Affection: acknowledged." she stated, pulling back.

Ben rubbed his forehead with a smile. "Yeah. Thanks."

Attea, seeing the others get their turns, quickly grabbed the bottle. "My turn to spin!" She gave it a furious whirl. The bottle spun wildly, slowed, and once again, as if by divine (or mischievous) intervention, landed on Ben.

"Again!" she chirped, hopping over to give him another loud, smacking kiss on the cheek. "This is a great game!"

She spun it again. It landed on Ben.

And again. Ben.

After the fifth consecutive spin landed on Ben, resulting in another kiss from a very pleased-looking Attea, the pattern became impossible to ignore.

"Heh, wow, what are the odds?" Ben said nervously, his cheeks now covered in green lip marks.

"The odds of five consecutive spins landing on the same individual in a group of four are approximately 0.097%." EightEight stated flatly. "Conclusion: the spinner is applying intentional force to manipulate the outcome."

Looma narrowed her eyes, finally catching on. "You are rigging the game, little frog! You seek to hoard the human's affections for yourself!"

Attea stuck her tongue out. "You're just jealous the bottle didn't land on you more! It's not my fault the universe wants me to kiss Benny-boo."

A faint, almost imperceptible huff came from EightEight's vocalizer. Looma crossed all four of her arms, looking genuinely miffed. Ben quickly snatched the bottle off the table before a intergalactic incident could begin.

"Okay! I think that's enough Spin the Bottle for one night!" he announced, his voice an octave too high. "How about we just... call it a night? Big parade tomorrow!"

Attea looked triumphant, Looma looked competitive, and EightEight looked as inscrutable as ever. But they all agreed. As they left the lounge, Ben couldn't help but notice the sideways glances Looma and EightEight were giving Attea, who was walking with an extra spring in her step. The game night had been a disaster by Earth standards, but somehow, it had felt like another bizarrely successful cultural exchange.

Ben was shown to his guest quarters. It was a massive room with a bed shaped like a giant carnivorous lily pad and a window that overlooked the sprawling, glowing city-swamp.

He was exhausted, but he couldn't sleep. He stood at the window, watching the traffic of skiffs in the canals below. He had survived his first day. He had eaten the grubs, survived a chaotic game night, and somehow navigated the weird social dynamics. He had earned a little respect, and maybe caused a little jealousy.

He was starting to think Gwen was wrong. Maybe this wasn't a trap. Maybe this was just... Attea. And Looma. And even EightEight. Showing him their worlds. Trying to see if he could fit into it. The thought was both terrifying and, to his complete surprise, a little bit thrilling.

Day two on Incursea began with the sound of distant explosions.

Ben sat bolt upright in his carnivorous-lily-pad bed. "What was that?!"

The door to his chamber slid open and Attea strode in, already dressed in her crisp military tunic. She was holding a tablet and frowning at it.

"Morning, Benny-boo." she said without looking up. "Don't mind that. It's just Looma."

"Looma?" Ben asked, scrambling out of bed. "What is she doing?"

"She 'made a suggestion' to my head drill sergeant about improving the morning training regimen for the palace guard." Attea said, still scrolling through her tablet. "Her suggestion involved 'live-fire stress testing' and 'unannounced orbital bombardments'." She finally looked up from the tablet, a weary expression on her face. "I've already had to authorize payment for a new training barracks. And it's not even 9 AM."

Ben peered out his window. In a large courtyard far below, he could see Looma, looking delighted, sparring with a dozen Incursean soldiers at once. It looked less like a training exercise and more like a human-sized bowling ball crashing through a set of very green, very panicked pins.

"Right." Ben said. "So, what's on the agenda for today? More cultural performances? Trying on tiny hats?"

"Better." Attea said, a familiar, mischievous glint returning to her eyes. "Today, I show you the good stuff. The heart of the empire. The Incursean War Museum and the Imperial Armory."

While Ben was being dragged off to look at big guns and dusty war trophies, EightEight was on her own mission. She had declined the tour, stating that, "Museums are inefficient data-storage systems. I can access the same information from the imperial network with ninety-percent less walking."

Instead, she had made her way to the lower levels of the city, to the sprawling, chaotic, and decidedly non-tourist-friendly sector known as the 'Gulp.' It was the Incursean black market, a maze of foggy alleys, hidden storefronts, and shady characters selling everything from illegal weapon mods to counterfeit royal decrees.

EightEight, in her sleek, purple armor, moved through the Gulp like a ghost. No one bothered her. Her appearance screamed 'professional,' 'dangerous,' and 'not to be trifled with.' She wasn't there to buy or sell. She was there to listen.

In a dingy cantina that smelled of stale swamp gas and regret, she sat in a dark corner, her optic scanning the room, her audio sensors picking up dozens of conversations at once. She filtered out the meaningless chatter–the gambling debts, the petty squabbles, the boasts of minor smugglers–and focused on the whispers. The political gossip. The rumors from the front lines.

And that's where she heard it. A whisper from two off-duty palace guards, complaining into their drinks.

"...the Empress is distracted." one of them slurred. "Parades and museums... for some off-worlder human boy..."

"Her father, the Mighty Milleous, would never stand for it." the other agreed. "His focus is always on the war. The total and complete annihilation of our enemies. This... this is a weakness."

The first guard leaned in, his voice dropping lower. "I heard a rumor... from my cousin on the communications relay. The war with the Fungus-people of Yorp... it isn't going as well as the official reports say. Our supply lines are stretched thin. Morale is low."

"Quiet, you fool!" the second guard hissed, looking around nervously. "That's treasonous talk!"

EightEight filed the information away. Incursean military campaign: suboptimal. Imperial resources: strained. Ruling Empress: distracted by a Terran male. It was all valuable data. It painted a picture of an empire that was powerful on the surface, but stretched thin underneath. A potential vulnerability. Not just for the empire, but for Attea.

Meanwhile, at the War Museum, Attea was in her element. She proudly showed Ben the battle-scarred armor of legendary Incursean conquerors, the captured flags of a hundred defeated worlds, and a whole exhibit dedicated to different types of grenades.

"And this." she said, her voice full of reverence as she gestured to a large, ugly-looking cannon, "is 'Old Kracka-Boom.' It's the cannon my grandfather used to conquer the planet of the Fluffy-Bunnies of Fuzztopia. A glorious day for the empire."

Ben stared at the cannon, then at the cheerful, cartoonish drawing of a fluffy bunny next to the plaque. "You conquered a planet of fluffy bunnies?"

"They were surprisingly vicious." Attea said defensively. "And their planet was rich in carrot-based minerals. It was a strategic necessity."

Ben just shook his head, a smile on his face. This was Attea's world. A world where you could be proud of blowing up bunnies for their carrot mines. It was insane. And he was starting to understand her a lot better. She wasn't evil. She was just... Incursean.

The tour ended in the Imperial Armory. It was a room the size of a football stadium, filled with racks of plasma rifles, tanks, walkers, and enough ordnance to level a continent.

"Now this." Attea said, her grin wide and feral, "is where the real fun is." She picked up a ridiculously oversized plasma cannon. "What do you say, Benny-boo? A little target practice?"

She led him to a firing range at the back of the armory. A series of targets, shaped like various alien enemies of the empire, popped up.

"Show me what you got." she challenged, handing him a standard-issue Incursean rifle. It was heavy and hummed with power.

Ben took aim. He'd had plenty of practice with Plumber tech and Kevin's custom weapons. He squeezed the trigger. A bolt of green plasma shot out and hit the target dead center.

Attea whistled, impressed. "Not bad, for a soft-skinned mammal."

She then lifted her own, much larger cannon, and fired. The resulting blast didn't just hit the target; it vaporized it, the wall behind it, and a large chunk of the firing range.

She turned to him, smoke wafting from the barrel of her cannon, a triumphant grin on her face. "Beat that."

Ben just looked at the smoking hole in the wall. "I think... I think I'll stick to the smaller one."

He was having fun. Real fun. He was learning about her world, her history, and her love for ridiculously oversized weapons. For a moment, he forgot all about the potential traps, the harem stuff, the drama back on Earth. For a moment, he was just Ben, hanging out with his friend Attea, blowing things up. It was a good day.

The third and final day of Ben’s visit was the day of the grand military parade. Attea had been talking it up since he arrived, calling it "the ultimate expression of Incursean culture" and "a really, really big show with lots of explosions."

Ben, Looma, and EightEight were given seats on a massive viewing platform high above the main avenue of the capital. The platform was draped in green and black banners, and they were surrounded by stern-looking Incursean nobles and high-ranking military officials. Attea herself stood at a large podium at the front, ready to address her people.

"This is all very... pompous." Ben whispered to EightEight, feeling very out of place in his green t-shirt amongst all the ornate armor and military uniforms.

"It is a calculated display of power." EightEight whispered back, her optic scanning the crowd. "Designed to reinforce public loyalty and intimidate foreign dignitaries. Standard autocratic procedure."

Looma, on the other hand, was practically vibrating with excitement. "A parade! I love parades! The marching! The precision! The barely-contained threat of overwhelming force! It is art in motion!"

Attea stepped up to the podium. Her voice, amplified by magical and technological means, boomed across the entire city.

"Frogs! Warriors! Citizens of the glorious Incursean Empire!" she began, her voice echoing off the towering skyscrapers. "Today, we gather not just to celebrate our past victories, but to look forward to our future conquests! We are the mightiest empire in the galaxy, a legacy of power, a tradition of triumph! Let the galaxy tremble as we display the might of Incursea!"

A deafening roar rose from the crowds lining the streets below.

The parade began.

It was, as Attea had promised, a really, really big show. The first part was a procession of Incursean infantry. Thousands upon thousands of soldiers marched in perfect, synchronized lockstep, their green armor gleaming, their electrified pikes held high. Their heavy boots striking the ground sounded like a single, colossal heartbeat.

"Impressive formation." Looma commented, her arms crossed as she critically assessed their marching. "But their posture is slightly off. They are leaning too far forward. It shows eagerness, but sacrifices balance."

Next came the armored divisions. Massive, frog-like tanks, bristling with cannons, rumbled down the avenue, their treads churning the pavement. They were followed by tall, spindly-legged walkers that looked like mechanical spiders, their plasma cannons swiveling to track the cheering crowds.

"Walker designs are inefficient." EightEight noted quietly. "Too many articulation points vulnerable to sabotage. A low-profile, tread-based chassis offers superior stability and survivability."

Ben just watched, overwhelmed. This was the army Attea commanded. The force that had conquered worlds. The sheer scale of it was terrifying. He saw now why the rest of the galaxy was afraid of them.

The parade culminated in a fly-by of the Incursean Air and Space Fleet. Squadrons of green and purple, angular fighters screamed overhead, followed by colossal, city-block-sized cruisers that blotted out the sky, their engines leaving trails of green fire.

The crowd went wild. The patriotic fervor was infectious. Even Ben found himself caught up in the spectacle of it all.

As the final cruiser passed, Attea concluded her speech. "Let this be a message to all who would oppose us! The Incursean Empire is strong! The Incursean Empire is eternal! And under my rule, the Incursean Empire will know only victory! FOR Incursea!"

"FOR Incursea!" the crowd roared back, a single, unified voice of a billion frogs.

The parade was over. The crowd began to disperse, and the dignitaries on the platform started congratulating Attea on a successful display.

Attea, however, seemed to ignore them. She walked over to Ben, a proud, flushed look on her face. "So? What did you think? Better than your Earth parades, with your giant inflatable cartoon characters, yes?"

"It was... something else." Ben admitted. "You guys really know how to put on a show."

"It was a most glorious display!" Looma boomed, clapping Attea on the back so hard the empress stumbled forward. "Although, your infantry could use some work. I would be happy to offer my services as a guest instructor!"

"I'll... keep that in mind." Attea wheezed, rubbing her shoulder.

She looked at Ben, her expression softening. "I wanted you to see this, Ben. I wanted you to see what I'm a part of. What I'm responsible for. It's not just about being a bossy frog-princess. It's... this." She gestured to the city, the marching soldiers, the fading roar of the crowd. "It's my legacy. My burden."

Ben saw a flicker of the same vulnerability he'd seen on her last night on Earth. The weight of an entire empire rested on her small, green shoulders.

"I get it." he said quietly. And he did.

Chapter Text

It was in that moment of unexpected understanding and connection that EightEight chose to make her report. She stepped forward, her calm, synthesized voice cutting through the moment.

"Princess Attea." she began. "While you were engaged in your... display... I concluded my intelligence-gathering operation. I have compiled a complete dossier on all potential romantic rivals to your claim on Benjamin Tennyson."

The tender moment shattered. Attea's face instantly shifted from 'burdened ruler' to 'scheming rival'.

"A dossier?" her eyes lit up with a dangerous gleam. "Excellent work, Tin Can! Report! Who is at the top of the list? The ship-faced Yamamoto girl? The bone-digger?"

"Negative."  EightEight said. "My analysis of past mission logs, Plumber files, and Benjamin's own frantic, sleep-talking confessions has identified a new primary threat. A rival more insidious, more persistent, and with a deeper psychological connection to the subject than any other."

She projected a holographic image from her gauntlet. It hovered in the air between them. It was a picture of a smiling, dark-haired girl in a yellow and black jacket.

Ben's blood ran cold. "Oh no."

Attea stared at the image, her eyes narrowing into slits. "Who." she hissed, her voice dripping with venom, "is that?"

"Subject identifier: Elena Validus." EightEight announced. "Past affiliation: The 'Nanochip Queen.' Current status: unknown, but designated as Threat Level: Omega. She is, by every metric, your most dangerous rival."

The name 'Elena Validus' hung in the air like a charged particle, buzzing with unspoken history and potential danger. Looma peered at the hologram, her brow furrowed. Ben felt a familiar pit of dread opening in his stomach. But Attea... Attea looked at the smiling face of Elena with a terrifying, clinical focus. It wasn't the jealous rage she'd shown for Kai. This was different. This was an empress identifying a genuine threat to her throne.

"Elena Validus." Attea repeated slowly, tasting the name. "Tell me everything."

And so, the 'War Council of Three' convened right there on the viewing platform, much to the confusion of the remaining Incursean nobles. The three alien women gathered around the hologram, with Ben hovering nervously on the periphery, feeling like a witness at his own trial.

"Elena Validus first encountered Benjamin Tennyson during his early hero career." EightEight began, her voice a calm, steady stream of exposition. She brought up more images and data files: Elena in her Queen's armor, schematics of the nanochips, a mission report detailing the 'Hive' incident. "Initial relationship was positive, a childhood friendship. However, she was later revealed to be acting as a vessel for an alien nanochip collective, a hive mind seeking to assimilate all life on Earth."

"Assimilate all life?" Looma rumbled, impressed. "Ambitious! I like her!"

"Silence!" Attea snapped, not taking her eyes off the files. "Continue."

"Benjamin was forced to fight her." EightEight went on. "He defeated the Hive, but believed Elena to have perished in the process. She later returned, her human mind subsumed by the vengeful, now-singular consciousness of the 'Queen' chip. She exhibited obsessive and dangerously unstable behavior fixated on Benjamin, attempting to assimilate him to be her 'King'. "

"Her King?" Attea's voice was dangerously low. "She tried to make him her King?" The possessiveness in her tone was so thick you could have cut it with a plasma knife.

"It wasn't like that!" Ben interjected, feeling the need to defend Elena, or at least the memory of her. "She wasn't herself! The chips were controlling her! She was a victim!"

The three of them turned to look at him as if he'd just started speaking gibberish.

"A victim?" Attea scoffed. "Benny-boo, my sweet, naive fool. In politics, there are no victims, only opponents. This 'Elena' wasn't just a rival for your affection. She was a rival for your very will. She didn't want to be your consort; she wanted to be your owner . This is an entirely different level of threat."

"Attea is correct." Looma chimed in, her earlier admiration gone. "A warrior may claim a mate through honorable combat. But to steal their mind? To make them a puppet? That is a craven's tactic. It is without honor!"

"The psychological profile is clear." EightEight concluded, bringing up a complex-looking chart of behavioral patterns. "Her fixation, combined with her shapeshifting and assimilating abilities, makes her unpredictable and difficult to contain. Unlike your other rivals, who seek partnership–albeit through flawed methodologies–Elena Validus sought total control. This elevates her beyond a mere competitor to a strategic enemy of the state... the 'state' being your independent consciousness, Benjamin."

Ben felt like he was losing his mind. They were talking about Elena like she was a supervillain plotting galactic conquest. "Guys, that was years ago! The last time I saw her, the chips were gone! Forever! She was just a normal girl again!"

"Correction." EightEight said, bringing up one last file. It was a Plumber intelligence report, heavily redacted. "The official report states the nanochips were rendered inert. However, low-level energy scans of Elena Validus conducted six months ago revealed trace amounts of dormant, non-active nanochip technology still present in her system. The official Plumber assessment is 'non-threatening,' but the potential for reactivation, however remote, exists."

Attea’s eyes widened, and then a slow, predatory smile spread across her face. "So... the weapon is still there. Just sleeping." She looked at Looma and EightEight, a silent, unified understanding passing between them. The old rivalries were forgotten, replaced by a common enemy.

"We have to deal with her." Attea declared. "This is not about jealousy. This is pest control."

"Deal with her?!" Ben yelped. "What do you mean 'deal with her'? You can't just go after her! She's living a normal life! She's done nothing wrong!"

"Her very existence is a threat!" Attea retorted. "She's a ticking time bomb waiting to go off and try to turn you into her robot slave again! We would be failing in our duty as your... friends... if we didn't neutralize the threat."

"This is insane!" Ben said, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You're not a team of superheroes! You're... you're a support group for my overly-possessive alien girlfriends!"

"It's not a harem!" they all said in unison, a bizarre, reflexive chant.

"That's not what I meant!" Ben groaned. "Look, Elena is not a threat. She's a good person who had something terrible happen to her." To bolster his point, he decided to bring up another example. "It's like... like Eunice!"

The name dropped like a stone into the conversation.

"Eunice?" Attea asked, her brow furrowed. "Who is Eunice?"

EightEight's fingers flew across her holographic console. A new file appeared. It was a picture of the kind-faced, silver-haired girl in her blue and white outfit.

"Subject Identifier: Eunice. Designation: Unitrix." EightEight recited. "An independent, sentient version of the Omnitrix/Codon Stream, given humanoid form. Possesses the ability to absorb the DNA of living creatures and manifest their abilities. Briefly served as a romantic interest for Benjamin Tennyson before relocating to the planet Primus to act as a living repository for the Codon Stream. "

Attea and Looma stared at the picture of the beautiful, powerful, and gentle-looking Eunice. They looked at her abilities. They looked at the phrase "romantic interest."

Attea's eye started to twitch. "She's... a better version of your watch... who is also a pretty girl... who you LIKED?!"

Looma looked thunderstruck. "She can absorb the powers of any creature? She might be stronger than me! What a magnificent woman! I must fight her!"

Ben realized he had made a colossal tactical error. He had tried to douse the fire with a bucket of gasoline.

"No! That's not the point!" he said frantically. "The point is, Eunice is a good person! And Elena is a good person! You can't just go around attacking every girl I've ever known!"

"Oh, we can't, can't we?" Attea said, her voice dangerously sweet. She looked at EightEight. "You said her current status was 'unknown.' You mean you don't know where she is?"

"Her location was unknown at the time of the report." EightEight replied. "However, I placed a tracker on Benjamin's communication device. By cross-referencing his past call logs with Plumber satellite data, I can triangulate the current location of any individual he has recently communicated with. It is a simple matter of data analysis." She tapped a few buttons. A map of Earth appeared, with a single, pulsing red dot.  "Subject Elena Validus is currently located in Bellwood. At a pizza parlor on 34th Street. "

Ben’s heart stopped. She was in Bellwood. Right now.

Before he could say another word, before he could argue or plead or transform, Attea gave a single, sharp nod to EightEight.

"Take us there." the Empress commanded.

EightEight's free hand glowed with teleportation energy. "Engaging unscheduled transport. "

A sphere of purple light enveloped them. The sounds of Incursea vanished, the viewing platform dissolved, and Ben felt the familiar, disorienting lurch of teleportation. They were going after Elena. And he was being brought along for the ride.

Chapter Text

The disorienting wrench of teleportation faded, replaced by the familiar sights and smells of downtown Bellwood on a sunny afternoon. The air smelled of car exhaust and hot pavement, a stark contrast to the smoggy, swamp-like atmosphere of Incursea. One moment they were on a royal viewing platform in another star system, the next they were standing in the middle of a quiet side street, right next to "Bellwood's Best Pizza."

The transition was so abrupt that Ben stumbled, his brain still trying to catch up. Looma looked around, momentarily confused. "This architecture is so... flimsy." Attea, however, was all business, her eyes scanning the area like a hawk.

"There." she said, her voice a low hiss. She pointed.

Sitting on a park bench across the street, bathed in the gentle afternoon sun, was Elena Validus.

She looked... normal. Utterly, completely, reassuringly normal. She was wearing jeans and a simple red t-shirt, her dark hair tied back in a messy ponytail. She wasn't wearing armor or commanding a swarm of nanochips. She was eating a slice of pepperoni pizza from a paper plate on her lap and scrolling through her phone, a look of mild boredom on her face. She looked like any other young woman enjoying a quiet lunch.

The sight of this peaceful, mundane scene only seemed to infuriate Attea more. "Look at her." she sneered. "Sitting there, pretending to be a harmless, pizza-eating mammal. It's the perfect cover."

"She's not pretending!" Ben insisted in a desperate whisper, trying to pull Attea back behind the corner of the building. "She's just living her life! We can't just–just ambush her!"

"It is not an ambush." Looma corrected him, her voice a low rumble. "It is a... spontaneous intervention. For your own good."

"We require a tactical approach." EightEight stated, her optic zooming in on Elena. "Direct confrontation is risky. We should observe, gather more data–"

Her logical approach was cut short by Attea. "Tactics are for the timid. We have the element of surprise. We're going in."

Before Ben or EightEight could stop her, Attea straightened her tunic, lifted her chin, and marched across the street with the determined stride of an empress about to demand a planet's unconditional surrender. Looma, cracking her four sets of knuckles, followed right behind her.

"This is suboptimal." EightEight muttered, before striding after them, a silent, purple shadow of impending doom.

Ben had no choice but to follow, his stomach twisting into knots. "Attea, wait! Let's just talk to her! Casually!"

It was too late. The trio of alien women descended upon the unsuspecting Elena like a flock of very angry, very heavily armed vultures.

Elena looked up from her phone, her brow furrowed in mild annoyance at the three strange figures suddenly blocking her sun. Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized Ben.

"Ben?" she said, confused. "What are you doing here? Who are... your friends?"

Attea stepped forward, planting herself directly in front of Elena, her hands on her hips. She looked Elena up and down with a dismissive glare. "So. You're the nano-pest."

Elena blinked, her pizza slice frozen halfway to her mouth. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." Attea said, her voice dripping with condescension. "The cast-off queen. The technological terror. The girl who tried to turn our Benny-boo into her personal puppet."

Elena's expression shifted from confusion to a sort of weary disbelief. She looked at Ben, an unspoken "What is happening right now?" in her eyes. Ben just gave a helpless shrug.

"I think you have me mistaken for someone else." Elena said calmly, setting her pizza down on the bench. "That was a long time ago. I'm not that person anymore."

"Oh, we know all about the 'person' you are now." Attea continued, circling the bench like a predator. "We know about the dormant chips. The little technological time-bombs you're hiding inside that fragile human shell. Waiting for the right moment to strike."

Looma stepped forward, looming over Elena. "Your attempt to subvert the will of a warrior through mind-control was without honor." she boomed, pointing an accusatory finger. "You have brought shame upon yourself and the very concept of romantic conquest!"

Elena just stared at them, a slow, dawning realization on her face. She looked at Attea's imperious posture, at Looma's gladiatorial armor, at EightEight's silent, menacing presence. Then she looked at Ben, who looked like he wanted the pavement to swallow him whole.

"Ah." Elena said, a hint of dry amusement in her voice. "I see. This is about that." She gestured vaguely between Ben and the three aliens. "You're his... committee."

"We are his girlfriends and protectors!" Attea snapped.

"And fiancées!" Looma added.

"And primary security detail." EightEight concluded.

Elena let out a short, humorless laugh. She shook her head and picked up her pizza again. "Look, ladies. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but you're wasting your time. I'm not a threat. I'm not interested in Ben. I'm interested in finishing my lunch and maybe getting a frozen yogurt later. So if you don't mind..."

She took a defiant bite of her pizza.

This casual dismissal, this complete lack of fear or intimidation, seemed to enrage Looma more than any insult.

"You mock us?!" she roared. "You sit there, eating your... cheesy bread-triangle... and you dismiss our concerns?!" Her eyes fell upon a small, slightly beat-up blue sedan parked at the curb next to the bench. It was Elena's car.

"If you will not take our words seriously." Looma declared, "then perhaps you will take this seriously!"

She marched over to the car. With a mighty yell, she lifted the entire vehicle over her head with all four arms. The metal of the roof groaned and buckled under her grip.

"Hey!" Elena shouted, jumping to her feet. "That's my car! Put my car down!"

"This is a demonstration!" Looma bellowed. "A demonstration of the consequences of disrespecting your romantic superiors!"

And with that, she threw the car. It sailed through the air, end over end, and crashed into a large, empty dumpster down the street with a sound like a thunderclap. The dumpster crumpled, and the car's alarm started to wail, a pathetic, dying cry.

Silence.

Elena stared at the mangled wreck of her 2008 sedan. She looked at the triumphant, four-armed alien who had just thrown it. She looked at the smug frog-princess and the silent robot-assassin. She looked at Ben, who had his face buried in his hands.

She took a slow, deep breath. Then another. She very deliberately placed her half-eaten slice of pizza back on its paper plate on the bench. She carefully wiped her hands on a napkin.

When she looked up again, her eyes were calm. Dangerously calm.

"Okay." Elena said, her voice soft but laced with ice. "You have my attention."

The air on the quiet Bellwood street grew thick and heavy. The cheerful sounds of the city–distant traffic, birds chirping–seemed to fade away, replaced by a tense, humming silence. The only sound was the pathetic, rhythmic wail of Elena's dying car alarm.

Elena stood perfectly still, her gaze sweeping over the three aliens who had just appointed themselves her judge, jury, and executioner. Her initial shock and weary amusement had evaporated, replaced by something cold and hard.

"You destroyed my car." she stated, her voice flat and devoid of emotion. It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact. A line that had been crossed.

"It was a substandard vehicle." Looma said, dusting off her hands, completely unrepentant. "It probably would have failed on you soon anyway. I did you a favor."

"You... did me a favor." Elena repeated slowly, her eyes narrowing on the Tetramand. "You trespassed on my lunch, accused me of being a monster, and then threw my only mode of transportation into a garbage container as a 'favor'."

"It was also a warning!" Attea piped up, stepping forward again, refusing to be upstaged. "A taste of what happens to those who stand between me and my Benny-boo!"

Ben finally looked up from his hands. "Attea, stop it! This has gone too far!"

Elena ignored them both. Her gaze was fixed, unblinking. "For years." she said, her voice still quiet but now carrying a dangerous weight, "I have worked to be normal. I go to my classes. I have a part-time job at the library. I pay my bills. I deal with traffic and bad weather and the rising cost of cheese. I have done everything in my power to put the past behind me. To just be... Elena."

She took a step forward, and for the first time, the three "protectors" seemed to instinctively take a step back.

"I have ignored the whispers. I have pretended not to feel the lingering energy inside me. I have resisted the urge to... fix things. To make things more efficient. To make people listen." she continued, her voice gaining a strange, resonant quality. "Because I made a promise. To Ben. To myself. That the Queen was gone. That I was in control."

"A likely story!" Attea scoffed, though her bravado was beginning to look a little strained. "You're just waiting for a moment of weakness!"

"A moment of weakness?" Elena echoed, a bitter, mirthless smile touching her lips. "No. I'm not waiting for a moment of weakness. I've just been waiting for a moment of sufficient... motivation."

And then it happened.

It wasn't a dramatic transformation. There was no explosion of light or monstrous change. It was subtle. Horrifyingly subtle.

The skin on Elena's hands began to shimmer, a faint, almost invisible iridescence. A low, electronic hum, so quiet it was more felt than heard, began to emanate from her. Her eyes, which had been a normal brown, began to glow with a soft, internal, yellow light–the same color as the nanochip swarm.

"You wanted to see the Queen." she said, her voice now a layered, harmonious chord of her own voice and a thousand tiny, synthesized echoes. "We are still here. We are always here."

Black, shimmering lines, like microscopic circuitry, began to spread from her hands, crawling up her arms. They weren't controlling her. They were obeying her.

"Warning." EightEight suddenly said, her own systems flaring up as she detected the massive energy signature. "Dormant nano-colony is now active. Energy levels are rising exponentially. Threat Level: Omega confirmed. Recommend immediate tactical retreat."

"Retreat?" Looma roared, taking a battle stance. "Never! I will smash this technological witch!"

Looma charged, her fists raised.

Elena didn't move. She simply lifted a hand, her palm open. The nanochips on her skin swarmed forward, flowing off her arm and into the air between her and Looma. In less than a second, they solidified into a massive, black, shimmering wall of interlocking hexagons.

Looma's powerful punch, a blow that could have shattered concrete, slammed into the wall. There was a deep, resonant BOOM, but the wall didn't break. It didn't even vibrate. It absorbed the entire kinetic force of the blow, the energy rippling across its surface in waves of yellow light before dissipating.

Looma stared at her fist, then at the wall, her eyes wide with disbelief. She had hit an immovable object.

"Your strength is irrelevant." Elena's layered voice echoed. "We are unity. We are order. Your chaotic, brute force is simply... crude data. And we are very, very good at processing data."

The wall of nanochips then rippled and dissolved back into a cloud of microscopic machines. Before Looma could react, the cloud swarmed around her, not attacking her, but solidifying around her limbs. In seconds, Looma was encased from the neck down in a smooth, black, unyielding material. Her four arms were pinned to her sides. She was trapped, a living statue of fury.

"LET ME GO!" she bellowed, struggling against her bonds. But the nano-material was stronger than any metal. She couldn't move a muscle.

Attea stared, horrified. The smugness was gone, replaced by a primal fear. This was a power she didn't understand. It wasn't about bigger guns or stronger armies. It was something else entirely. She instinctively fired a blast from her royal wrist-blaster.

The bolt of green energy shot towards Elena. But Elena didn't even try to dodge. The nanochips simply flowed, creating a small, concave shield in front of her that caught the blast, spun it around, and fired it right back at Attea.

Attea yelped and dove out of the way, the blast searing a black mark on the wall behind her.

"As I said." Elena's voice intoned calmly, the glow in her eyes intensifying. "We are very good at processing data. And your energy weapons are... predictable."

She then turned her glowing eyes to the last remaining threat. EightEight.

Ben, who had been frozen in shock, finally found his voice. "Elena, stop! Please! Don't hurt them!"

Elena's gaze flickered to him for a fraction of a second, and the chilling, harmonious voice softened, just for him. "They destroyed my car, Ben. And they interrupted my lunch. I am merely... setting boundaries."

She turned back to EightEight, who had her plasma rifle out and aimed, though she hadn't fired.

"The walking calculator." Elena said. "The one who thinks she can understand me by reading files." The ground between them began to shimmer as nanochips flowed from Elena's feet, burrowing into the pavement.

"Let me give you some new data to analyze."

The pavement erupted. The nanochips, infused with the concrete and asphalt, shot up, forming a cage of black, razor-sharp spires around EightEight, trapping her completely.

"Fascinating." was all EightEight said from within her prison, her voice as calm as ever, though her optic was glowing furiously as she analyzed the impossible material.

In less than thirty seconds, with no visible effort, Elena Validus had incapacitated a Tetramand warrior, disarmed an Incursean empress, and caged a Sotoraggian assassin.

She stood in the middle of it all, the yellow light in her eyes slowly fading, the shimmering circuitry on her skin receding. The low hum quieted. She was just Elena again, a girl in a t-shirt and jeans, standing in the middle of a street full of chaos she had effortlessly created.

She looked at Ben, her expression unreadable.

"Now." she said, her voice her own again, quiet and tired. "Does anyone else have a problem with me living a normal life?"

The silence that followed Elena's question was absolute. Attea was frozen mid-dive, staring at the smoking scorch mark on the wall. Looma was a statue of impotent rage, her muffled bellows the only sound coming from her nano-cocoon. EightEight was silently, furiously analyzing the molecular structure of her cage.

And Ben... Ben was just standing there, caught between awe at Elena's power and sheer terror at what she might do next. She hadn't just defeated them; she had dismantled them, surgically and efficiently, without breaking a sweat.

"No?" Elena said into the silence, raising an eyebrow. "Nobody? Good."

She turned and walked calmly back to the bench. She picked up her now-cold slice of pizza, looked at it with a sigh, and dropped it into a nearby trash can. "Lunch, ruined."

Ben finally unfroze. "Elena! Wait!" he said, walking cautiously towards her. "Okay. Look. You're right. We... they... were completely out of line. We're sorry."

Elena looked at him, her expression softening almost imperceptibly. "Are you sorry, Ben? Or are you just sorry you got caught in the crossfire of your own fan club?"

The question hit him like a physical blow. "I..." he stammered. "No, I'm really sorry. I tried to stop them. I told them you weren't a threat. I never should have let them come here."

"No, you shouldn't have." she agreed. She gestured to the three imprisoned aliens. "But this needed to happen. They needed a demonstration. A reminder that not everyone they meet is going to play by their rules."

She sat down on the bench, the picture of calm in the midst of the chaos she had wrought. "They think the universe revolves around you, Ben. And you let them. You don't encourage it, but you don't stop it, either. You just sigh and hope it goes away. But it never does, does it? It just gets bigger."

Every word was true, and Ben knew it. He had been a passive participant in his own life's drama, and this was the result.

"What... what are you going to do with them?" he asked, glancing nervously at the struggling Looma.

Elena followed his gaze. "I'm going to let them go." she said with a shrug. "Eventually. After they've had some time to think. And after one of them agrees to pay for my car."

"I will pay for it!" Attea yelped from her position on the ground. She scrambled to her feet, brushing herself off and trying to regain some semblance of dignity, which was difficult when she was covered in dust and her hair was sticking up. "Name your price! I will buy you a new car! A fleet of cars! A planet of cars!"

Elena looked at her, unimpressed. "I don't want a fleet of cars. I want my 2008 sedan back. But since your friend turned it into a modern art installation, I'll settle for the cash equivalent. And an apology."

"An apology?" Attea bristled. "An Empress does not–"

"An Empress does if she wants her friends out of their respective prisons." Elena cut her off coolly.

Attea's mouth snapped shut. She looked at the trapped Looma, then at the caged EightEight. She swallowed her pride, a visible, painful effort. She walked over to Elena, her posture stiff.

"I... apologize." she bit out, the words tasting like poison. "For... ambushing you. And for the... unpleasantness. And for your vehicular asset."

Elena tilted her head, considering it. "Hmm. A little forced, but it has the right keywords. I'll accept." With a wave of her hand, the black spires around EightEight dissolved into dust, freeing her. The nano-cocoon around Looma liquified and flowed back into the pavement, leaving the Tetramand standing free, panting and furious.

"Remarkable." EightEight said, immediately scanning the spot where her cage had been. "The material possesses self-replicating properties and can mimic the molecular structure of its environment. The potential applications are limitless."

Looma, however, was not interested in scientific analysis. "I am free!" she roared, charging towards Elena again. "Now you will face the true might of–"

Elena didn't even look at her. She just snapped her fingers. The ground beneath Looma's feet turned into a sticky, black, tar-like substance. Looma's charge came to an abrupt halt as she sank up to her knees in the goo. She was stuck fast.

"I am a very patient person." Elena said calmly. "But I will not say things twice. Sit down, Looma. And think about what you did."

Looma struggled for a moment, then slumped in defeat, trapped in the world's most effective time-out corner.

Now there were just two of them left standing. Attea, humbled and broke, and EightEight, intrigued and cautious.

Elena stood up and faced them. "Alright. Here's the deal. The three of you are going to leave me alone. Forever. You will not contact me, you will not surveil me, and you will not talk about me in your weird little war councils. In return, I will not dismantle your weapons, turn your thrones into swamp sludge, or inform the Plumbers about your unsanctioned acts of intergalactic vigilantism."

She looked from Attea to EightEight. "Do we have an agreement?"

Attea gave a sullen nod. EightEight gave a single, sharp dip of her helmet. It was the most one-sided treaty negotiation in history.

"Good." Elena said. She then turned to Ben. "As for you. Get your life in order, Tennyson. Choose a lane. Or don't. But stop letting them drag the rest of the universe into your personal soap opera."

She walked over to the still-stuck Looma. "The goo will dissolve in about an hour. Use that time to reflect on the concept of 'consequences'." Then she walked past Ben, pausing for a moment.

"It was good to see you, Ben." she said, and for the first time, a genuine, small smile touched her lips. "Despite the... circumstances."

And with that, she turned and walked down the street, not looking back, leaving Ben standing in the middle of the wreckage of his own making, surrounded by his three thoroughly defeated, utterly humiliated, and finally, blessedly silent, alien girlfriends. The message was clear: there was a new queen in town, and she wasn't interested in the throne.

Chapter Text

The silence on that Bellwood side street was thicker than the Incursean palace smog. It was a silence born of pure, unadulterated shock, seasoned with a hefty dose of humiliation and a pinch of genuine, pants-wetting terror. The only sounds were the distant, fading wail of Elena's crushed car alarm and Looma's frustrated grunts as she tried to free her legs from the stubborn, black, tar-like goo.

Ben Tennyson stood in the epicenter of this silence, feeling like the conductor of an orchestra that had just played a symphony of catastrophic failure. He looked at the three formidable aliens who had, moments ago, been ready to wage a war on his behalf, and who were now thoroughly and utterly neutralized.

Attea was picking herself up off the pavement, her royal tunic dusty, her pride clearly more bruised than her body. She kept shooting glances at the spot where Elena had disappeared, her expression a volatile cocktail of rage, fear, and grudging respect.

EightEight was running a continuous diagnostic on her systems, her red optic flickering as she tried to process the data from the nano-cage. "Material composition remains undefined. Energy signature: anomalous. Threat reassessment: 'Elena Validus' has been upgraded from 'Omega' to 'Cataclysmic.' Recommendation: permanent non-aggression pact."

Looma finally gave up struggling and slumped in her gooey prison, her four arms crossed over her chest in a magnificent sulk. "This is undignified." she rumbled. "A warrior should be felled in glorious combat, not... stuck in sentient pavement."

Ben took a deep, steadying breath. The immediate crisis was over, but the cleanup was going to be a nightmare. "Okay." he said, his voice sounding too loud in the quiet. "First things first. We need to get you out of there, Looma."

He approached the edge of the black goo cautiously, half-expecting it to reach out and grab him too. He tapped the Omnitrix on his chest, scrolling through the alien directory. "Let's see... Goop? No, too messy. Humungousaur? Might just sink her further. Ah! This might work."

He slammed the dial. In a flash of green light, he transformed into a new form—a tall, lanky, grey-skinned alien with four arms and a stretched-out face. He was Jury Rigg, the hyper-intelligent, hyper-obsessive mechanic.

"Ooh, sticky-sticky problem!" Jury Rigg squeaked, his voice high and frantic. He immediately began pulling random bits of scrap metal from his pockets—a spring, a cog, a half-eaten Mr. Smoothy straw—and started assembling them into a bizarre contraption. "Need the de-gooifier! Yes, yes! Apply reverse-phase sonic resonance to the molecular bonds! Simple!"

Within seconds, he had built a device that looked like a hairdryer mated with a banjo. He aimed it at the goo around Looma's legs and pulled a lever. The device emitted a high-pitched whine that made everyone wince.

The black goo immediately lost its viscosity, turning into a harmless, oily puddle. Looma stumbled forward, free.

"Ha! Freedom!" she bellowed, shaking her legs. She looked down at Jury Rigg. "Thank you, small, strange Ben! Your contraption is effective, if hideous!"

Jury Rigg was already disassembling the device to use the parts for something else. Ben quickly slapped the Omnitrix symbol and returned to human form before the little alien could turn a nearby fire hydrant into a spaceship.

"Right." Ben said, brushing himself off. "Now that everyone's... unstuck... we need to talk."

Attea finally found her voice. "Talk? TALK? That—that nano-witch just humiliated us! She made me APOLOGIZE! Me! An Empress!" She was practically vibrating with indignant fury. "This means war! A real war! I'll mobilize the entire fleet! I'll—"

"YOU'LL do nothing." Ben interrupted, his voice firm. He'd had enough. "Elena was right. You three ambushed her for no reason. You started this. She finished it. And she could have done a lot worse than just stick you in time-out."

Attea opened her mouth to argue, but the memory of that effortless, terrifying power seemed to silence her. She snapped her mouth shut, her cheeks puffing out in a furious pout.

"She did make a valid point about the vehicular asset." EightEight noted, ever the pragmatist. "The cost of a 2008 sedan in good condition, adjusted for inflation and current market value, is approximately—"

"I DON'T CARE HOW MUCH IT COSTS!" Attea shrieked, her composure finally breaking. "I'll buy her a thousand cars! I'll pave this entire street with cars! But she cannot be allowed to get away with this! She challenged my authority! My... my primacy!"

Looma nodded in agreement, though she looked less enthusiastic about another fight. "The nano-queen is powerful, I will grant her that. A worthy adversary. But she lacks honor. Her tactics are... slippery."

Before the argument could escalate again, a new voice cut through the tension.

"Well, well, well. What a mess."

A flash of pink light resolved into Charmcaster—Hope—leaning against the crumpled dumpster that contained the remains of Elena's car. She was munching on a bag of popcorn, looking utterly amused.

"Hope!" Attea exclaimed, a mixture of relief and annoyance in her voice. "Where were you? We were just publicly dismantled!"

"I was watching the show." Hope said with a grin, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "And it was a good one. Better than cable. The part where she turned Looma into a lawn ornament was my favorite. Classic."

"This is not funny!" Attea insisted, though her protest was weakened by the fact that it was, objectively, a little funny.

"Oh, it's hilarious." Hope countered. "You three go charging in like you own the place, and you get schooled by the quiet girl with the nanochip trauma. It's poetic." She finished her popcorn and dusted her hands off. "So, what's the next move in your brilliant master plan? Challenge her to a bake-off? See who can knit Ben the better sweater?"

"We are regrouping." EightEight stated. "Our initial assessment of the target was flawed. We require a new strategy."

"The new strategy is leaving her alone." Ben said firmly. "That's the only strategy."

As the word "strategy" left his mouth, a familiar, layered voice spoke from the end of the street.

"Strategy is such a strong word. I prefer 'management.'"

They all turned. Elena was walking back towards them. She had changed out of her t-shirt and into a simple grey hoodie, her hands tucked into the pockets. She looked completely ordinary. The only thing that was different was the small, metallic briefcase she was carrying.

Attea immediately went into a defensive stance. Looma clenched her fists. EightEight's weapon systems hummed to life. Hope just raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Elena stopped a few feet away, her gaze sweeping over them before landing on Ben. "I've been thinking." she said, her voice calm, with only the faintest underlying harmonic of the Queen. "Your fan club here has a point."

Ben blinked. "They... they do?"

"In a manner of speaking." she continued. "They're a problem. A chaotic, destructive, intergalactic problem. And problems need to be managed. Contained. Optimized."

She set the briefcase down on the sidewalk and clicked it open. Inside, nestled in foam, was a device about the size of a hardcover book. It was sleek, silver, and covered in softly glowing blue lights.

"What is that?" Ben asked warily.

"This." Elena said, picking up the device, "is a project I've been working on. A little side hustle. I call it the 'Conflict Resolution and Harem Management Interface.' CRHMI for short."

Ben's face paled. "Harem Management Interface? Elena, it's not a—"

"Save it, Tennyson." she cut him off, a faint smile playing on her lips. "Denial isn't a good look on you." She turned her attention to the three alien women. "You three want to compete for him. Fine. But you're doing it wrong. You're causing collateral damage. You're annoying the neighbors. You're interrupting my lunch."

She held up the device. "This will impose rules. Structure. A fair and balanced competitive environment. Think of it as... a dating sim, but with real-world consequences."

Attea stared at the device, her anger momentarily replaced by sheer disbelief. "You want to... manage us? You think you can impose rules on ME?"

"I don't think." Elena said, her eyes glowing faintly for a split second. "We know."

Before anyone could react, the device in her hands beeped. A holographic display shot out, showing four profiles: Attea, Looma, EightEight, and... Elena herself.

"Wait." Ben said, his brain struggling to catch up. "Why is your profile on there?"

"Because I'm injecting myself into the roster." Elena stated matter-of-factly, as if she were announcing she'd bought a new toothbrush. "Consider it a hostile takeover. You've proven yourselves incapable of handling this... resource... responsibly. So I'm taking over operations."

The announcement was so absurd, so audacious, that it left everyone speechless for a full ten seconds.

Attea was the first to break. Her face, already a dark green, turned almost purple with apoplectic rage.

"YOU?!" she shrieked, jabbing a finger at Elena. "You think you can just... just INSERT yourself? I am an EMPRESS! I conquered three star systems before my first molt! I have a throne made from the skull of a space wyrm! You are a... a glorified computer virus with a pizza addiction!"

Elena remained unphased. "And I just defeated all three of you without breaking a sweat. Your title is meaningless here. This is Earth. And on Earth, we have a system. A democratic system."

"Democratic?" Looma asked, confused. "What is this 'democratic'?"

"It means we vote." Elena explained. "Majority rules. And since there are four of us now, we can have proper votes on how to handle... situations. Like dates. And appropriate levels of property damage. And whether or not to use orbital bombardment as a flirtation tactic." She shot a pointed look at Attea.

Attea spluttered, utterly enraged. "Vote? VOTE?! I don't vote! I decree! That's how empires work! And empresses beat queens! It's a universal constant! It's in the galactic bylaws!"

"Your bylaws are outdated and inefficient." EightEight interjected, her optic fixed on Elena's device. "A structured system with clear parameters could potentially reduce conflict by 73.4%. However, your inclusion as a participant creates a significant variable. Your power level skews the data."

"See? The calculator gets it." Elena said, nodding at EightEight. "It's about fairness. Balance. Now, the first order of business—" she tapped on her device "—is scheduling. I'm putting myself down for a 'cultural exchange' date with Ben tomorrow. We're going to the natural history museum."

"NO!" Attea, Looma, and EightEight all shouted in unison.

"I already have a 'military tactics' seminar scheduled with Benjamin tomorrow." EightEight stated.

"I was going to take him to the forge to craft matching battle-axes!" Looma declared.

"And I was going to show him how to properly intimidate a subordinate!" Attea added.

Elena sighed, as if dealing with particularly slow children. "See? This is the problem. No coordination." She tapped her device again. "I'm vetoing all of those. Museum trip is confirmed. The motion carries."

"How?!" Attea demanded. "You can't just carry a motion with one vote!"

"I voted for it." Elena said. "And as the chairwoman of this committee, my vote counts double. Motion carried."

Ben could only watch in stunned horror as his love life was being organized like a corporate merger. "Uh, guys? Shouldn't I get a say in this?"

Four pairs of eyes turned to look at him.

"No." they all said in perfect unison.

Hope, who had been watching the entire exchange with growing delight, burst out laughing. "Oh, this is perfect! This is the best thing that's ever happened! I'm so glad I stuck around!"

Elena ignored her, focusing on her new... colleagues. "Now, as part of this new democratic system, we need to establish a chain of command. A hierarchy."

Attea immediately straightened up, a confident smirk returning to her face. "Finally, some sense. Obviously, as the first fiancée and an empress, I am at the top."

"Your claim of 'first' is temporally accurate but legally unsubstantiated." EightEight argued. "My consistent proximity and logical compatibility should grant me seniority."

"Strength determines hierarchy!" Looma boomed, pounding a fist into her palm. "I am the strongest! Therefore, I should be in charge!"

Elena listened to them argue for a moment before holding up a hand. "The hierarchy will be determined by performance metrics. Points will be awarded for successful, non-destructive dates. Points will be deducted for property damage, inter-dimensional incidents, and attempted brainwashing."

She brought up a complex scoring chart on her device's hologram. "We'll start with a clean slate. Everyone at zero. May the best woman win."

A strange, competitive light entered the eyes of the three aliens. They looked at each other, then at the scoring chart, then at Ben. It was no longer about just winning Ben; it was about winning the game.

"Very well." Attea said, a calculating gleam in her eye. "I accept your challenge, nano-queen. But know this—I play to win."

"Your victory is statistically improbable." EightEight stated. "But the data will prove my superiority."

"I will earn so many points, they will have to invent a new number for them!" Looma declared.

Ben buried his face in his hands. "I've created a monster. Several monsters. A committee of monsters."

Hope slung an arm around his shoulders. "Cheer up, Tennyson. It could be worse."

"How?" he groaned. "How could it possibly be worse?"

Hope grinned. "They could all be dating each other instead."

The thought was so horrifying that Ben couldn't even process it.

Elena closed her briefcase. "The first meeting of the Ben Tennyson Strategic Dating Committee is adjourned. I'll send a memo with the full bylaws. Don't be late for the museum tomorrow, Ben. I hate tardiness." With that, she turned and walked away again, leaving the four of them—plus Hope—standing in the street.

The silence returned, but it was different now. It was no longer a silence of defeat, but of intense, focused calculation. The game had changed. The rules had been written. And Ben Tennyson was the grand prize.

Attea was the first to move. She pulled out her frog-shaped communicator. "Numbskull! Gumboil! I need a full dossier on Earth's natural history museums! And find me something to wear that says 'I'm cultured and sophisticated but also I could have you executed'!"

Looma cracked her knuckles. "I must train! I will study these 'points'! I will master this 'dating'!"

EightEight's optic was glowing fiercely. "I am accessing every romantic comedy, dating guide, and sociological study on human pair-bonding ever created. I will optimize my approach."

They all scattered, leaving Ben alone with Hope.

"What have I done?" he whispered.

Hope patted his cheek. "You've made my life infinitely more entertaining. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go buy more popcorn. This is gonna be better than the Hex Wars." She vanished in a puff of pink smoke.

Ben stood alone on the street, the ruins of a car and his sanity surrounding him. He had a date at the museum tomorrow. And he had a feeling it was going to be the most heavily surveilled, strategically analyzed, and potentially dangerous date in human history.

The harem—no, the committee—was in session.

Chapter Text

The Bellwood Natural History Museum had never seen a security detail like it. As Ben approached the grand stone steps, his heart doing a nervous tap-dance against his ribs, he spotted them.

Perched on the roof of the building across the street, partially hidden behind a gargoyle, was a sleek, purple figure. EightEight. Her optic was trained on the museum's entrance, a high-powered sniper rifle configuration of her Proto-Tool resting on the ledge. She wasn't even trying to be subtle.

Leaning against a hot dog cart nearby, trying and failing to look casual, was Attea. She was wearing large sunglasses and a ridiculously wide-brimmed hat, but her green skin and distinctive profile were a dead giveaway. The hot dog vendor looked deeply uncomfortable as she critiqued his condiment selection without buying anything.

And then there was Looma. She was attempting to "blend in" by standing perfectly still next to a statue of a mammoth, striking a pose that mirrored the fossilized beast. She was wearing a trench coat and fedora that did nothing to conceal her immense size and red skin. People were giving her a wide berth.

Ben sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is a disaster waiting to happen."

"Are you talking to yourself? That's a sign of stress." a calm voice said beside him.

He jumped. Elena was there, as if she'd materialized from the shadows. She was wearing a simple black dress and carrying a small purse. She looked completely normal, which, in this context, was the most abnormal thing of all.

"Elena! Hi. You're... punctual."

"I said I hated tardiness." she replied, her eyes scanning the area. She didn't seem at all surprised by the three obvious spies. "I see the committee is taking its oversight duties seriously."

"Oversight is one word for it." Ben muttered. "Stalking is another."

"Semantics." She looped her arm through his. It was a casual, friendly gesture, but it sent a jolt of anxiety through him. He could feel four sets of eyes, burning into the back of his skull. "Shall we? I want to see the new exhibit on prehistoric pollinators."

As they walked up the steps, Ben's phone buzzed. He pulled it out. A text from an unknown number.

Subject is making physical contact. Initiate counter-maneuver? - E

He looked over at EightEight on the roof. She gave him a thumbs-up. He quickly stuffed his phone back in his pocket.

The museum was cool and quiet, a sanctuary of knowledge and dust. For a few precious minutes, Ben almost forgot about the circus following him. Elena was a surprisingly engaging date. She knew a lot about everything, and her commentary, while delivered in that flat, analytical tone, was sharp and funny.

"The taxonomy on this display is five years out of date." she noted, pointing at a diorama of a saber-toothed tiger. "And the posture is all wrong. Its spine couldn't articulate like that. It's sloppy."

"Uh, yeah. Sloppy." Ben agreed, trying to ignore Attea, who was now pretending to be fascinated by a display of fossilized dung directly behind them.

They turned a corner into the gem and mineral exhibit. The room was filled with sparkling crystals and glowing rocks.

"Ooh, shiny." Elena said, a hint of genuine interest in her voice. She led him over to a massive geode, split open to reveal a cavern of glittering purple crystals. "Amethyst. Silicon dioxide with trace amounts of iron. The crystalline structure is quite beautiful."

"It is pretty." Ben said, relaxing slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

Suddenly, Looma's voice boomed across the room. "BEHOLD! A WORTHY PRIZE!"

They turned to see the Tetramand princess standing in front of the geode display, having somehow slipped past the "Do Not Touch" signs. She had one of the smaller geodes in her hand, holding it up to the light.

"Sir! Please put that down!" a flustered security guard said, running over.

"This gemstone shall be a token of my affection for Benny-poo!" Looma declared, completely ignoring the guard. "It is strong! And purple! Like my love!"

"Ma'am, that is museum property!"

"Everything is property for the taking for a true warrior!" Looma argued.

Before the situation could escalate, Elena sighed. "See? This is what I'm talking about. No decorum." She didn't even move. But the geode in Looma's hand began to shimmer. The purple crystals turned black, then dissolved into a fine, grey dust that sifted through her fingers.

Looma stared at her empty hand in confusion. "What sorcery is this?"

"Science." Elena replied calmly. "Now apologize to the nice man."

Looma, bewildered by the disappearing rock, mumbled an apology to the guard, who just shook his head and walked away, muttering about "cosplay conventions."

Attea chose that moment to make her move. She sidled up to Ben, linking her arm through his free one, sandwiching him between her and Elena.

"The mineral exhibit is so... pedestrian." Attea said, her voice dripping with false sweetness. "Come, Benny-boo! The Incursean Empire has gems the size of your head! I'll show you the royal treasury! It's much more impressive than these... pebbles."

Elena's grip on Ben's arm tightened slightly. "The value of a mineral isn't in its size, Attea. It's in its structure. Its purity. Something you'd know nothing about."

The two women stared at each other over Ben's head, a silent war of wills raging between them. Ben felt like a rope in a tug-of-war.

"Ladies, please." he whispered. "Can we just look at the rocks?"

His phone buzzed again.

Proximity alert: Rivals 1 and 2 are within conflict range. Deploying distraction. - E

A moment later, the fire alarm went off. Lights flashed, and a loud, blaring siren filled the museum.

"FIRE! FIRE!" Looma bellowed, immediately on high alert. "DO NOT FEAR, CITIZENS! I WILL SAVE YOU!" She began ushering a group of terrified schoolchildren towards an exit, lifting a small one onto each shoulder.

In the chaos, Attea and Elena were separated from Ben by the crowd rushing for the doors. He saw EightEight drop from the ceiling vent she'd apparently been hiding in, landing in a perfect three-point stance.

"Evacuation route is clear to the east wing!" she announced to no one in particular. "Remain calm! My calculations indicate a 2.3% chance of actual combustion!"

Ben was swept outside with the crowd, where museum staff were quickly assuring everyone it was a false alarm. A few minutes later, Elena, Attea, Looma, and EightEight all converged on him on the front steps.

"False alarm." a security guard was saying into his radio. "Something tripped the system in the electrical closet. No idea how."

Elena adjusted her purse, a faint, satisfied smile on her face. "Well, that was exciting. Shall we get lunch?"

The rest of the "date" continued in a similar vein. Every time Attea or Looma tried to interfere, some minor, inexplicable catastrophe would occur—a sprinkler would turn on, a display case would mysteriously unlock, a docent's microphone would start emitting a high-pitched feedback whine. EightEight remained a silent, observing presence, her optic recording everything for later analysis.

By the time Elena declared the date over ("I've collected sufficient data for now"), Ben was exhausted. He felt like he'd run a marathon while being watched by a panel of hyper-critical judges.

As they stood outside the museum, Elena brought out her CRHMI device. "Okay, let's score the first official date."

The three other women leaned in, their competitive instincts overriding their mutual dislike.

"Ben showed adequate knowledge of Earth's prehistoric eras." Elena stated, tapping the screen. "Plus five points. However, he failed to properly defend me from the aggressive advances of Rival 2." She shot a look at Attea. "Minus three points."

"Hey!" Ben protested.

"Rival 1 attempted to steal museum property." Elena continued, looking at Looma. "Minus ten points. And she caused a public disturbance. Minus five."

Looma looked crestfallen.

"Rival 3 provided adequate overwatch but failed to prevent the false alarm incident." Elena said, glancing at EightEight. "No points awarded or deducted. Neutral performance."

EightEight's shoulder plates seemed to slump slightly.

"And I." Elena said, a hint of pride in her voice, "maintained composure, facilitated educational discourse, and efficiently managed all disruptions. Plus fifteen points."

The device beeped, and a holographic leaderboard appeared:

1. Elena: 15 points
2. Ben: 2 points
3. EightEight: 0 points
4. Attea: -3 points
5. Looma: -15 points

Attea stared at the board, her face a mask of pure outrage. "THIS IS RIGGED! I demand a recount! My presence was commanding and regal!"

"Your presence was annoying and disruptive." Elena corrected. "The scores stand. I'll see you all at the next committee meeting. We'll be discussing appropriate date venues." She gave Ben a quick, surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek. "See you later, Ben."

She walked away, leaving the four of them standing on the steps, the holographic leaderboard still glowing in the air between them.

Attea was fuming. Looma was despondent. EightEight was analyzing the scoring algorithm. And Ben just wanted to go home and hide under his bed.

"This is unacceptable." Attea seethed. "I will not be bested by a... a spreadsheet with legs! We need a new strategy! A unified strategy!"

"Unified?" Looma asked, perking up. "You mean... an alliance?"

"Temporarily!" Attea clarified quickly. "Just until we dethrone the nano-queen. Then we can go back to fighting each other."

EightEight's optic brightened. "A strategic alliance against a common, high-value target. The logic is sound. I am in agreement."

"Then it's settled!" Attea declared. "The three of us will form a pact! We will share intelligence! We will coordinate our efforts! Together, we will show Elena Validus what happens when you challenge an empress!"

They all shook on it—a four-armed hand, a webbed hand, and a metallic gauntlet. Ben watched, a sense of dread washing over him. The three most dangerous women he knew had just formed an alliance. This wasn't a committee anymore. It was a coalition.

And he was the territory they intended to liberate.

Chapter Text

The "temporary alliance" between Attea, Looma, and EightEight lasted for approximately six hours. It dissolved around the Tennyson dinner table over an argument about the optimal way to eat corn on the cob (Looma: whole; Attea: kernel by kernel with a tiny fork; EightEight: pulverized into a paste and analyzed for nutritional content).

But the shared goal—dethroning Elena—remained. This led to a bizarre week where Ben found himself at the center of a coordinated, if often contradictory, charm offensive.

Monday was Looma's "Day of Strength." She took him to a deserted quarry to hurl boulders at mountainsides. It was surprisingly fun, but ended when she accidentally started a minor rockslide that nearly buried Rook's Proto-TRUK, which had been discreetly monitoring the situation.

Tuesday was EightEight's "Day of Logic." She took him to the library and presented him with a 200-page PowerPoint presentation titled "The Irrefutable Logic of Choosing EightEight: A Statistical and Tactical Analysis." He fell asleep on slide 42, which detailed the aerodynamic advantages of her helmet design.

Wednesday was Attea's "Day of Grandeur." She tried to take him on a tour of the Incursean flagship, which she'd had parked in a geosynchronous orbit above Bellwood. Grandpa Max had put a stop to that before they even reached the Plumber shuttle, citing "violations of about seventeen intergalactic treaties."

Through it all, Elena watched from the sidelines via her nano-drones, updating the point system with ruthless efficiency. Attea's rockslide cost her 20 points. EightEight's boring presentation earned her a neutral zero. Attea's attempted orbital field trip was an automatic 50-point deduction. Elena's own points, meanwhile, steadily climbed through a series of "low-impact, high-efficiency" interactions—a coffee date, a walk in the park, a shared smoothie where she didn't threaten anyone.

The other girls were fuming. Their alliance was fracturing under the strain of constant failure. They needed a win. A big one.

Which is how Ben found himself in the middle of an empty field on the outskirts of town on Saturday afternoon, with all four of his... suitors... plus Hope, who was selling tickets.

"Step right up! Witness the first annual—and probably last—Ben Tennyson Courtship Thunderdome!" Hope announced to an audience of cows. "Place your bets! Who will win the heart of the hero? The frog? The robot? The giant? Or the nano-queen? My money's on the nano-queen. She's got moxie."

"This is a terrible idea." Ben groaned. He was standing in the center of the field, feeling like a piece of meat at a barbecue.

"Nonsense, Benny-boo!" Attea said, cracking her knuckles. She was wearing her royal battle armor. "This is a glorious tradition! On Incursea, we settle disputes of affection through ritual combat! It's efficient!"

"Ritual combat I understand!" Looma boomed, stretching her four arms. She was wearing her gladiator gear. "Finally, a proper way to determine hierarchy!"

"Combat is an inefficient method of determining romantic compatibility." EightEight stated, though she was calibrating her plasma rifle. "However, as the others have chosen physical competition, I will participate to ensure my capabilities are adequately represented."

Elena just leaned against a fence post, arms crossed, looking amused. "I'm not fighting you. It's beneath me. And statistically, I've already won. But I'll watch. It should be entertaining."

"COWARD!" Looma shouted.

"See? No points for sportsmanship." Elena said, tapping her CRHMI device.

"Enough talk!" Attea declared. "The rules are simple! We fight! Last one standing gets... gets a solo date with Ben! No interruptions! No point deductions!"

"This seems like a flawed system." Ben tried to argue, but his voice was drowned out by a war cry from Looma, who charged directly at EightEight.

The fight was as chaotic and destructive as Ben had feared. Looma and EightEight immediately became locked in a fierce battle, plasma blasts meeting super-strong fists. Attea, not one to be left out, joined the fray, using her agility to dart between them, landing sharp kicks and firing her wrist blaster.

It was a three-way melee of epic proportions. Dirt flew, energy blasts scorched the earth, and the cows looked on, unimpressed.

Elena watched, occasionally calling out commentary. "Looma, your left-low guard is weak. EightEight, you're wasting energy on wide-area bursts. Attea, that was just rude."

Ben looked at Hope, who was now selling popcorn to a confused farmer who had wandered over. "Do something!"

"And miss this?" Hope said, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "No way."

Attea, realizing she was outmatched in raw power by Looma and in tech by EightEight, disengaged from the brawl, leaping back. A furious look was on her face.

"ENOUGH!" she screamed. "You leave me no choice! You want to see power? I'll show you power you can't even imagine!"

She reached into a compartment on her armor and pulled out a small, black, obsidian-like disk covered in glowing green circuitry. It was unmistakably alien, and it hummed with dangerous energy.

"What is that?" Ben asked, a cold feeling of dread in his stomach.

"A little something I borrowed from my father's vault." Attea said with a manic grin. "A To'kustar Mutagenic Amplifier! He stole it from a Dimension 12 warlord! They said it was too unstable to use! They said no one could control it! Well, they didn't account for MY willpower!"

"Attea, no!" Ben shouted, taking a step forward. "That sounds like a really, really bad idea!"

"All the best ideas are!" she cackled, and she slammed the device against her chest.

There was a flash of blinding green light, and a shockwave that knocked everyone—even Looma—off their feet. The air crackled with ozone and raw, uncontrolled energy.

When the light faded, Attea was gone. In her place stood a giant. A massive, hulking, sixty-foot-tall behemoth. Her skin was a darker, rougher green, like ancient stone. Spiky, crystalline growths erupted from her shoulders and back. Her eyes glowed with a fierce, white light. She looked like a cross between a To'kustar and an Incursean, a mutant of immense power.

She had turned herself into a Waybad.

"BEHOLD!" her voice boomed, shaking the very ground. "THE ULTIMATE FORM! THE PINNACLE OF INCURSEAN POWER! NOW, WHO'S THE QUEEN?!"

Looma stared up, her jaw hanging open. "By the ancestors... it is... magnificent."

EightEight was already scanning. "Energy readings are off the scale! Biological stability is... precarious. This is highly illogical!"

Elena's amused smile had vanished, replaced by a look of serious concern. "Attea, the mutagen is unstable! Your cellular structure can't maintain this form! You need to change back! Now!"

"CHANGE BACK?!" the giant Attea roared, laughing. "WHY WOULD I CHANGE BACK? I AM POWER INCARNATE! I AM—"

She stopped, a confused look crossing her massive face. She blinked her glowing white eyes. "I am... hungry. I want... chili fries."

Her gaze fell upon the nearby farm. Specifically, on the farmer's silo.

"Mmm... shiny metal tube." she mumbled, her voice becoming deeper, more guttural. Less Attea, more... primal. She took a giant step towards the silo, her movement shaking the ground.

"Oh, frog." Ben whispered. "She's losing control."

"Benny-boo..." the giant Attea murmured, her attention shifting from the silo to him. A strange, possessive light entered her eyes. "My Benny-boo."

She reached down with a hand the size of a car. Before anyone could react, her giant fingers closed around him, lifting him gently but firmly into the air.

"Hey! Put me down!" Ben yelled, squirming in her grip. It was like being held by a living mountain.

"Mine." she growled possessively, bringing him up to her face. She nuzzled him against her massive cheek, a gesture that was probably meant to be affectionate but felt like being sandblasted. "All mine."

She had gone full King Kong.

"This is no longer optimal." EightEight stated, stating the obvious.

"We have to stop her!" Looma said, though she sounded unsure how to fight something that big.

"Stop her? I'm taking video!" Hope said, her phone held high. "This is going to get so many likes!"

Elena was already moving. Her nanochips swarmed out from her purse, flowing over the black disk that had fallen from Attea's giant hand when she transformed.

"I can use the amplifier to reverse the mutation." Elena said, her fingers flying over a holographic interface her chips were projecting. "But I need a power source. A big one."

"I am a power source!" Looma declared, puffing out her chest.

"Not you." Elena said. "EightEight! Your armor's power core! I need you to interface with the device! Looma, you need to distract her! Get her to put Ben down!"

Looma didn't need to be told twice. Letting out a mighty battle cry, she ran forward and jumped, landing a solid punch on Attea's ankle.

"RELEASE THE MALE, BEAST!" Looma bellowed.

The giant Attea looked down, annoyed. "Go away, little bug." She flicked her foot, sending Looma tumbling across the field like a ragdoll.

Meanwhile, EightEight rushed to Elena's side, opening a panel on her gauntlet. Wires of nanites snaked out, connecting to the alien device. "Power transfer initiating. You have thirty seconds before my systems shut down."

"That's all I need." Elena said, her eyes focused.

High above them, Ben was still struggling. "Attea! Listen to me! It's Ben! You have to fight it! Remember who you are! You're an empress! You're annoying and bossy and you have a weird thing for chili fries! Don't let this thing win!"

The giant Attea paused. Her glowing eyes seemed to clear for a second. "Benny... boo...?"

"YES! It's me! Now put me down and let Elena help you!"

A war seemed to be raging behind her eyes. The empress versus the monster. With a groan of effort, she slowly, carefully, lowered her hand and set Ben down on the ground.

"Now, Elena!" Ben yelled.

Elena slammed her hand down on the device. "Reversing the polarity!"

A beam of green energy shot from the device, hitting the giant Attea square in the chest. She roared in pain and surprise as the energy enveloped her. She began to shrink, the monstrous features receding, the glow fading.

In seconds, it was over. Attea stood there in her normal form, swaying on her feet. She looked dazed and confused. The mutagenic amplifier lay at her feet, dark and inert.

"Did... did I win?" she asked weakly, before her eyes rolled back in her head and she collapsed.

Ben rushed to her side. "Attea! Are you okay?"

She opened one eye, a weak grin on her face. "Of course I'm okay... I meant to do that... it was a tactical... feral... thing... to show my... devotion..." Her words slurred as she passed out.

Ben let out a sigh of relief. She was going to be okay.

Looma walked over, brushing dirt off her armor. "It was a good plan. Poorly executed, but good."

EightEight was rebooting her systems. "Power core at 4%. That was... exhilarating."

Elena picked up the now-harmless device. "I'm confiscating this. And you." she said, pointing at the unconscious Attea, "are getting a 500-point deduction for nearly causing a city-wide incident."

Hope walked over, putting her phone away. "Well, that was fun. A little short, but the ending was sweet." She looked at the others. "So, who's next? Does anyone else have a doomsday device they want to try out?"

Before anyone could answer, Attea's communicator, which had survived the transformation, beeped. A hologram of a panicked Incursean soldier appeared.

"Empress! Thank the swamp gods! We've been trying to reach you! Your father, Emperor Milleous, has returned from the warfront! He is FURIOUS that you're gone! He's mobilizing the fleet to come to Earth and retrieve you! He says he's bringing the 'Planet Cracker'!"

Attea, who had just regained consciousness, shot upright. "The Planet Cracker?! He hasn't used that since the Pyronite Rebellion! This is bad! This is very, very bad! We have to go! NOW!"

She grabbed Ben's arm, fumbling with a teleportation device on her wrist. "Hold on, Benny-boo! We're going home!"

"Wait, Attea, no—" Ben started, but it was too late. She activated the device.

A green teleportation beam enveloped them both. But at that exact moment, Looma, not wanting to be left behind, lunged forward and grabbed onto Ben's other arm.

"Wait for me!" she yelled.

The beam widened to include her. Then EightEight, calculating that her mission required her to stay with the asset, dove into the energy field.

Elena, seeing her entire committee—and her primary subject of study—about to vanish, made a split-second decision. "Oh, for the love of—" She grabbed onto EightEight's leg.

Hope, not one to miss a potential intergalactic incident, laughed and jumped into the swirling vortex of energy. "Last one to the frog planet's a rotten egg!"

The teleportation beam flared, overloaded by the number of passengers. The field flickered wildly, the coordinates scrambling.

Attea's device was set for Incursea. But Looma's powerful grip, her sheer physical presence, and her innate connection to a different world—Khoros—acted like a magnet. The beam shuddered, the destination parameters overwritten.

With a final, blinding flash, the entire group—Ben, Attea, Looma, EightEight, Elena, and Hope—vanished from the field.

The cows mooed. The farmer scratched his head. The silence returned.

They were gone. But they weren't on Incursea.

The teleportation beam dissolved, leaving not the familiar green swamps of Attea's homeworld, but a harsh, red, arid landscape under a burning orange sun. The air was hot and dry, filled with the sound of distant, roaring crowds and the clanging of metal on metal.

Before them stood a massive, brutalist coliseum carved from red stone. Banners bearing a familiar symbol—a clenched, four-fisted gauntlet—fluttered in the hot wind.

Looma straightened up, a huge, triumphant grin spreading across her face. She spread her four arms wide, embracing the familiar scene.

"WELCOME." she boomed, her voice echoing across the alien desert, "TO KHOROS!"

It was going to be a very long week.

Chapter Text

The first thing that hit Ben was the heat. It was a dry, oppressive, baking heat that felt like opening an oven door set to "broil." The air was thick with the smell of dust, hot metal, and something vaguely coppery. The second thing was the noise—a distant, rhythmic roar that sounded like a million people cheering at a football game, mixed with the clang of heavy machinery and the occasional, earth-shaking BOOM.

He blinked, his eyes adjusting to the harsh, orange-red light of a giant sun hanging in a rust-colored sky. They were standing on a wide, sandstone platform overlooking a vast, desert-like canyon. In the distance, carved into the canyon walls, was a city of brutalist, red-stone structures and massive, intimidating statues of four-armed warriors. And directly in front of them, so colossal it blocked out a portion of the sky, was a monumental coliseum. Banners bearing the symbol of a clenched, four-fisted gauntlet snapped in the hot wind.

Looma Red Wind took a deep, dramatic breath, spreading her four arms wide as if to hug the entire planet.

"WELCOME!" she boomed, her voice echoing across the desolate landscape, filled with pure, unadulterated joy. "TO KHOROS! THE STRONGEST PLANET IN THE GALAXY!"

Attea, who was still clutching Ben's arm from the teleport, let go as if she'd been burned. She stumbled back, her face a mask of utter disgust and fury. She kicked at the red sand, sending up a puff of dust.

"Ugh! It's so dry! And red! And it smells like a gym sock full of pennies that's been left in the sun!" she shrieked, fanning her face with her hand. "This is a diplomatic nightmare! My skin is going to flake off! My father is going to kill me, and then he's going to kill you, and then he's going to kill this entire dust-ball planet for inconveniencing me!"

Elena Validus, meanwhile, was assessing the situation with her usual calm. A faint sheen of sweat appeared on her forehead. "Atmospheric analysis: low humidity, high temperature, intense ultraviolet radiation. This environment is suboptimal for prolonged human—or Incursean—exposure without protection."

As if on cue, the circuitry patterns on her skin began to glow with a soft, yellow light. The nanites within her reacted to the environmental stress. Her form seemed to shimmer for a moment, and when it cleared, she had changed. Her simple Earth clothes were gone, replaced by the sleek, black-and-blue armored skin of her "Queen" persona. A graceful, crown-like structure of interlocking black hexagons adorned her head, and her eyes glowed with that familiar, unsettling light.

"We will maintain this form for environmental shielding." the layered, harmonic voice of the Queen stated. "The climate control functions are... adequate."

Before anyone else could comment, Looma, beaming with pride, swept Ben up into a bone-crushing hug with two of her arms, while the other two gestured grandly at the view.

"Is it not magnificent, my Benny-poo?" she cried, peppering his face with enthusiastic, loud kisses that sounded like small firecrackers going off. Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! "The air of my home world! The scent of glory! The—"

"PUT HIM DOWN, YOU OVERGROWN, FOUR-ARMED, KISSY-FACED APE!" Attea screamed, launching herself at Looma's leg and trying to pry her off Ben. "He is not your 'Benny-poo' to manhandle on your stupid, smelly rock!"

Looma ignored her, easily shaking the tiny empress off like a bug. She set a dazed and slightly kiss-bruised Ben back on his feet, keeping one massive arm around his shoulders. "Come! I will show you the royal forge! The arena! The pits where we wrestle the magma-worms for sport!"

Attea scrambled to her feet, fuming. She stomped over and latched onto Ben's free arm, yanking him in the opposite direction. "We are NOT staying here! We need to find a comms station and contact my ship before my father reduces this entire sector to space-dust!"

EightEight observed the tug-of-war with a tilt of her helmet. "The probability of a positive outcome decreases by 12% for every minute we remain in an unsecured location. However, the geological and cultural data of Khoros is not in my database. The opportunity for research is significant."

Hope, who had been taking selfies with the coliseum in the background, chuckled. "Relax, Froggy. Daddy's not gonna blow up the planet with his little princess on it. Probably. This is way more interesting than Earth. They've got actual gladiators! Do you think they sell souvenirs?"

"We are not here for souvenirs!" Attea and the Nano-Queen said in unison, though for entirely different reasons.

"Your priorities are disordered." the Queen added. "We are in a hostile environment with limited resources and an unknown timeline before Imperial Incursean retaliation. A tactical assessment is required before any... tourism."

Looma puffed out her chest. "There is nothing 'hostile' about Khoros to those with strength! We are the soul of the planet! Now, follow me! The way to the city is through the Canyon of a Thousand Victories! It is tradition for returning champions to march its length!"

She began marching forward, practically dragging a reluctant Ben and a furious Attea along with her. EightEight and the Nano-Queen followed, the former scanning everything, the latter seeming to float just above the hot sand. Hope brought up the rear, humming a cheerful tune.

The "Canyon of a Thousand Victories" was less a canyon and more a long, winding path between two towering rock faces that were covered in intricate carvings depicting countless battles and muscular, four-armed heroes.

"—And this." Looma was saying, pointing to a particularly dramatic carving of a warrior beheading a giant serpent, "is my great-great-great-grandmother, Looma the Unflinching! She wrestled the Serpent of Sorrows into submission and used its fangs to pick her teeth!"

"How... hygienic." Ben muttered, trying to discreetly wipe the lip marks off his cheek.

Attea groaned. "I'm bored. And thirsty. And my boots are getting dusty. Are we there yet?"

"We are appreciating history, you uncultured swamp-dweller!" Looma retorted. "Something your people know nothing about, besides which mud puddles are the best to spawn in!"

"Why you—"

Their bickering was interrupted by a low growl. From behind a large boulder, a creature emerged. It looked like a scorpion the size of a minivan, with six glowing red eyes and a stinger that dripped with sizzling purple venom.

"Ah! A Dune-stinger!" Looma said with delight, shoving Ben behind her. "A perfect welcome-home gift! Stand back, my love! I will defeat this beast and present you its stinger as a courting gift!"

"Or." the Nano-Queen said, stepping forward, her hand already raised, "we could simply disassemble it on a molecular level and be on our way in 3.2 seconds. It is the more efficient option."

"Nonsense! Where is the glory in that?" Looma laughed, cracking her knuckles.

The Dune-stinger charged. Looma met its charge head-on, grabbing two of its pincers and holding it back with sheer strength. It was an impressive display of power, the ground cracking under her feet from the strain.

Attea rolled her eyes, pulled out her blaster, and with a perfectly aimed shot, hit the creature's main eye cluster. It recoiled in pain and confusion, its charge broken.

"Distraction: successful." EightEight announced, having already configured her laser blasters into a sniper rifle. She fired a precision energy burst that severed the creature's stinger at the base. It fell to the sand with a thud, harmless.

The Nano-Queen didn't even move. The nanites in the air simply swarmed the disoriented creature, covering it in a black, shimmering shell that solidified instantly, trapping it in a silent, unmoving prison.

The fight was over in less than ten seconds.

Looma stood there, panting slightly, the creature's pincers still in her hands. She looked at the trapped beast, then at the three other women, a look of bewildered offense on her face.

"You... you ruined my battle!" she accused.

"You were taking too long." Attea said, holstering her blaster. "And it was ugly."

"Efficiency increased by 89% through coordinated effort." EightEight noted.

"The biomass will be useful for analysis." the Nano-Queen added. The black shell, with the creature inside, dissolved into dust and was reabsorbed into her form.

Looma looked utterly deflated. She dropped the pincers. "You have no sense of ceremony."

"Ceremony is a waste of processing power." the Queen stated.

Ben decided it was time to intervene. "Hey, it was a team effort! A... weird, kinda scary team effort. But we all helped! Right? Now, can we please get to the city? I'm melting."

Grudgingly, Looma led them the rest of the way through the canyon. They emerged into the city proper, which was a bustling, loud, and incredibly physical place. Tetramands of all sizes went about their day, most of them carrying weapons or large crates. The architecture was all function over form—big, strong, and durable.

Looma, her spirits lifting again at being recognized by her people, who bowed and cheered as she passed, took them to a large, open-air marketplace.

"You must try the cuisine of my people!" she declared, leading them to a stall where a large Tetramand was roasting what looked like giant, spiked lizards on a spit over an open lava flow.

"Uh..." Ben said, eyeing the sizzling, bizarre-looking meat.

"We will require a full chemical analysis before consumption." the Nano-Queen said, her glowing eyes fixed on the food.

"Nonsense! It is a delicacy!" Looma bought several large skewers of the meat and handed one to Ben. "Glorb-skewers! The meat is tenderized by the creature's own terror as it is hunted!"

Ben took a cautious bite. To his surprise, it was delicious—spicy, smoky, and surprisingly similar to barbecued chicken. "Hey, this is actually really good!"

"See? I told you!" Looma beamed, clapping him on the back so hard he almost choked.

Attea sniffed the skewer she was handed with extreme suspicion. "It's... acceptable. For street meat." She took a small bite, then another. "Okay, it's better than acceptable."

EightEight retracted a small portion of her faceplate and inserted the tip of the skewer into a port. "Nutrient profile: high in protein, acceptable fat content, trace minerals. Flavor assessment: 'savory'." She then ate the entire skewer, stick and all, the wood and metal crunching audibly inside her chassis.

Hope was already on her third skewer. "I'm gonna need the recipe for this."

As they ate, Looma gave them a boisterous, abbreviated tour, pointing out the Hall of Champions ("I have a statue in there!"), the Royal Forge ("I apprenticed there as a child!"), and the Grand Arena ("I won my first championship there!").

It was during a story about her first magma-worm wrestle that Attea's personal communicator, which had been buzzing intermittently, finally erupted with a furious, static-filled hologram.

The image of Emperor Milleous, larger than life and red-faced with rage, appeared above the device. He was wearing battle armor and was clearly on the bridge of his flagship.

"ATTEAAAAA!" he roared, his voice distorted by distance and anger. "WHERE IN THE BLISTERING SWAMPS OF VOLTEX IX ARE YOU?! I AM IN THE SOL SYSTEM! THERE IS NO SIGN OF YOU ON THE PRIMITIVE MUD-BALL! MY SENSORS SHOW YOUR SHIP NEAR KHOROS! WHAT ARE YOU DOING CONSPIRING WITH THOSE BRUTES?! EXPLAIN YOURSELF BEFORE I CRACK THIS PLANET OPEN TO FIND YOU!"

Attea flinched, her royal confidence wilting under her father's wrath. "F-Father! I can explain! It was a teleportation mishap! A... a cultural outreach! I am securing a new alliance with the Tetramands! For the empire!"

"DO NOT LIE TO ME, GIRL! YOU ARE THERE FOR THAT TENNYSON BOY! I KNEW I SHOULD HAVE VAPORIZED HIM WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE! YOU HAVE FORSAKEN YOUR DUTY! ABANDONED YOUR POST! YOU HAVE UNTIL THE COUNT OF FIVE TO BE ON A SHIP HEADED FOR MY FLAGSHIP OR I WILL—"

"Emperor Milleous."

Ben's voice cut through the tirade. He stepped forward, pushing past a stunned Attea to face the hologram. He looked nervous but determined.

The giant frog-emperor's furious eyes focused on him. "TENNYSON! I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN! THIS IS YOUR DOING! YOU HAVE BEWITCHED MY DAUGHTER WITH YOUR... YOUR HUMAN TRICKS!"

"Sir." Ben said, trying to sound calm and diplomatic, "Attea is here on my invitation. It's a diplomatic mission. A cultural exchange between Earth, Incursea, and Khoros. It's... very important for interstellar relations. She's being an excellent representative for your empire."

Milleous blinked, his rage momentarily derailed by the sheer audacity of the lie. "A... diplomatic...? BOY, DO YOU TAKE ME FOR A FOOL?!"

"No, sir." Ben said, thinking fast. "But attacking Khoros would be a huge mistake. The Tetramands are our allies now. Thanks to Attea. If you attack, you'll not only have the Plumbers to deal with, but you'll be starting a war on two fronts. Is that really what you want?"

He was bluffing, and everyone knew it. But he said it with such conviction that Milleous actually paused. The emperor's eyes darted to Looma, who stepped up behind Ben, crossing all four of her arms and glaring at the hologram.

"The human speaks the truth, frog." Looma growled. "The Princess is our honored guest. An attack on Khoros is an attack on the House of Red Wind. We may be brutes, but we are brutes with very, very big weapons."

Milleous looked from Ben, to Looma, to his daughter, who was trying her best to look regal and diplomatic instead of terrified and guilty. He let out a furious, guttural sound.

"FINE! A 'diplomatic mission.'" he spat the words like they were poison. "You have 48 hours, Attea. Forty-eight hours to conclude your... 'negotiations.' Then you will return to the flagship. And Tennyson... if I find out this is a trick, I will personally feed you to my pet Gorgo-buzzards. Slowly."

The transmission cut out.

The group stood in silence for a moment in the bustling market.

Attea let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. "You... you scared him off." She looked at Ben with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You actually scared my father."

"It was a statistically improbable outcome." EightEight observed. "But effective."

"Your bluff had no honor, but it had courage." Looma said, clapping Ben on the shoulder again. "I like it!"

The Nano-Queen's form shimmered back to Elena, the environmental threat momentarily overridden by the social one. "That bought us time. But we need to get back to Earth. Now."

Attea nodded, pulling out her communicator again. "I'll call my personal shuttle. It's small, fast, and can be here in minutes." She input the commands. "It's on its way. We can rendezvous back at the platform."

The sense of relief was short-lived. The journey back through the city was quicker, the mood more urgent. They reached the sandstone platform just as a small, sleek, green Incursean shuttle descended from the sky, its engines humming.

"Perfect timing." Attea said as the ramp lowered.

The flight back to Earth was tense and quiet. Attea piloted with a focused intensity. Elena was lost in thought, likely running scenarios. Looma kept trying to offer Ben more Glorb-skewers she'd somehow packed. EightEight was interfaced with the ship's computer, and Hope was editing her video of the Dune-stinger fight.

They hit Earth's atmosphere with a familiar shudder. Attea guided the ship toward Bellwood.

"We're almost there." she said. "I'll set us down in that empty lot near—OH FROG!"

An alarm blared on the console. "Proximity alert! Collision imminent!"

"What? Where did that come from?" Ben yelled, grabbing his seat.

"I was distracted!" Attea shouted, wrestling with the controls. She and Elena had been in a heated, whispered argument over the CRHMI point deductions from the Dune-stinger incident.

The shuttle lurched violently. There was a horrific screech of tearing metal, a tremendous CRUNCH, and the world spun violently before coming to a jarring, sudden stop.

Silence, broken only by the sputtering of dying engines and the drip of leaking fluids.

Everyone was shaken but unharmed, thanks to the shuttle's safety systems.

"What... what did we hit?" Ben asked, groaning.

Attea unstrapped herself and stomped down the ramp, which opened with a wheeze. She looked at the front of her shuttle, which was wrapped around a familiar, green, classic-style car. The car was now crushed beneath the shuttle's weight, a total loss.

And standing next to the wreckage, his face a perfect picture of utter, disbelieving rage, was Kevin Levin.

"MY CAR!" he roared, his hands clenching into fists, his skin starting to absorb the asphalt from the street. "TENNYSON! WHAT THE HELL?!"

Gwen was beside him, her mouth agape. "Ben? What is going on? Why is there an Incursean shuttle on top of Kevin's car? And why are you... all still here?" Her eyes widened as she took in the group disembarking: Ben, Attea, Looma, EightEight, Elena, and Hope.

Attea, mortified and defensive, pointed at Elena. "It was her fault! She was yammering on about points and—"

"The failure in piloting accuracy lies solely with the operator." the Nano-Queen stated, her form having flickered back online after the crash.

"Your vehicle was poorly parked!" Looma added, as if that explained everything.

"You were all squawking like angry Scrutins!" Hope chimed in, laughing. "It was hilarious!"

Kevin's anger was reaching critical mass. "I DON'T CARE WHOSE FAULT IT IS! THAT WAS MY CAR! IT WAS A CLASSIC! YOU ALIEN SPACE-BRATS OWE ME A NEW CAR!"

As Kevin advanced, and Gwen started generating mana constructs in preparation for a fight, and the girls descended into a full-blown shouting match right there in the street, no one noticed the two new arrivals.

A smaller, more battered ship, looking like a patchwork of salvaged parts, set down silently at the edge of the lot. The hatch opened, and two figures emerged. They were different than EightEight but built from the same purple and pink, armored material. They lacked her sleekness, looking more utilitarian and heavily modified. They didn't speak, only emitting a series of low, mechanical clicks and whirs to each other.

They were SixSix and SevenSeven, EightEight's brothers. And their photoreceptors were locked not on the fight, but on the small, green, crowned frog plushie that had fallen from Attea's grip during the crash and now lay in the dirt near the wreckage.

They moved with silent purpose, ignoring the chaotic argument. SixSix scooped up the plushie and tucked it into a compartment on his leg. SevenSeven raised his arm, weapons powering up, aiming not at the group, but at the ground near EightEight, a distraction shot.

But before he could fire, a pink energy field surrounded both of them.

"Now, now, boys." Gwen said, her eyes glowing, having sensed their hostile intent. "I don't know what is going one here, but you're not starting anything else today."

Seeing their chance for a stealthy extraction gone, SixSix and SevenSeven immediately opened fire—not at Gwen, but at the wreckage of Kevin's car.

The resulting explosion was massive, sending shrapnel and debris flying. Everyone dove for cover.

In the chaos, Gwen made a split-second decision. She couldn't fight them all here in the open. With a grunt of effort, she gathered her power and teleported the Ben's group to a place, and the bounty hunters to another place, all in a flash of pink light.

The world dissolved and reformed.

They were no longer in the junkyard. They were in the clean, sterile, brightly lit interior of a large spaceship. The walls were lined with advanced scientific equipment and DNA sequencers.

The sterile, brightly lit interior of the ship hummed with a tension thicker than a Tetramand’s bicep. The air, which a moment before had been filled with the cacophony of a street brawl and the roar of an explosion, was now dead silent, save for the low thrum of advanced machinery and the sound of several pairs of lungs holding their breath.

Standing before them, looking up from a complex console with an expression that could curdle milk across a solar system, was Myaxx. Her intelligent eyes swept over the sudden, unwelcome congregation in her lab with a weary, profound annoyance that suggested this was merely the latest in a long, long line of Tennyson-related inconveniences.

And then, from a side chamber, emerged a second figure. She had gentle blond hair, kind eyes that held a universe of warmth, and wore a simple, elegant white and green outfit. Her smile was like a sunrise after a long night.

"Ben? Is that you? It's so good to see you again!"

Eunice.

The silence didn't just hold; it intensified, becoming a physical pressure in the room. It was the calm before the storm, the deep breath before the scream.

Then, the levee broke.

"The Unitrix?!" The cry came not from one voice, but from a dissonant, horrified chorus. Attea, Looma, and the Nano-Queen spoke in unison, their voices a tangled mess of shock, bitter jealousy, and outright, seething hostility. The stories of the Ultimate Weapon, the perfect girl, were legend in certain circles—circles that very much included Ben Tennyson’s increasingly complicated love life.

Elena’s form flickered violently. The simple clothes she’d reverted to dissolved in a swarm of black nanites, the sleek, intimidating black-and-blue armor of the Nano-Queen solidifying instantly. Her eyes blazed with that unsettling, harmonic light. The air around her began to hum, charged with the latent energy of a billion disassemblers ready to be unleashed.

"The biological repository." the layered, alien voice of the Queen stated, each syllable dripping with cold analysis and hot contempt. "Another 'perfect' match. A redundant variable. The competition for the Prime Asset is... statistically unacceptable."

Myaxx, utterly unfazed by the display of cosmic power, merely pinched the bridge of her face between two of her facial tentacles. She let out a sigh that spoke of eons of dealing with idiots.

"Tennyson." she said, her voice flat and tired. "Of course it is you. Why am I not surprised? I should have known any massive, idiotic, reality-warping energy spike in this sector would inevitably lead back to you and your... entourage." Her large eyes swept over the gathered women with undisguised disdain. "What is this? A convention for your jilted lovers? A support group for those afflicted with poor taste?"

Ben, caught in the crossfire of four increasingly furious glares, could only stammer. "Myaxx! Eunice! Uh... hey? Long time? This is, uh, not what it looks like?"

"It looks like you've collected a harem of the most aggressive women in three galaxies, Benjamin." Myaxx deadpanned. "And you've brought your inter-species dating crisis onto my ship. Uninvited."

"Hey!" Attea shrieked, finally finding her voice. "I am the Crown Princess of the Incursean Empire, and I am here on a... a diplomatic... ugh, whatever! Who is this green, tentacled hag to judge us?"

"My thoughts exactly, frog-girl." Looma growled, cracking the knuckles on all four of her hands. "This ship is weak. The air is weak. And this scientist is weak. She speaks boldly for someone within head-butting range."

"The Chimera Sui Generis scientist known as Myaxx presents a low immediate physical threat." EightEight droned, her photoreceptors whirring as they focused on Myaxx's vital points. "However, her psychological profile suggests a high probability of caustic verbal engagement. Recommendation: ignore and focus on primary objective: the Unitrix."

"The 'Unitrix' is not an objective." the Nano-Queen intoned, her gaze still locked on a bewildered but smiling Eunice. "It is an anomaly. An imperfect copy striving for a perfection it can never achieve. It must be... cataloged."

Eunice, blissfully unaware of the vitriol being aimed her way, took a hesitant step forward. "Oh, are you Ben's friends? It's so nice to meet you all! My name is Eunice."

This seemed to incense the others even more. Myaxx, however, had finally had enough. She stepped forward, placing herself slightly between Eunice and the hostile group.

"Enough." Myaxx's voice, though not loud, carried a sharp, commanding edge that momentarily silenced the brewing mutiny. "All of you. Silence. You barge into my laboratory, unannounced and unwanted, and immediately begin posturing and threatening my assistant. I will not have it."

She turned her glare first on Attea. "You. Incursean Princess. Your empire's idea of diplomacy usually involves orbital bombardment and resource theft. The fact that you're here, simpering over a human boy instead of conquering him, is a testament to either his inexplicable charm or your own staggering incompetence. I suspect both."

Attea's mouth fell open, too outraged to form words.

Myaxx’s eyes swiveled to Looma. "And you. Tetramand 'warrior'. You measure worth in muscle mass and volume. Your entire culture is a monument to brute force solving intellectual problems. You wouldn't know subtlety if it kissed you on the cheek—which, given the marks on Tennyson's face, it apparently has. Repeatedly."

Looma’s face turned a shade of red that nearly matched her hair. She sputtered, "You dare—!"

"I dare." Myaxx cut her off. Her gaze fell on EightEight. "And you. Bounty hunter Sotoraggian. You reduce complex social and biological interactions to probability matrices and threat assessments. You are a tool, attempting to analyze a heart. It is a futile exercise. Power down and stop scanning my equipment."

EightEight’s photoreceptors flickered. "Scanning is my primary function. The data is—"

"—Irrelevant to your current predicament, which is being an uninvited guest on a ship belonging to a being far more intelligent than your entire programming." Myaxx finished for her. Then, she saved her most scathing look for last, turning it upon the Nano-Queen.

"And you." Myaxx said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous purr. "You are perhaps the most pathetic of them all."

The humming around the Queen intensified. "You overestimate your position, organic."

"Do I?" Myaxx took a step closer, utterly fearless. "You cloak your basic, animalistic desire in the language of logic and superiority. You pretend to be above it all, a being of pure reason and efficiency. But I see you. You are just as driven by base jealousy and possessiveness as the frog and the brute. You simply lack the emotional intelligence to admit it. You are not a queen; you are a child with a universe-altering weapon, throwing a tantrum because another child has a shinier toy. Your pretense of cold analysis is a thin veneer over a core of profound, and very thirsty, insecurity."

The Nano-Queen stood perfectly still, but the air around her crackled with visible energy. The black and blue armor seemed to vibrate. For a being that claimed to be beyond emotion, the insult had struck a chord so deep it threatened to shatter her composed facade.

"Myaxx, please." Ben pleaded, finally finding his voice. "They're not... I mean, it's complicated, but—"

"Complicated?" Myaxx snorted. "Tennyson, your life is a gravitational well of complication. You attract chaos like a black hole attracts light." She gestured to Eunice, who was watching the exchange with curious, slightly concerned eyes. "And you are all directing your irrational hostility at the one person here who is actually innocent of whatever this... situation is. Eunice has no interest in your petty squabbles over this boy."

Eunice blinked her kind eyes. "Oh, but I do like Ben! He's very kind and brave. We had a lovely time together when we met."

The collective glare from Attea, Looma, and the Queen could have melted neutronium.

Myaxx froze. She slowly turned her head to look at Eunice, her expression one of utter betrayal. "Eunice... what are you saying?"

Eunice smiled warmly at Ben, then at the other girls. "I'm saying I like Ben. He helped me discover who I am. He's special." She then tilted her head, her expression one of pure, genuine curiosity. "What exactly is a harem? Is it like a club? How does one join?"

The sound that came from Myaxx’s throat was a cross between a groan, a sigh, and the death rattle of a star. She buried her face in her tentacles. "I give up. The universe is a ridiculous, nonsensical place and I am merely a spectator to its madness."

This was the final straw for the others. The insult to their collective pride, combined with Eunice's innocent declaration and Myaxx's obvious exasperation, created a unified front of indignation.

"Jealous old hag!" Attea spat, finding her voice first. "You're just mad because no one would ever want to start a harem with a tentacle-faced scientist who smells like formaldehyde and regret!"

"Indeed!" Looma boomed. "You hide behind your big words and your machines because you have no strength of your own! You are a spectator to real life, not a participant!"

"Analysis: Myaxx's vitals indicate elevated stress levels." EightEight observed. "Conclusion: she is, in human terminology, 'projecting' her own loneliness onto this dynamic."

But the final, coldest cut came from the Nano-Queen. Her voice was quiet, devoid of the harmonic echo, laced with a new, pure venom. "You are correct about one thing, scientist. You are a spectator. You observe, you dissect, you catalog. But you do not live. You do not feel. You are a relic, studying a fire you are too afraid to feel the warmth of. Your opinion on matters of the heart is as relevant as a fossil's opinion on meteor showers."

Myaxx slowly lowered her tentacles from her face. Her expression was unreadable, but her eyes held a storm. The lab was silent once more, the only sound the faint hum of the DNA sequencers and the pounding of Ben's heart in his own ears. He was standing in the center of a emotional supernova, and he had no idea how to stop it from exploding.

Chapter Text

The silence in the wake of the Nano-Queen's verbal strike was heavier than a Gravattack. Myaxx’s large eyes were narrowed, her green skin seeming to darken with a simmering fury. She looked less like a scientist and more like a predator about to pounce.

Before she could unleash what was sure to be a devastating retort, Ben finally managed to wedge himself into the emotional standoff.

"WHOAH! Okay! Time out! Everybody, just... chill!" Ben yelled, stepping into the middle of the room with his arms spread wide, as if he could physically hold back the impending catfight. "Myaxx, I'm sorry we crashed your... whatever this is. We didn't mean to. We were kinda... teleported here. By Gwen. After we crashed into Kevin's car. It's a long story."

Myaxx’s furious gaze shifted to Ben. "It always is with you, Tennyson. A long, convoluted, and destructive story."

"But what are you doing here?" Ben pressed on, desperate to change the subject. "On Earth? In this ship? I thought you were... I don't know, doing science stuff somewhere less... Earth-y."

Myaxx took a deep, steadying breath, visibly forcing her anger down. The scientist in her overpowered the offended individual. "We are conducting research. Or we were, before our laboratory was invaded by a traveling soap opera."

Eunice, ever the helpful one, brightened. "Oh! We were studying a most fascinating energy signature! It's unlike anything in my database. It's not electromagnetic, not psionic, not cosmic... it's something else entirely. It feels... joyful. And powerful. It manifested near this planet's stellar magnetosphere a few solar cycles ago."

The Nano-Queen’s head tilted, her professional curiosity piqued despite herself. "An unknown energy form? Describe its properties."

"It's been fluctuating." Myaxx said, her tone still clipped but now engaged in the topic. "It reads as a form of photonic energy, but with a biological signature woven through it. It's conscious. And it's been... playful. It rearranged my spectrometer into a perfect replica of a Dagonian seashell. Twice."

"Playful?" Attea scoffed. "It sounds annoying."

"Or magnificent!" Looma countered. "A worthy opponent for a game of strength!"

"It defies categorization." EightEight stated. "This requires further investigation."

As if on cue, the air in the lab began to shimmer. Not like the Nano-Queen's teleportation or a Plumber's portal. This was different. The light in the room didn't just brighten; it danced. Colors bled from the walls, swirling in the air like living rainbows. A sound filled the room, like the laughter of stars and the chiming of a thousand tiny bells.

Then, in the center of the room, the light coalesced. It formed the shape of a woman, but a woman made of starlight and watercolor. Her hair was a flowing cascade of pink energy, her eyes shone with mischievous light.

She floated a few inches above the floor, looking around the room with an expression of delighted curiosity.

"Well, now." the being said, her voice a melodic chuckle. "This is a much more interesting party than I expected. I was just following the prettiest energy trail I've ever seen. Didn't expect to find my favorite grandson at the end of it!"

Ben's jaw dropped. "G-Grandma Verdona?"

The woman of light winked. "In the sparkly flesh, sweetie! Oh, it's so good to see you!" Her gaze swept over the stunned assembly of girls, her smile widening. "And you've brought friends! So many friends! And all such... unique specimens. A feisty frog, a brawny brute, a deadly doll, and a... oh my, a walking tech-support nightmare. How delightful!"

Verdona, the Anodite grandmother of Ben and Gwen, floated in a slow circle around the group. She stopped in front of Attea, peering at her closely. Attea, for once, was speechless, too bewildered by the glowing space-witch to form an insult.

"You have such a vibrant spirit!" Verdona said, poking Attea's cheek. The Princess flinched. "All ambition and firecrackers. It's charming!"

She moved to Looma. "Ooooh, and you! So much solidity! So much passion! You burn like a little sun, don't you?" She reached out and gave one of Looma's biceps a squeeze. Looma looked down at the ethereal hand, utterly confused.

Then she was before EightEight. "And you! So quiet. So... organized. All your thoughts are in neat little boxes. How terribly boring. You need to let your energy flow, dear! Dance a little!" She booped EightEight's helmet. The bounty hunter recoiled as if struck by an electric shock.

Finally, she came to the Nano-Queen. Verdona's expression shifted to one of fascinated scrutiny. "Now you... you are a puzzle. You're trying so very hard to be one thing, but you're screaming to be another. All that power, all that control... and you're using it to be... cross? What a waste of a perfectly good existential crisis." She leaned in closer. "You know, for a being of pure logic, you're radiating enough jealous energy to power a small star."

The Queen remained motionless, but the harmonic hum of her voice wavered. "Your analysis is flawed, energy-based lifeform. I am beyond such primitive—"

"Oh, pish-posh." Verdona interrupted, waving a dismissive hand that left a trail of glittering light. "Nobody's beyond anything. Especially not when it comes to my Benny." She floated over to Ben and ruffled his hair. "He's just got that something, doesn't he? Gets it from my side of the family."

She then noticed Eunice, who was watching her with wide, awestruck eyes. "And you! You're not like the others at all, are you? You're like a beautiful echo. A song trying to remember its melody. How fascinating!"

Eunice beamed. "Thank you! You're very bright!"

Verdona laughed, the sound like wind chimes. "I like her." She turned back to Ben. "So, are you going to introduce me to your fan club, or am I just supposed to guess their names and planetary origins?"

"Uh, grandma, this is... complicated." Ben mumbled, his face red.

"It always is, dear. Love usually is." Verdona said it so matter-of-factly that Ben spluttered.

"Love? Who said anything about—"

"Please." Verdona cut him off, floating over to Myaxx's console and idly transforming a complex-looking data crystal into a perfect rose made of light. "I'm an ancient being of pure mana and emotion. I can smell a romantic entanglement from three galaxies away. And this room." she took an exaggerated sniff, "reeks of it. It's a wonderful, chaotic, messy bouquet of puppy love, fierce devotion, possessive obsession, and... oh, is that just simple lust?" She pointed at Looma, who blinked.

"My intentions are honorable!" Looma protested.

"Of course they are, dear." Verdona said patronizingly. "They all are, in their own way." She turned to Myaxx. "And you, my grumpy little squid-faced friend. You're trying so hard to be the responsible adult in the room. It's exhausting just watching you."

Myaxx scowled. "I am merely trying to prevent my laboratory from being torn apart by a pack of hormonal, super-powered adolescents."

"By insulting their life choices?" Verdona chuckled. "That never works. Trust me, I've been around a few millennia. The best way to deal with a situation like this..." She floated back to the center of the room, her form blazing with joyful light. "...is to have fun with it!"

She clapped her hands together, and a wave of shimmering energy washed over the room. Suddenly, Attea was wearing a frilly pink apron over her outfit. Looma found a flower crown made of light perched on her head. EightEight's laser blaster had been temporarily transformed into a bouquet of glowing daisies. The Nano-Queen's intimidating crown of hexagons was now a tiara that sparkled with pink glitter.

The reactions were instantaneous and predictable.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" Attea shrieked, trying to tear the apron off.

"A crown of light!" Looma said, surprisingly pleased. "A fitting tribute!"

"Utility of floral-based projectile: zero." EightEight stated, examining the daisies.

The Nano-Queen simply stared, utterly mortified, at the reflection of her new glittering tiara in a nearby shiny surface. The hum of her systems sounded like a computer having a panic attack.

Verdona laughed uproariously. "See? Isn't this more fun?"

"Verdona." Myaxx said through gritted teeth. "As... amusing as this is, I would like my equipment and my guests to be returned to their original states. And my data crystal. That rose may be pretty, but it was containing six teraquads of genetic information on Null Void entomology."

"Oh, fine." Verdona said with a pout. She snapped her fingers, and everything returned to normal—the apron, flowers, and tiara vanishing. The rose turned back into a data crystal, which she tossed to Myaxx. "You're no fun."

"Fun is not a variable in the scientific method." Myaxx retorted, carefully checking the crystal for damage.

"See? That's your problem!" Verdona said. She floated over to Ben and put an ethereal arm around his shoulders. "Now, my dear grandson. You seem to be in a bit of a pickle. You've got a frog princess, a four-armed warrior, a killer robot, a nanite hive-mind, and the living embodiment of the concept of 'nice' all vying for your attention. And from the look of you, you'd rather be fighting a DNAliens swarm."

"Kinda." Ben admitted weakly.

"And I'm guessing you need to get back to Earth before your friend with the absorbing hands decides to absorb your entire house?"

"He already crushed my car." a new voice grumbled. Kevin's image flickered to life on a comms screen Myaxx had activated, his face still a mask of fury. "Tennyson, I don't know where you teleported to, but you owe me a new car! And Gwen says if you don't deal with your... groupies... she's going to hex your shower to only run cold water. Forever."

Ben paled. "Not the cold water..."

"Right." Verdona said, clapping her hands again, this time without the pranks. "We can't have that. A man needs a hot shower. Myaxx, dear, your ship is lovely and all, but it's a bit of a crowded bus station at the moment. How about we get this boy home?"

Myaxx sighed, the sound full of relief. "An excellent proposal. The sooner he and his... complications... are off my ship, the sooner I can get back to studying your fascinating, and incredibly disruptive, energy signature, Verdona."

"It was a pleasure to be studied!" Eunice said cheerfully.

"Come on, everyone." Ben said, gesturing toward the ship's airlock, which Myaxx was already opening. "Let's go. Please. No fighting, no disassembling, no challenging anyone to mortal combat on the way out."

The girls filed out, each throwing a last glare at each other, at Eunice, and at Myaxx. Attea muttered about "tentacled hags." Looma grumbled about "weak scientists who fear battle." EightEight logged Myaxx as a "high-probability future irritant." and the Nano-Queen was silent, but the cold fury in her glowing eyes promised a later reckoning.

Only Eunice seemed sad to see them go. "Will I see you again soon, Ben?"

"Uh, sure, Eunice. Yeah. Take care." Ben said, giving a weak wave before practically diving out of the airlock after the others.

Verdona winked at Myaxx. "Don't be a stranger, Grumpy! This was the most fun I've had in a century!" And with a flash of light, she was gone.

Myaxx stood alone in her lab with Eunice. The silence returned, now blessedly peaceful. She picked up the data crystal rose, which had remained. With another sigh, this one less weary, she placed it in a small holder on her console.

"Sometimes." she said to no one in particular, "I truly miss the simplicity of working for Azmuth. The threats were so much more straightforward."

Chapter Text

The return trip to Earth was a silent, tense affair, made in the cramped confines of a Plumber transport ship Gwen had somehow arranged to pick them up from the coordinates Myaxx provided. The pilot, a stern-faced Revonnahgander, had taken one look at the group and immediately activated a sound-proof barrier between the cockpit and the passenger compartment.

Ben sat squeezed between Looma, who was trying to braid a small section of his hair with two of her hands while sharpening a knife with the other two, and Attea, who was furiously typing on her communicator, presumably dealing with the fallout from her father. EightEight sat opposite, her photoreceptors periodically scanning each of them, no doubt compiling a vast amount of data on passive-aggressive body language. The Nano-Queen had reverted to Elena, who sat with her arms crossed, staring out the viewport at the passing stars, her expression unreadable but stormy.

Hope, surprisingly, had decided to stay behind with Myaxx and Eunice, claiming their research was "way more interesting than whatever drama was about to go down on Earth."

The transport set down softly in the backyard of the Tennyson residence. The familiar sight of the quiet suburban home was a jarring contrast to the gladiator planet and the advanced starship they'd just left.

"Alright." Ben said, unbuckling his seatbelt with a sigh of relief. "We're here. Everyone... just... be cool. My mom is probably home."

"Your parental unit holds no authority over me." Attea sniffed, though she did straighten her crown.

"I shall greet her with the honor befitting the mother of my future mate!" Looma declared, cracking her neck.

Elena just rolled her eyes and dematerialized her Nano-Queen armor, becoming just a girl in normal clothes again. "Let's just get this over with."

They filed out of the ship, which immediately took off again, its pilot clearly eager to be away from them. The back door to the house opened, and Sandra Tennyson stepped out, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She took in the scene: her son, looking exhausted and frazzled, accompanied by the Incursean Princess, the Tetramand Warrior, the mysterious quiet girl (Elena), and the silent robot woman she'd all met before, under various chaotic circumstances.

She didn't even blink.

"Ben! There you are. I was getting worried. Kevin called, he sounded... upset. Something about his car?" Her tone was mild, but her eyes were doing a quick headcount, ensuring no one was injured.

"Hey, Mom. Yeah, that's... that's a long story. There was a... shuttle malfunction. We're all okay though." Ben said, shuffling forward.

"Hello again, Mrs. Tennyson!" Looma boomed, stepping forward and giving a slight, respectful bow that was still intimidating due to her size.

"Hi, Ben's mom." Attea said, trying and failing to sound casual and regal at the same time. "My shuttle was, uh, compromised. I will be requiring lodging until a replacement arrives."

Sandra smiled patiently. "Of course, dear. We have the guest room set up for you, like last time." She looked at EightEight. "And I assume you'll be... standing in the corner again?"

EightEight gave a single, sharp nod. "Affirmative. Optimal positioning for threat assessment and response."

Sandra's eyes finally landed on Elena. Her smile became a little more genuine. "Elena! It's so good to see you again. I'm glad you and Ben are... reconnecting."

Elena offered a small, tight smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Tennyson. It's... good to be here." The lie was palpable.

"Well, come on in, all of you. I just made some lemonade." Sandra said, ushering them inside as if it were perfectly normal to have an intergalactic summit in her kitchen.

The next few hours were a special kind of torture for Ben. He was trapped in his own home, surrounded by four girls who were engaged in a silent, seething cold war over him, all under the pleasantly oblivious eye of his mother. The tension was so thick you could cut it with one of Looma's knives.

His phone buzzed incessantly. It was a group chat that now included Gwen and Kevin.

Gwen: Ben. Seriously. What is the plan here? You can't just have a slumber party with an intergalactic war council in your parents' house.
Kevin: MY CAR, TENNYSON. WE ARE NOT DONE HERE.
Gwen: He's right. We're not. But also, THE HAREM THING, BEN. It was weird with just Attea visiting. It was weirder when you added the gladiator princess. It reached critical mass of weird with the mercenary. BUT NOW ELENA IS BACK? The emotionally unstable ex-girlfriend who tried to KILL US with a nanite swarm? What is WRONG with you?
Ben: It's not a harem! It's just... circumstances!
Kevin: CIRCUMSTANCES WRAPPED AROUND MY CAR.
Gwen: They're circumstances that are going to get your house blown up! Again!
Ben: I'm handling it!
Gwen: HOW? By hiding in your room? Mom says Attea is asking about thread count on the guest sheets and Looma is trying to reorganize the garage by "lifting strength and combat effectiveness."
Ben: I just need a night to sleep. I'll figure it out tomorrow. I promise.

He finally turned his phone off. He couldn't take it anymore. He pleaded exhaustion, managed to extract promises from everyone not to destroy the house or each other while he slept, and retreated to the blessed sanctuary of his bedroom.

He collapsed onto his bed, not even bothering to get under the covers. The last day flashed through his mind: the jungle, the teleport, Khoros, the Dune-stinger, the coliseum, the crash, Kevin's rage, Myaxx's scolding, Verdona's teasing...

It was too much. His brain felt like it was full of static. He just needed it all to stop. For a few hours, he just needed to be Ben Tennyson, a guy who needed to sleep.

He closed his eyes, praying for a dreamless sleep, desperately hoping that the world would just leave him alone for eight hours.

For once, his prayers were answered. He fell into a deep, exhausted slumber, the chaos of his life momentarily held at bay by the sheer force of his fatigue. The house was quiet. For now.

Chapter Text

Ben Tennyson woke up to the smell of pancakes and the sound of impending doom.

For a glorious, fleeting second, he thought the previous week had been a bizarre, stress-induced dream. The silence of his room, the familiar crack in his ceiling, the soft hum of the Earth's atmosphere—it was all so wonderfully normal.

Then the memories crashed down on him with the force of a Tetramand's fist. Khoros. The coliseum. The Dune-stinger. The crash. Kevin's car. Myaxx's ship. Eunice. Verdona. The silent, seething car ride home. He groaned, pulling the pillow over his head. It wasn't a dream. It was his life.

The pillow was yanked away with surprising force.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty." said a voice that was decidedly not his mother's. It was laced with sarcasm and a hint of magical authority.

Ben squinted. Gwen Tennyson stood over his bed, arms crossed, a familiar "I'm-disappointed-and-you're-in-trouble" expression on her face. Leaning against the doorframe was Kevin Levin, munching on a pancake he'd presumably snagged from the kitchen. He didn't look disappointed; he looked like he was contemplating which part of Ben to punch first.

"Gwen? Kevin?" Ben mumbled, sitting up. "What are you doing in my room?"

"What are we doing?" Gwen repeated, her voice rising. "Ben, we are conducting an intervention. A long, long overdue intervention."

Kevin swallowed his pancake. "Yeah, dude. An intervention. Starting with my car. You know, the one that's currently a pancake under a frog spaceship? We're gonna need to talk about that."

Ben rubbed his eyes. "Guys, can this wait? I just got back from... everything."

"That's the point!" Gwen said, gesturing wildly towards the door. "The 'everything' is the problem! It's not stopping, Ben! It's getting bigger! You left with one overly-possessive alien princess. You came back with a committee! A committee that includes Elena Validus! The girl who tried to turn you into a nanite king!"

"It's not a committee!" Ben insisted, the protest sounding weak even to his own ears. "It's just... a complicated situation."

"Complicated?" Kevin snorted. "Dude, it's a harem. You've got a harem. Just call it what it is."

"It is NOT a harem!" Ben said, his voice cracking. "A harem implies... I don't know, silk pillows and... and... it's not that! Besides, why are you guys on my case? Shouldn't you be mad at Rook? He's got Fistina and Rayona or whatever hanging around him. That's basically the same thing!"

Gwen and Kevin exchanged a look.

"First of all." Gwen said, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Fistina is not Rook's 'girlfriend'. She's a... a complicated work contact that Attea foisted upon him. And Rayona was a brief, confusing cultural exchange. Rook handled it with dignity and it's over. He doesn't have a platoon of intergalactic women following him around, redecorating his garage and challenging each other to duels in the backyard."

"Yeah." Kevin added. "And Rook didn't use my car as a landing pad. We're focused on the priorities here, Tennyson. My ride. And your sanity. Mostly my ride."

"Julie is still furious with you, by the way." Gwen added. "And Kai? I got a very terse text from her last night that just said, 'Tell your cousin he's an idiot.' They're not happy, Ben. And I can't blame them." 

Before Ben could formulate a response, the air in his room shimmered with a familiar green light. A small, precise Incursean teleportation beam deposited four figures directly onto his bedroom floor.

Attea landed gracefully, already in mid-rant. "–and furthermore, the thread count on those guest sheets is an insult to royal skin! I demand– oh, hello, red-headed know-it-all. Metal-mouth."

Elena appeared, looking calm and collected, though her eyes held a storm. Looma landed with a soft thud, cracking the floorboards slightly, and EightEight materialized in her usual perfect, silent stance.

"Benny-boo!" Attea said, ignoring Gwen and Kevin completely. "I have revised the guest room decor. I've ordered new drapes. Battle-silk. Very intimidating."

"You have violated the structural integrity of the dwelling's foundation." Looma noted, pointing at the crack she'd made. "I shall repair it with my bare hands! It will be a display of my devotion!"

"The presence of Gwendolyn and Kevin increases the probability of conflict by 47%." EightEight stated. "Recommendation: eject them."

Gwen's jaw was on the floor. "You see?" she said, turning back to Ben. "This! This is what I'm talking about! They just teleport into your bedroom!"

Attea finally deigned to acknowledge Gwen. "We have business to discuss. Important business. Regarding the CRHMI point distribution from the Khoros incident. The Nano-Queen is attempting to claim points for 'environmental management,' which is clearly a sub-category of my 'hostess' points!"

Elena smirked. "Your 'hostess' points were revoked when your father threatened to crack the planet open. My points stand."

Gwen turned her fury on Elena. "And you! I can't believe you're part of this... this circus! After everything that happened? The nanochips? The Hive? You're just going to insert yourself into this mess?"

Elena looked at Gwen with a chilling calm. "Your anger is misplaced, Gwen. The 'mess,' as you call it, was already here. I'm simply imposing order. And if you're so concerned about rivals, you should be looking at your friend Julie. And that... Kai Green. I've analyzed their behavioral patterns. The probability of them attempting to re-establish contact and enter the... let's call it the 'competitive sphere'... is significantly high. They're probably planning their entry strategies as we speak."

Ben felt a headache of cosmic proportions coming on. "Everyone, just STOP!"

But it was too late. The argument had reached critical mass. Attea was defending her imperial honor, Looma was offering to settle the dispute with a wrestling match, EightEight was quoting probability statistics, Elena was coldly analyzing everyone's motivations, and Gwen was trying to magically glue everyone's mouths shut.

Kevin just looked at Ben, shook his head, and took another bite of his pancake. "My car, man. We're not forgetting the car."

Chapter Text

The kitchen was a warzone of a different kind. The pleasant smell of pancakes was now mingled with the scent of ozone (from a near-miss plasma blast when Attea got excited about syrup), scorched metal (from EightEight accidentally using her laser torch to cut a pancake), and sheer frustration.

Ben's dad, Carl, had wisely taken his plate and retreated to the garage after a cheerful, "Well, this looks like a lively cultural exchange! Have fun, kids!"

Sandra Tennyson, saint that she was, was calmly washing dishes, occasionally offering a placating, "Now, girls, there's plenty of syrup for everyone." as if she were mediating a dispute between Girl Scouts, not intergalactic warlords.

"The fundamental issue." Ben announced, trying to take control of the situation, "is that we need to pay Kevin back for his car. That's step one. Then we can... figure out the rest."

"Agreed." Gwen said firmly. "Practical problems first."

"Fine." Attea huffed. "How much is required? I will simply transfer the funds from the Imperial Treasury." She pulled out a communicator that looked like a jewel-encrusted frog. "Numbskull! Prepare a monetary transfer to the Levin asset! Amount: enough to purchase a new... ground vehicle."

Kevin gave her a flat look. "Earth money, Froggy. U.S. Dollars. And I doubt your space-bucks are accepted at the Bellwood Ford dealership."

Attea blinked. "Why would they not? Our currency is backed by the entire resources of the Incursean Empire! It is the most stable currency in the galaxy!"

"Earth banks tend to be skeptical of interstellar exchange rates." Elena commented dryly. "Especially from empires known for... aggressive economic policies."

"I, too, possess great wealth!" Looma declared. "I have trophies from a thousand battles! Gems, weapons, the skulls of mighty beasts!"

"Also not legal tender." Kevin sighed. "Look, do any of you have, like, a wallet? With cash?"

EightEight spoke up. "As a bounty hunter, I am paid in galactic credits, which can be converted. However, I refuse to allocate funds for an asset destruction I did not cause. The fault lies with the pilot." She pointed at Attea.

"My nutrient paste is self-replicating and requires no monetary exchange." Elena added.

Ben buried his face in his hands. "So, no one has any Earth money? Great. Just great."

"It appears." EightEight stated, "that the responsibility for fiscal remediation falls upon you, Benjamin."

A collective groan echoed from Ben, Gwen, and Kevin.

"Alright." Ben said, slumping in his chair. "Fine. I'll go to the bank. I'll withdraw the money from my savings. It's my birthday money and everything I've saved from... well, from not having a social life because of all this." He shot a glare at the girls.

"An excellent plan!" Looma said. "I shall accompany you to this 'bank' to ensure your safety!"

"I will also attend." Attea said. "I wish to observe this primitive financial system."

"My presence is required to ensure the transaction is logical and efficient." EightEight added.

Elena stood up. "I'll go. I need to update the CRHMI with data on Terran financial institutions."

Ben looked at Gwen and Kevin, pleading with his eyes.

"Don't look at me." Kevin said. "I'm just here for the money. And the show."

Gwen sighed. "I'll come too. Someone has to make sure you don't accidentally deposit them in a vault."

The walk to the downtown Bellwood bank was less of a walk and more of a procession. Ben, Gwen, and Kevin led the way, followed by a bizarre entourage that turned every head on the street. Attea strutted like she was reviewing troops, Looma loomed like a bodyguard, EightEight glided like a silent assassin, and Elena observed everything with the detached curiosity of a sociologist studying a primitive tribe.

They attracted stares, whispers, and several people quickly crossing the street.

"See?" Ben muttered to Gwen. "This is what I have to deal with."

"Just get the money, Ben." Gwen replied, her teeth clenched in a forced smile. "Get the money, give it to Kevin, and then we can figure out how to... un-invite your fan club."

They reached the bank, a staid, brick building that looked utterly unprepared for the group entering its doors. The air-conditioned hush and the soft clicking of keyboards came to a dead stop as they walked in.

A bank manager, a balding man with a nervous tic, approached them. "C-can I help you?"

"Yes." Ben said, trying to sound normal. "I'd like to make a withdrawal from my savings account."

"Of course." the manager said, his eyes darting between Looma and EightEight. "Right this way."

As Ben went to the teller, the girls fanned out. Attea started critiquing the security system ("A child could bypass this!"), Looma tried to lift an ATM to see how heavy it was (Gwen stopped her with a sharp glare), and EightEight interfaced with a terminal, downloading the bank's entire financial history before the manager could protest.

Elena simply stood in the center of the lobby, her nanites subtly analyzing the composition of the marble floor.

Ben was filling out the withdrawal slip when a sweet, familiar voice called his name.

"Ben? Ben Tennyson?"

He turned. Standing near the entrance was a hybrid girl with pinkish-red hair, kind eyes, and a warm smile

"Ester?" Ben said, his face breaking into a genuine smile for the first time that day. Ester was an old friend, an old girlfriend, a sweet, down-to-earth girl who had a crush on him years ago. Seeing her felt like a breath of fresh, normal air.

"Hi, Ben!" she said, walking over. "I thought that was you. It's been so long! Who are all your... friends?" She gestured to the group, her eyes wide with curiosity but not fear.

Before Ben could answer, Attea was there, inserting herself between Ben and Ester. "And who are you?" she demanded, her voice dripping with suspicion.

"I'm Ester." she said, unfazed by Attea's tone. "I'm a... friend of Ben's."

"A 'friend'?" Attea repeated, making air quotes. "I am Princess Attea of the Incursean Empire. This human is mine."

Looma loomed behind Attea. "His affections are also being contested by Looma Red Wind of Khoros! State your intentions, small human!"

Ester blinked, looking from Attea to Looma, then to EightEight and Elena. A slow smile spread across her face. "Oh! I see. It's a competition." She looked at Ben, her eyes twinkling. "You always did attract interesting company, Ben."

Elena floated closer, her analytical gaze sweeping over Ester. "Subject: Ester. Profile: Known associate from Benjamin's past. Threat level initially assessed as low. However, displays a concerning level of emotional stability and genuine affection. This could be problematic."

Ester laughed, a light, musical sound. "Problematic? I just came to visit Earth." She looked at Ben. "It's really good to see you, Ben. Things have been so quiet since... well, since you saved the world that last time. It's nice to see some excitement again."

She gave him a warm, friendly hug. It was a simple, human gesture, and it felt like a lifeline to Ben.

Attea's eye twitched. Looma's fists clenched. EightEight's optic glowed brighter. Elena's nanites hummed audibly.

Ester pulled back from the hug and smiled at the group of furious aliens. "Well, it was lovely to meet you all. Don't be too hard on Ben, okay? He's a good guy." She winked at Ben and walked away, leaving a trail of normalcy in her wake.

The silence in the bank was profound.

"Threat reassessment." EightEight stated. "Ester: elevated to 'Moderate.' Her non-confrontational approach is a sophisticated strategy."

"She hugged him!" Attea seethed. "In public! Without declaring her challenge first! The audacity!"

"She is small, but her spirit is warm." Looma mused, sounding almost impressed. "A different kind of strength."

Elena was already tapping on her device. "New entrant detected. Profile: Ester. Initial points pending observational data."

Ben stared at them, then at Gwen and Kevin, who looked just as stunned.

"What just happened?" Ben whispered.

Gwen shook her head slowly. "I think... I think she just applied to the committee."

Chapter Text

The walk back from the bank was a funeral procession for Ben Tennyson’s savings account. Kevin Levin led the solemn march, clutching the thick wad of cash like a holy relic, his lips moving as he counted it for the third time. His expression was one of grim satisfaction, the first flicker of anything other than incandescent rage he’d shown all day.

"Nineteen thousand, nine hundred and ninety-eight, ninety-nine… twenty thousand." he declared, finally looking up. "Alright, Tennyson. This covers the car. It doesn’t cover the custom paint job, the subwoofers, or my emotional distress, but it’s a start. We’re square… for now."

Gwen, walking beside him, still radiated an aura of pure, concentrated annoyance. "I still can’t believe this is your solution. Throwing your birthday money at the problem."

"What other solution was there, Gwen?" Ben sighed, the sound heavy with defeat. "They don’t exactly have part-time jobs at the mall." He gestured behind him at his entourage, who were following a few paces back, engaged in their own cold war.

Attea was marching with a regal posture, occasionally glaring daggers at a window reflection that dared to look back at her imperfectly. Looma was doing light stretches as she walked, her four arms weaving through a complex series of movements that made pedestrians give them an even wider berth. EightEight was gliding silently, her red optic recording everything, from the crack in the sidewalk to the rising blush on Gwen’s cheeks. And Elena… Elena was just walking, her hands in her pockets, a small, unreadable smile on her face that was somehow more unnerving than any of the others’ overt actions.

"The point is, this can’t be a permanent solution!" Gwen hissed, lowering her voice. "You can’t just be their personal ATM and conflict mediator forever! You need to set boundaries! You need to send them home!"

"Send them–? Gwen, Attea’s shuttle is a pile of scrap metal wrapped around Kevin’s former car! Looma got here by teleportation accident! EightEight’s contract is apparently ‘ongoing,’ and Elena lives down the street! Where am I supposed to send them?" Ben’s voice was a desperate whisper.

"That’s for you to figure out!"

As if summoned by the sheer force of their argument, a cheerful voice cut through the tension. "Ben? Hey!"

They all turned. Ester was jogging to catch up with them, a bright, genuine smile on her face. She’d changed out of her work clothes and was now in a simple t-shirt and jeans, a small backpack slung over her shoulder. She looked so refreshingly, beautifully normal that it almost hurt.

"I was hoping I’d catch you." she said, her breathing slightly heavy. "I forgot to ask if you were going to the Mr. Smoothy re-opening this weekend. They’ve got a new flavor, Galactic Guava."

Ben felt a smile tug at his lips. "I hadn’t heard. Maybe, if I’m not… busy."

"Busy managing your fan club?" Ester teased, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at the four women who had stopped and were now staring at her with varying degrees of hostility.

Attea stepped forward, her arms crossed. "We are not a ‘fan club.’ We are a competitive committee for the allocation of the Tennyson asset’s affections. And you." she jabbed a finger at Ester, "have not been formally entered into the proceedings."

Ester blinked, then laughed. It was a clear, happy sound that seemed to physically repel the bad mood. "Oh, is that what you’re calling it? That sounds very official." She looked from Attea to the others, her expression one of amused curiosity rather than intimidation. "So, are there bylaws? A scoring system?"

Elena’s lips twitched into a smirk. "There are." She held up her CRHMI device, the screen already showing Ester’s newly created profile. "Your non-confrontational approach and established positive history with the asset have earned you a provisional score of 5 points. A strong opening."

"Five points?!" Attea shrieked, her voice cracking. "For what? For existing? For having a… a pleasant demeanor? That’s not a skill! That’s a character flaw! Where is the ambition? The fire? The willingness to vaporize a rival’s favorite teacup?"

Looma grunted in agreement. "A warrior’s worth is proven in glorious combat, not with… smiles." Though she said it, she looked at Ester with a strange sort of respect. The smaller girl’s ability to completely ignore their intimidation tactics was a different kind of strength, one she hadn’t encountered before.

"Her social integration score is 8.2 points higher than yours, Attea." Elena stated calmly, tapping the screen. "Public displays of affection, such as the hug witnessed in the financial institution, generate significant point multipliers. It’s a subtle, yet effective, strategy."

Ben decided to jump in before Attea’s head exploded. "Ester, it’s really good to see you, but it’s kind of a bad time." He then remembered their earlier conversation at the bank. "Hey, I never got to ask. How’s… uh… Antonio?"

The question hung in the air. Antonio, the hulking, third-person-talking ex-boyfriend of their cousin Sunny, had been dating Ester the last time Ben had seen her. The thought of the gentle, intelligent Ester with the… simple… Antonio had always been a bit baffling.

Ester’s smile didn’t falter, but a flicker of something else passed through her eyes. "Oh, Antonio and me? We broke up a while ago."

"You did?" Ben asked, surprised. "What happened?"

She shrugged, a gesture of finality. "It was fine for a while. He’s very sweet, in his own way. But… well, Antonio is happy just smashing things and saying his own name. I wanted to talk about… books. And alien politics. And whether the latest theory on dark matter had any merit. We just… weren’t on the same page. Or in the same library. Or on the same planet, intellectually speaking." She gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. "I think he’s happier now. Last I heard, he was in a long-distance relationship with a very large, very angry female Appoplexian."

"Good for him." Kevin muttered, finally pocketing the money.

Elena’s eyes glowed faintly. "Relationship status: single. Compatibility with asset: increased. Motivation for interaction: genuine. I’m officially ratifying your entry into the committee, Ester. Welcome."

"WHAT?!" Attea screeched. "You can’t just–"

"Motion carried." Elena said, her voice taking on the faint harmonic of the Queen. "My vote as chairwoman counts double. The decision is final."

Attea looked like she was about to spontaneously combust. She opened her mouth, a torrent of royal rage no doubt about to pour out, but was cut off by Gwen.

"That’s it. I’m done." Gwen threw her hands up in the air. "I am officially tapping out. Kevin, let’s go. We’ve got a car to buy. Ben." she fixed him with a look that was equal parts pity and exasperation, "Good luck. You’re going to need it."

She grabbed Kevin’s arm and practically dragged him away, leaving Ben alone on the sidewalk with his newly expanded harem.

Ben let out a sigh so loud and long it felt like it was coming from the depths of his soul. He was so, so tired.

And then, of course, things got worse.

A soft, chime-like sound echoed behind them, and a pillar of pure white light resolved into a person. She had gentle blonde hair, kind eyes, and a simple, elegant white and green outfit that seemed to radiate a quiet purity.

"Ben!" Eunice said, her voice full of warmth and delight. "I had Myaxx track your energy signature! I was worried after you all left so suddenly. Is everything alright?"

Ben stared at her, his brain short-circuiting. Of all the people to show up at this exact moment…

He wasn’t the only one who was stunned. Elena’s entire body went rigid. The calm, smug facade she’d maintained all day shattered, replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated contempt.

"The Unitrix." she spat, her voice dropping several degrees. "The biological repository. The walking, talking, perfect copy." Her eyes blazed with the Nano-Queen’s yellow light. "What are you doing here?"

Eunice looked at Elena, her head tilted in genuine confusion. "I came to see Ben. Are you one of his friends, too right? It’s lovely to see you again."

The sheer, weaponized innocence of the statement seemed to physically wound Elena. Before the Nano-Queen could retort with something that would likely involve molecular disassembly, Attea saw her opening. A wicked, brilliant, vengeful idea sparked in her mind. A grin, the first genuine one she’d had all day, spread across her face.

She glided over to Eunice, placing a conspiratorial arm around her shoulders. "Eunice, darling, you have the most atrocious timing. And I love it." She shot a triumphant glare at Elena. "You see, we were just welcoming a new member into our little club. It’s a competition! For Benny-boo’s affection! And you, my dear, are the perfect new candidate!"

Eunice’s eyes widened. "A competition? For Ben? Is that… fun?"

"Oh, it’s barrels of fun!" Attea lied smoothly, patting Eunice’s shoulder. "And the best part is, anyone can join! All you have to do is say you want in. It’ll make the Nano-Queen over there so… happy." The last word was dripping with venomous glee.

Eunice looked from Attea’s grinning face to Elena’s furious one, then to Ben’s horrified expression. She didn’t understand the undercurrents, the politics, the sheer pettiness of it all. All she understood was the simple, appealing concept.

"A competition for Ben?" she repeated, a soft smile gracing her lips. "That does sound nice. He’s very special. I would like to join, please."

Attea’s grin became absolutely shark-like. She turned to Elena. "Well, you heard her! A new contestant has declared her intention to enter the fray! As per the rules of this ‘democratic’ committee, we have to let her in, don’t we?"

Elena was silent, but the air around her began to hum with suppressed power. The ground beneath her feet vibrated. She was being outplayed at her own game, using her own rules, and she was absolutely furious.

Ben just stood there, caught between the two newest members of his nightmare committee—the kind, stable, down-to-earth girl-next-door and the sweet, innocent, perfect alien super-weapon.

He didn’t sigh this time. He just closed his eyes and wished for the sweet release of a Waybad attack. At least that would be simpler.

Chapter Text

"This is an outrage! A mockery of the system!" Elena hissed, the words tight and controlled, but the harmonic undertone of the Queen was buzzing like a frayed power line. She was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk, her hands clenched into fists. "You cannot just add a… a biological failsafe to the roster! It skews the entire competitive matrix!"

Attea was preening, utterly triumphant. "Oh, I believe I can. And I did. Unless you’d like to veto her entry and prove that your ‘democratic system’ is nothing but a sham to ensure your own victory?" She leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "Face it, Nano-nerd. You’ve been hoisted by your own petard. Look it up."

Eunice, meanwhile, was looking at Ben with wide, earnest eyes. "So, what do I do now? To compete? Do I need to fill out a form?"

"No!" Ben groaned, burying his face in his hands. "No forms! There are no forms! This isn’t a real thing!"

"It is very real, Tennyson." Elena snapped, her glare shifting to him. "And it is getting out of hand."

Ester, who had been watching the entire exchange with a look of profound bemusement, decided to step in. "Okay, how about we all just take a breath? It’s a nice day. We’re all here. Why don’t we go to the park? Get some fresh air. Maybe talk this out like… sentient beings?"

It was such a sensible, rational suggestion that it momentarily stunned everyone into silence.

Looma was the first to recover. "The park! An excellent idea! It is a fine arena for contests of strength and agility! We can see who can throw a boulder the farthest!"

"No boulder throwing!" Ben said quickly. "It’s a park. There are ducks. And children. We’re just going to… walk. And talk. Please."

Against all odds, they agreed. Or rather, no one objected strongly enough to start another fight on the street. So, the most bizarre procession in Bellwood’s history made its way towards the town park. Ben walked in the center, a prisoner of his own life, flanked by Ester and Eunice, the two newest, most wildly different additions to his headache. Attea, Looma, Elena, and EightEight followed behind, a silent, plotting rear guard.

The park was an oasis of green in the middle of the town. Families were having picnics, kids were playing on the swings, and the sun was shining. It was a perfect picture of normalcy, one that their group shattered just by entering.

They found a relatively secluded area near the duck pond and stopped. The silence was awkward and thick with unspoken tension.

"So." Ester began, ever the diplomat. "This… CRHMI thing. Elena, you invented it?"

"It is a Conflict Resolution and Harem Management Interface." Elena corrected, her tone clipped. "Designed to bring order to the chaos surrounding the asset."

"The asset?" Ester repeated, raising an eyebrow at Ben.

"That’s me." Ben sighed. "I’m the asset."

"And you all just… compete for his attention using a point system?" Ester asked, a smile playing on her lips. "That’s… adorable. And kind of messed up."

"It is efficient!" Attea insisted.

"I currently have negative fifteen points." Looma announced, a hint of shame in her voice. "I am told this is not a winning score."

Eunice tilted her head. "How do I get points? Do I get points for being helpful?"

Before Elena could answer, the idyllic scene was shattered by a new sound: the whir of electronics and the sharp click of military-grade boot heels on pavement.

From behind the trees, a squad of soldiers emerged. They were clad in black tactical gear, their faces obscured by helmets with dark visors. They carried weapons that were clearly not standard issue—sleek, silver rifles that hummed with contained energy. Leading them was a man with a square jaw, a military flat-top, and a permanent scowl.

"Lieutenant Steel." Ben breathed, his blood running cold.

Lieutenant Steel of the Special Extraterrestrial Containment Team, or SECT, was a man Ben hadn’t seen in years. He was a hardliner, a black-ops soldier who saw every alien as a potential threat and believed interstellar law was a polite suggestion at best.

"Tennyson." Steel grunted, his eyes scanning the group. He completely ignored Ben, his gaze locking onto the alien women. "It’s been a while. I see you’re still collecting strays."

Attea drew herself up to her full, if diminutive, height. "Who are you to address me in such a tone? I am Empress Attea of the–"

"Of the Incursean Empire, yeah, I read the file." Steel cut her off dismissively. "You’re on Earth without a diplomatic visa, your ship was involved in a major incident of property damage, and you’ve been party to multiple public disturbances. That makes you an illegal combatant on my planet."

His gaze shifted to Looma. "Looma Red Wind. Tetramand. Known associate of the criminal Kundo. Caused a rockslide in a quarry outside city limits yesterday. That’s destruction of private property."

He pointed a finger at EightEight. "Sotoraggian bounty hunter. Your entire species is on a watchlist. Operating a lethal weapon within city limits is a federal offense."

Finally, he looked at Elena. "And you. Elena Validus. Or should I say, the Nano-Queen? Responsible for the ‘Hive’ incident. Technically, you’re a domestic terrorist. We’ve been waiting for you to show your face again."

He completely ignored Eunice and Ester.

"By the authority granted to me by the Special Extraterrestrial Containment Team." Steel announced, his voice booming across the park, "you are all under arrest for violations of the Alien Containment Act and multiple civil and criminal codes. Come quietly, or we will use force."

Ben stepped forward. "Steel, wait! You can’t do this! They’re with me! They’re… they’re under Plumber protection!"

Steel laughed, a short, harsh bark. "The Plumbers. A bunch of alien-loving bureaucrats who’d rather file paperwork than protect their own planet. Your grandad’s not here to protect you this time, Tennyson. And we don’t have a problem with you. You’re a hero. A human hero. You’re just… misguided. Our quarrel is with them." He nodded at the girls. "We’re taking them to a secure facility. For everyone’s safety."

"Area 51." Ben muttered. "You’re taking them to Area 51. That’s illegal under interstellar law, Steel!"

"I don’t answer to interstellar law." Steel growled. "I answer to my commanding officer. And my conscience. Now, step aside."

There was a moment of tense silence. Then, all hell broke loose.

Looma was the first to move. With a roar of defiance, she ripped a park bench out of its concrete moorings and hurled it at the SECT soldiers. They scattered, the bench crashing where they’d stood.

"You want a fight, tiny man? You will have one!" she bellowed.

Attea’s blaster was already firing, peppering the soldiers’ positions with green energy bolts. EightEight’s arms morphed into plasma cannons, unleashing a volley of precise, powerful shots. Elena’s eyes glowed, and a swarm of black nanites rose from the ground, forming a shimmering, defensive wall in front of them.

The SECT soldiers returned fire. Their rifles fired coherent beams of blue energy that sizzled through the air. One of them hit the nanite wall, causing it to ripple violently.

The battle was sudden, chaotic, and utterly terrifying for the few civilians who hadn’t fled screaming.

"Eunice, Ester, stay back!" Ben yelled, slapping the Omnitrix. He needed something big. Something strong. "It’s hero time!" He slammed down the dial.

In a flash of green light, he transformed. But instead of Humungousaur or Four Arms, he became…

"Walkatrout!" he squeaked, looking down at his tiny, blue, slippery fish-like body. "Oh, come on! Seriously?!"

Steel’s men were good. They were trained for this. They used containment foam and energy nets, trying to neutralize rather than kill. One of the nets flew towards Attea. She dodged, but it snagged EightEight, who fell to the ground, twitching as electricity coursed through her systems.

"EightEight!" Looma roared, charging forward to free her. She tore through the net with her bare hands, but it gave the soldiers an opening. Two of them fired containment foam launchers, covering Looma’s legs in a thick, rapidly hardening substance. She roared in frustration, trapped.

Elena’s nanite wall was faltering under the sustained fire. She was powerful, but she was one person against a squad of trained soldiers with anti-alien tech.

Attea saw how the fight was going. They were outnumbered and out-equipped. "We must retreat!" she yelled. She fumbled for the teleportation device on her wrist—the one that had gotten them into this mess in the first place.

"Wait! We can’t just leave them!" Ben squeaked, trying to slip-and-slide his way through the grass.

"There is no other logical option!" EightEight stated, her systems rebooting after the shock.

Elena looked at Attea and nodded. It was a rare moment of agreement. "Go! I’ll cover you!"

She thrust her hands forward, and a massive wave of black nanites surged towards the SECT soldiers, momentarily blinding them and shorting out their visors.

In that moment of chaos, Attea grabbed the struggling Looma with one hand and the rebooting EightEight with the other. "Grab on!" she yelled at Elena.

Elena hesitated, looking back at Ben, who was still a tiny, helpless fish-alien flopping on the grass. Then she looked at the advancing soldiers. With a curse, she lunged and grabbed onto EightEight’s leg.

Attea activated the device. A green teleportation beam enveloped the four of them.

"Wait, no!" Ben cried.

But it was too late. With a flash of green light, they were gone.

The nanite swarm, its controller vanished, dissolved into nothing.

The park fell silent again, save for the distant sirens. Ben, still as Walkatrout, was left on the grass.

Lieutenant Steel walked over, his weapon lowered. His men were already securing the area. He looked down at Walkatrout with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"See, Tennyson? They’re not your friends. When the going gets tough, they cut and run. They leave the human hero to clean up their mess." He knelt down, picking Ben up with two fingers. "Don’t worry. We’ll take good care of you."

Ben slapped the Omnitrix symbol on his chest, transforming back into his human self in a flash of green. He stumbled as he landed.

"This is an abuse of power, Steel!"

Steel shrugged. "Maybe. But it’s a necessary one." He gestured to his men. "Take him in. And the other two. They’re material witnesses."

SECT soldiers surrounded them. He knew he couldn’t fight his way out of this one. Not without causing a bigger incident.

"Fine." he said, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I’ll go. But you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. And my grandpa. And probably my grandma, and you do not want to hear from my grandma."

Steel just smirked. "I’m shaking in my combat boots, Tennyson. Let’s go."

As they led him away, leaving the trashed park and the terrified ducks behind, Ben had never felt more alone. His "committee" had abandoned him. He was a prisoner of a rogue government agency. And worst of all, he’d been a Walkatrout. It was, officially, the worst date ever.

Chapter Text

Area 51 was exactly as drab and bureaucratic as Ben had imagined. The legendary home of conspiracy theories and alien secrets was, in reality, a series of beige corridors, humming fluorescent lights, and offices filled with tired-looking people in ill-fitting suits. It was less ‘Hangar 18’ and more ‘DMV with better security.’

Ben was led to a small, windowless interrogation room. The room contained a metal table, two chairs, and a one-way mirror he was sure Steel was standing behind. He sat there for what felt like hours, the silence broken only by the low hum of the facility’s ventilation system. He stewed in his frustration, replaying the disastrous park battle in his mind. They’d just left him. He knew it was the logical choice, the tactical retreat, but it still stung. He was the hero, the one who was supposed to do the saving, and he’d been left flopping on the grass like a fish out of water.

Finally, the door opened and Lieutenant Steel walked in. He wasn’t wearing his tactical gear anymore, just a simple military uniform. He placed a thick file on the table and sat down opposite Ben.

"Tennyson." he began, his voice devoid of its earlier aggression. He sounded tired. "Let’s cut the crap. I know you’re not a threat. You’ve saved the world more times than I’ve had hot meals. But you have a serious problem."

"My problem is you, Steel." Ben shot back. "You and your goon squad ambushing us, arresting us without cause…"

"Without cause?" Steel opened the file. It was filled with photos. A picture of the rockslide at the quarry. A picture of Kevin’s crushed car with Attea’s shuttle on top of it. A blurry photo of Looma trying to lift the ATM. A satellite image of the Incursean flagship in orbit above Bellwood. "This is a fraction of the incidents your ‘friends’ have been involved in over the last week. The property damage claims alone are in the seven figures. The potential for a diplomatic incident is off the charts. We have an angry Incursean Emperor who thinks his daughter is on a diplomatic mission, a Tetramand royal causing chaos, and a walking weapon of mass destruction back on the grid. What am I supposed to do, Ben? Ignore it?"

Ben fell silent. Steel had a point, as much as he hated to admit it.

"Look." Steel continued, leaning forward. "I don’t want to lock you up. I don’t even really want to lock them up. I just want the chaos to stop. I want them off my planet, or at least registered, monitored, and contained. This isn’t the Wild West. We have laws."

"The Plumbers have laws, too." Ben countered. "This is their jurisdiction."

"And where are they?" Steel shot back. "Your grandpa is off-world negotiating a truce in the Appoplexian civil war. Your partner Rook is dealing with a black market tech ring in Undertown. The Plumbers are stretched thin, Ben. Sometimes, we have to handle our own problems. Earth’s problems."

He pushed a stack of papers across the table. "This is a Non-Disclosure Agreement and a statement. It says you were caught in the middle of a SECT operation, that the aliens in question are known fugitives, and that you will cooperate fully with any future investigations. It also says you agree to report any and all contact with them directly to me."

Ben stared at the papers. "You want me to be your snitch."

"I want you to be a responsible citizen of the planet you keep saving." Steel corrected. "Sign it, and you walk out of here. So do your other two friends, the witnesses. We’ll drop the ‘material witness’ charge and you can all go home. Refuse, and we hold you for 72 hours on charges of harboring extraterrestrial fugitives and obstructing a federal investigation. Your choice."

Ben felt trapped. He could fight it. He could turn into Way Big and walk out of here. But that would make him a fugitive, too. It would prove Steel’s point that he was on the aliens’ side, not Earth’s. He thought of his parents, of Gwen, of the mess he was already in. He couldn’t make it worse.

With a heavy heart and a heavier hand, he picked up the pen. "Fine."

He signed the papers, his signature a furious scrawl.

"Good man." Steel said, a hint of relief in his voice. He took the papers. "For what it’s worth, Ben… watch your back. Those girls… they’re not from around here. Their priorities are not your priorities. They proved that today."

An hour later, Ben was escorted to the front gate of the facility, where a bewildered-looking Eunice and a surprisingly calm Ester were waiting for him. A bland government sedan was there to take them back to Bellwood.

The ride was silent. Ben didn’t know what to say.

Ester was the one who broke the silence. "So… that was interesting."

"Interesting?" Ben said, his voice flat. "We were almost arrested by a secret government agency."

"Yeah, but you handled it." Ester said, looking at him. "You didn’t turn into a giant monster and smash the place. You talked to him. You were a diplomat. That’s a different kind of strength, Ben."

Eunice nodded. "She’s right. You protected us by not fighting. It was very brave."

Ben looked at them, surprised by their perspective. He’d felt weak, defeated. They saw it as strength. It was a strange, comforting thought.

"Thanks." he mumbled.

When they got back to Bellwood, it was late. The sun was setting, casting long shadows across the quiet suburban streets. The sedan dropped them off in front of Ben’s house.

"Are you going to be okay?" Ester asked, her hand briefly touching his arm.

"Yeah. I’ll be fine." Ben lied.

"If you need anything." Eunice added, her kind eyes full of concern, "just… think about me, really hard. Myaxx said I should be able to sense it."

With final, worried looks, the two of them departed, leaving Ben standing alone in front of his house. The house was quiet. Too quiet. He walked inside. His parents were there, their faces etched with worry. He spent the next hour explaining, omitting the part where he signed a deal with the devil, that there was an incident, it was a misunderstanding, and everything was fine now.

They didn't look convinced, but they were just relieved to have him home.

He went up to his room. It felt empty. He looked out the window, half-expecting to see Attea’s shuttle, or Looma trying to bench-press the family car. But there was nothing. Just the quiet rustle of leaves in the wind.

He checked his phone. No messages. No angry texts from Attea. No proud declarations from Looma. No data-logs from EightEight. No coolly analytical updates from Elena.

They were gone.

Days passed. A week. Then two. The silence stretched. The quiet he had so desperately craved now felt oppressive, alien. Life returned to a semblance of normal. He hung out with Gwen and Kevin (who now had a new, slightly-less-classic-but-still-cool muscle car). He went to Mr. Smoothy’s. He fought a minor alien criminal who was trying to rob a jewelry store as Wildvine. It was all so… routine.

He told himself it was for the best. The chaos was gone. The harem was disbanded. He was free.

But he didn’t feel free. He felt… hollow. He kept checking his phone, kept looking over his shoulder, expecting them to just… appear. But they never did. They had vanished without a trace, fugitives on a planet of seven billion people.

He was sitting at a bus stop one afternoon, sipping a smoothie and staring into space, when a familiar voice jolted him back to reality.

"Ben? Ben Tennyson, is that you?"

He looked up. And his heart did a complicated, painful little flip.

It was Julie Yamamoto.

Chapter Text

He was so lost in his own hollow thoughts that he almost missed the voice. It was a familiar voice, one that belonged to a different chapter of his life, a chapter before… all of this.

He looked up, his eyes taking a moment to focus. His heart, which had been beating with the slow, monotonous rhythm of boredom, did a complicated, painful little flip.

Standing there, a canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder and a slightly surprised but gentle smile on her face, was Julie Yamamoto.

She looked… exactly the same. Her dark hair was cut in its familiar bob, though she’d pulled it back with a simple pink headband. She was wearing a casual athletic jacket over a t-shirt and jeans. She looked like she had just come from tennis practice or was on her way to the library. She looked wonderfully, beautifully, achingly normal. The sight of her was like a punch to the gut and a breath of fresh air all at once.

"Julie." he said, his voice a little rougher than he intended. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d even said her name out loud. "Hey. Wow. Long time."

"Yeah, it has been." Her smile was genuine, without any of the sharp edges or hidden agendas he’d grown so accustomed to. It was just… a smile. "I thought that was you. You had that thousand-yard stare you get when you’re thinking about alien stuff."

He managed a weak chuckle. "Guilty. Old habits."

"So, what are you doing out here? Waiting for a ride to save the world?" she teased gently.

"Nah. Just… getting some air." He held up his smoothie. "And a smoothie. The world’s been pretty quiet lately."

"Tell me about it." She shifted the weight of her tote bag. "It’s almost boring." An awkward silence fell between them, filled with the ghosts of a thousand shared memories, dates, battles, and a particularly painful breakup that Ben was still pretty sure was mostly his fault.

Julie, ever the one to face things head-on, broke the silence first. "Look, Ben, I know things ended… weirdly between us. But it’s really good to see you. How have you been? Like, really?"

The simple, honest question almost broke him. How had he been? He’d been to a gladiator planet, been held captive by a giant-sized frog princess, been yelled at by a tentacle-faced scientist, been arrested by a secret government agency, and was currently the central ‘asset’ in a cold war being waged by a group of the most dangerous women in the galaxy.

"I’ve been… busy." he said, the understatement of the century.

Julie’s smile softened with understanding. "I get it. Gwen tells me bits and pieces. She tries to spare me the gory details, but I hear things. After your Incursean fan crushed my national tennis ranking, she crushed Kevin’s car?"

Ben winced. "Attea didn’t crush Kevin’s car, that was… Well, she did, but it was a separate incident. But yeah, the tennis thing. I’m really sorry about that, Julie. She just sort of… showed up. And she’s really competitive."

Julie laughed, a real, honest-to-goodness laugh. "Ben, it’s fine... Seriously. It was just a game. A really weird game against a frog-lady who kept calling me a ‘Julie girl’ but still just a game. I didn’t care. Hervé was way more upset about it than I was."

The name landed with a soft thud. Hervé. Her new boyfriend. The stylish French photographer who actually listened to her and remembered things.

"Oh, right. Hervé." Ben said, trying to keep his tone neutral. "How’s… how’s he doing?"

"He’s great." Julie said, and she sounded like she meant it. "He’s in Milan for Fashion Week. He sends me pictures of ridiculously expensive shoes and complains about the lighting. It’s nice." It was a simple statement, but it held a world of meaning. It was a statement about stability, about a normal relationship with normal, long-distance problems like time zones and bad lighting, not intergalactic invasions and jealous alien warlords.

"That’s… that’s great, Julie. I’m happy for you." Ben said, and to his own surprise, he mostly meant it. She deserved to be happy. She deserved a Hervé. She deserved Milan. She didn’t deserve… him. And his mess.

"Thanks, Ben." She looked at him, her head tilted. "You look tired."

"Yeah, well…"

He was about to launch into a heavily-edited, vague explanation when a new voice, sharp and laced with irritation, cut through the air like a shard of obsidian.

"Tennyson. I should have known I’d find you loitering."

They both turned. Striding towards them, her long black hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and her arms crossed defensively over her chest, was Kai Green. She was wearing practical cargo shorts, sturdy hiking boots, and a shirt with the logo of the Pan-American Xenology Institute. Her face was set in a scowl that could curdle milk. The last time Ben had seen her, she almost had been covered head-to-toe in a thick layer of pink, glittery dust, courtesy of a ‘tactical glitterbomb’ deployed by EightEight during a dig just outside Bellwood. She still looked furious about it.

"Kai." Ben said, his stomach sinking. "What are you doing in town? I thought you were excavating."

"I was." she said, her voice clipped. "I finished early. I had to come back to file my report. And to get my equipment de-glitterfied. The lab techs are still finding sequins in the carbon-dating spectrometer. They’re calling it the ‘Tennyson Anomaly.’" She glared at him, then her eyes flicked to Julie. Her expression shifted from anger to surprise, and then to a cool, appraising neutrality. "Yamamoto. It’s been a while."

"Kai." Julie nodded, her own expression equally neutral. The two of them had been rivals for Ben’s affection once, a lifetime ago. Now they were just two women from his past, meeting by coincidence at a bus stop. "Good to see you."

"You too." Kai’s gaze returned to Ben, her scowl deepening. "So what’s the occasion? A reunion of the ‘Ben Tennyson’s Ex-Girlfriends’ club? Are we waiting for Elena Validus to pop out of a manhole cover and complete the set?"

The name hung in the air, cold and heavy.

Ben flinched. "Kai, don’t–"

"Don’t what, Ben?" she shot back. "Don’t bring up the obsessive, nanite-infested psycho who tried to turn us all into her robot minions? Why not? Last I heard from Gwen, she’s back in the picture. Along with a giant four-armed gladiator princess who wants to marry whoever beats her in a fight. Is that right?" Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Sounds like you’ve been busy expanding the roster."

Julie’s eyes widened slightly. "Wait, Looma? The Tetramand princess? I thought she was engaged to Kevin for a while. And Elena’s really back?"

"Oh, it’s not just them." Kai continued, warming to her subject. She began ticking names off on her fingers. "There’s the Incursean Empress, who I hear has a thing for your Bullfrag form. There’s a silent, terrifying bounty hunter who thinks glitter is a viable combat strategy. And now, apparently, the walking, talking Omnitrix prototype has decided to throw her hat in the ring. It’s a real who’s who of terrifyingly powerful women with questionable taste in men."

Ben felt his face burning. "It’s not like that."

"Isn’t it?" Kai challenged, taking a step closer. "It sounds exactly like that. It sounds like you’re collecting them, Ben. Like you’re building some kind of… of intergalactic harem."

The word. The H-word. Kevin used it as a joke. Gwen used it with frustration. But coming from Kai, laced with genuine contempt, it felt like a slap.

"I am not building a harem!" Ben snapped, finally losing his temper. He stood up, knocking over his smoothie cup. "I didn’t ask for any of this! It just happens! I don’t plan these things!"

"Oh, really?" Kai’s laugh was harsh. "So it’s just a coincidence, then? That your last two girlfriends just happen to run into you at the same bus stop on the same afternoon? You really expect us to believe you didn’t plan this? That you didn’t orchestrate this little meeting to try and what? Drag us back into your vortex of chaos? See if we wanted to apply for a spot on the team?"

Julie, who had been watching this exchange with a deepening frown, stepped forward. "Kai, maybe you should calm down–"

"No, he needs to hear it!" Kai insisted, her anger overriding her reason. "You think you can just snap your fingers and we’ll all come running, don’t you, Tennyson? You think we’re just waiting around for you to grace us with your attention? Well, we’re not! We have lives! We have careers! Julie has… that French guy! We’ve moved on! So you can take your harem and–"

"She’s right about one thing."

The voice was cool, calm, and utterly chilling. It seemed to materialize from the air behind them. All three of them spun around.

Leaning against the glass of the bus shelter, as if she had been there the whole time, was Elena Validus. She was dressed in a simple black jacket and dark jeans, but her eyes held the cold, analytical light that Ben had come to dread. A faint, knowing smirk played on her lips.

"You didn’t plan this, Ben. Your methods are far too crude and reliant on chance." Her gaze swept over a stunned Julie and a furious Kai. "I did."

The confession landed with the force of a physical blow. The air crackled with sudden, terrible understanding. This wasn’t a coincidence. This wasn’t fate. This was an ambush.

"This was a calculated social experiment." Elena continued, pushing herself off the glass and taking a step forward. "I’ve been monitoring your public appearances, analyzing your schedules. I needed to assess the remaining variables from the asset’s past. You two represent significant emotional loose ends."

"You planned this?" Julie said, her voice a mix of disbelief and horror. "You manipulated us into coming here?"

"Manipulation is such a loaded term." Elena said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "I merely created a scenario with a high probability of intersection. And now that you’re here, we can proceed to the next phase." Her smirk widened, and it was predatory. "The formal invitation."

"Invitation to what?" Kai growled, her hands clenching into fists.

Elena’s eyes glowed with a faint, yellow light, the first hint of the Queen. "The committee, of course. The CRHMI has two open slots. You’ve both demonstrated a significant, if latent, interest in the asset. You both have history, unresolved tension, and a competitive drive. You are, in short, perfect candidates." Her voice dropped, taking on that layered, harmonic quality. "I’m not asking you to join. I’m informing you of your conscription. You will be integrated into the system. It is the most logical and efficient way to manage all remaining romantic subroutines."

She was trying to forcefully recruit them. She was trying to draft them into the nightmare.

For a moment, no one spoke. The audacity of it was breathtaking.

Julie was the first to find her voice. Her face, usually so open and cheerful, was a mask of cold fury. "You think… you can just force us to be a part of your twisted little game? You think you can just… conscript us into Ben’s… harem?" she spat the word with as much venom as Kai had. "You are insane."

"My sanity is not in question." Elena replied coolly. "My efficiency is. Adding you to the system standardizes the competition. It provides a clear framework for victory."

"Victory?" Julie laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "This isn’t a tennis match, Elena! This is my life! This is our lives! And we are not your pawns! I’m with Hervé. I’m happy. I want no part of this."

Elena’s gaze shifted to Kai. "And you? Don’t you want a chance to get back at the Sotoraggian? I have the footage of the glitter bomb incident. It was… embarrassing. Joining the committee would give you ample opportunity for revenge. You could humiliate her. You could humiliate the Incursean. You could prove you’re superior. Isn’t that what you want?"

Elena knew exactly which buttons to push. Ben saw the flicker in Kai’s eyes. The anger, the pride, the raw competitive streak that drove her. For a split second, she was tempted. The thought of getting payback on Attea and EightEight, of beating them at their own game… it was a seductive one.

But then she looked at Ben’s exhausted, miserable face. She looked at Julie’s resolute anger. She looked at Elena, the self-appointed puppet master, and the temptation died, replaced by disgust.

"No." Kai said, her voice firm. "I’ll get my revenge on my own terms. In my own time. I’m not joining your sick, twisted fan club to do it." She took a step back, standing beside Julie, a unified front of refusal. "We’re out."

The standoff was broken by Ben. He let out a sigh, a sound so full of weariness and defeat that it seemed to suck the air out of the immediate vicinity. He stepped between Elena and the other two, facing his ex-girlfriends.

"I’m sorry." he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "For all of this. For her." He gestured at Elena. "For everything. You’re right. You have your own lives. You shouldn’t be dragged into my mess." He looked from Julie’s angry face to Kai’s conflicted one. "I’m really sorry."

Before anyone could respond, the world shimmered with green light again. Attea’s teleportation beam deposited five more figures onto the already crowded patch of sidewalk. Attea, Looma, and EightEight landed in combat-ready stances. Ester and Eunice appeared a moment later, looking concerned.

"We detected elevated emotional distress signals!" Looma boomed, her four fists clenched. "And the distinct sound of the Nano-Queen being a manipulative shrew! Are we under attack?"

Attea’s eyes immediately fell on Julie and Kai. She let out a derisive snort. "Oh, it’s just them. The tennis player and the dirt-digger. What are they doing here?" She glared at Elena. "Is this your doing, Validus? Trying to recruit more dead weight?"

"Do not bother with them." EightEight stated, her red optic scanning Julie and Kai and apparently finding them wanting. "Their combat potential is negligible. Their strategic value is low. They are, in a word, boring."

"Boring!" Looma agreed with a hearty laugh. "They have no fire! No passion for battle! They would bring down the average score of the entire committee!"

The casual, dismissive insults seemed to hit Kai and Julie harder than any of Elena’s manipulations. To be considered not even worthy of being rivals…

Ben had finally reached his breaking point.

"ENOUGH!" he roared, his voice cracking with the strain. Every head turned to him. His face was flushed, his fists were clenched, and his eyes were blazing with a fury they hadn’t seen before. "Just… enough! All of you!"

He pointed a shaking finger at Elena. "You do not get to manipulate my friends!" He pointed at Attea, Looma, and EightEight. "You do not get to insult them!" He whirled on Julie and Kai. "And I am sorry you got dragged into this!" He took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Listen to me, all of you. Because I am only going to say this once." His voice was low, intense, and trembling with the effort of holding himself together. "This is not a committee. This is not a game. And it is NOT a harem!" He spat the word out like poison. "And there will be no more girls! No more recruiting! No more 'candidates'! The roster is closed! Permanently! Is that clear?!"

The silence that followed his outburst was absolute. The girls all stared at him, stunned into submission by the sheer force of his desperation. He had never, ever lost his temper like that with them.

It was Attea, surprisingly, who broke the silence. Her expression was uncharacteristically subdued. "Fine." she said quietly. She then turned her gaze to the sky, a flicker of genuine concern on her face. "But that brings up a more pressing matter. Is the man in black with the angry soldiers still looking for us?"

Ben ran a hand through his hair, the anger draining out of him, leaving only exhaustion. "SECT? Yeah, they’re still on your trail. I talked to Steel. He said… he said he’d probably leave you alone as long as you don’t cause any more major incidents. No more rockslides, no more crashing ships, no more fighting in public parks. Just… try to be normal."

"Normal is boring." Looma grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.

Ben looked at the assembled group. Attea, Looma, EightEight, Elena, Ester, Eunice. His ‘committee.’ Then he looked at Julie and Kai, the ghosts of girlfriends past, now standing as awkward, unwilling witnesses. His life was a circus, and he was the unwilling ringmaster.

"I’m going home." he said, his voice flat. He turned and started walking, not caring if they followed. "I’m just… going home."

They followed. Of course, they followed.

Chapter Text

The walk back to the Tennyson residence was a somber, silent parade of defeat. Ben led the way, his shoulders slumped, radiating an aura of exhaustion so profound it was almost a physical presence. His committee trailed behind him like a line of scolded ducklings—a royal, a warrior, a cyborg, a nanite queen, and two embodiments of kindness, all chastened by his uncharacteristic outburst. Julie and Kai, caught in the blast radius of Ben’s life, had quietly and quickly made their excuses and vanished in the opposite direction, their expressions a cocktail of pity, anger, and relief.

When they reached the house, Ben pushed the door open and walked straight into the living room, collapsing onto the sofa with a groan. He didn’t have the energy to retreat to his room. He just wanted to be horizontal.

The girls filed in after him, a strange, nervous energy replacing their usual aggressive confidence. They hovered in the doorway, unsure of the new protocol. Ben-the-Asset being angry was an unaccounted-for variable.

It was Attea, ever the one to poke the slumbering beast, who finally spoke. She cleared her throat, adopting a tone that was attempting to be business-like.

"Alright, Benny-boo. You’ve made your point. No new members. Fine." She strode into the room, pulling a datapad from a compartment on her hip. "But this creates a logistical issue. If the competition roster is now finalized, I believe it’s time for a full and frank strategic audit. To win a war, you must know your enemy. And your allies. And the… other ones."

Ben just groaned into a throw pillow. "Attea, not now."

"Yes, now." she insisted, tapping the screen of her datapad. "We need a comprehensive list of all potential female companions and competitors, past, present, and hypothetical. We must assess every threat, no matter how remote."

Looma’s eyes lit up. "A catalog of worthy opponents! An excellent idea! I wish to know the names of all who have competed for your affection, Benny-poo!"

Elena, who had been silent until now, pushed past them. A faint smile touched her lips. She had recovered from her earlier defeat and saw a new opportunity for data collection. "A complete social and romantic history of the asset would be invaluable for my projections. I will assist in the data collation."

Before Ben could protest further, Attea had already started. "Alright. Let’s begin. Category: Current, Active Competitors. The Committee." She gestured around the room.

"One: Me, Empress Attea. Strengths: Royalty, tactical genius, immense wealth, superior fashion sense. Weaknesses: None."

Looma shoved her aside. "Two: Looma Red Wind! Strengths: Unmatched physical power, warrior’s honor, passionate heart, four arms for superior cuddling! Weaknesses: An excess of honor, perhaps."

EightEight glided forward. "Three: Unit EightEight. Strengths: Advanced combat capabilities, flawless logic, superior intelligence gathering, zero emotional baggage. Weaknesses: Illogical organics."

Ester, looking deeply uncomfortable, raised a hand. "Um, four? Ester, I guess. I am a Human-Kraaho hybrid, and I lead the Kraaho when I’m not helping people around Undertown. Strengths: I’m a good listener? I make pretty good chili? And I can stretch my limbs. Weaknesses: I am not a warrior princess or a Sotoraggian bounty hunter."

Eunice smiled brightly. "Five! Eunice! Strengths: I can absorb and replicate any DNA power I touch, I am the living key to the most powerful device in the universe, and I think Ben is very nice. Weaknesses: I am sometimes confused by figures of speech."

Elena smirked, leaning against the wall. "And six: Elena Validus. Strengths: Hyper-intelligence, control over a swarm of reality-altering nanites, a deep and unshakable understanding of the asset’s psychological profile. Weaknesses: Surrounded by idiots."

"Hey!" Attea and Looma shouted in unison.

"Okay, great, we’re all accounted for." Ben mumbled into the pillow. "Can we stop now?"

"Not all." Attea said sharply. "Now, Category Two: Former Romantic Attachments. Active, but currently un-enlisted." She looked at Ben expectantly.

Ben sighed, lifting his head. "You just saw them. Julie Yamamoto and Kai Green."

"Ah, yes. The Tennis Player and the Dirt Digger." Attea said dismissively. "Yamamoto seems to have… moved on. The emotional attachment appears severed. Threat level: Low."

"Her non-confrontational strategy is deceptive." Elena countered. "Her established positive history and social normalcy make her a dangerous dark horse. Threat level: Moderate to High."

"And Green?" Looma asked. "She had fire. I saw it."

"She hates me right now." Ben said flatly. "She hates all of you, too. Especially you, EightEight. And you, Attea. She holds a grudge."

"Excellent!" Attea clapped her hands. "A grudge is a powerful motivator! It implies a lingering emotional investment! Threat level: High. We must watch her."

"Agreed." EightEight’s optic glowed. "Revenge is a logical catalyst for irrational action."

"Okay, fine, whatever." Ben groaned. "Can we be done?"

"We have barely begun!" Attea declared. "Category Three: Ambiguous Associates and Potential Wildcards." She scrolled on her datapad. "First on the list… Hope?"

Ben and Attea both sighed in perfect, weary unison.

"Hope is… Hope." Ben said finally. "She’s Charmcaster. She’s a sorceress. She’s an anti-hero on a good day and a supervillain on a bad one. She doesn’t care about… this. She just thinks it’s funny. She’d sell tickets and popcorn."

"And take bets." Attea added sourly. "And probably try to hex us all into toads if she got bored. She’s not a competitor. She’s a chaotic, unaligned entity. A force of nature. We ignore her at our own peril, but we do not engage. Agreed?"

A rare murmur of unanimous agreement went through the room. No one wanted to deal with Charmcaster.

"Next." Attea read, "Frightwig."

Ben sat bolt upright. "No. Absolutely not. She’s a circus freak criminal with prehensile hair who enjoys causing chaos. Hard nope. Next."

"Isosceles Right Triangle Vreedle." Attea continued, mispronouncing the name horribly.

Ben recoiled. "You’re scraping the bottom of the barrel now. She’s a criminal! And she’s a Vreedle! They’re all idiots who like to blow things up! And I’m pretty sure she has a crush on Rook…"

"The document mentions a large, bulky frame." Looma mused, flexing one of her biceps. "She sounds like a worthy opponent in a contest of pure, head-butting strength! A valid contender for a trial of combat!"

"She’s not a contender for anything, Looma! She’s a Vreedle! A weird alien criminal Vreedle! Next!"

"Tiffany." Attea read, looking confused. "Record indicates subject was encountered when asset was ten years of age. A snobbish student from a private academy."

Ben frowned, the name digging up a very old memory. "Tiffany? Oh, yeah… the girl from Bancroft Academy. She was really mean to Gwen. I haven’t seen her since we were kids. Last I remember, I think she was possessed by Ghostfreak. She’s probably in therapy. Let’s leave her there. No."

"Pinky and Missy." Attea said. "Juvenile hall inmates. Minor antagonists."

Ben shrugged. "Never met them. That was a Gwen thing. She and Charmcaster switched bodies. It’s a whole story. Point is, I don’t know them. So, no."

Attea’s expression soured. "Next on the list… Rojo, Azul, and Amarillo."

"Nope." Ben said instantly. "They’re a gang of criminals who wear power armor. They hate me. Azul and Rojo are dating, I’m pretty sure. And they’re all, like, older than me. That’s just creepy. No."

Looma looked disappointed. "Three opponents at once? A glorious challenge!"

"No, Looma." Ben said firmly.

"Mazuma."

"She’s literally a robot!" Ben exclaimed. "An android bodyguard built by Billy Billions! She’s programmed to serve him. She doesn’t have feelings!"

"Objection." EightEight stated. "The capacity for affection is not exclusive to organic beings."

"Okay, fine, whatever, I’m sorry." Ben said, exasperated. "Mazuma is still a no. She’s loyal to Billy. End of story."

"Swift." Attea read. "Human/Aerophibian hybrid. Member of the Rooters. Status: Incarcerated in the Null Void."

"Also evil." Ben added. "And yeah, locked in a prison dimension. And probably still with the Rooters or something. So that’s a triple nope."

"Turbine."

Ben had to think for a second. "The road pirate? With the welding goggles? Again, a criminal, and I haven’t seen her since I was ten. She’s gotta be, like, thirty by now. No."

"Jennifer Nocturne."

Ben shifted uncomfortably. That was a complicated one. "Okay, Jen… is an actress. We had a thing, for a minute. It was mostly for publicity. Then she got all mixed up with Captain Nemesis and went a little crazy. Last I heard, she was better and back to acting. But… no. It’s too messy. Leave her out of it."

"Luhley."

"The Galvan Plumber?" Ben said, surprised. "She’s Driba’s girlfriend! They’re super into each other. She’s off the list. Definitely."

Eunice smiled. "They are very sweet together."

"Rook Shar."

"Rook’s sister?!" Ben recoiled in horror. "No! Absolutely not! That’s his little sister! That’s like… the ultimate bro-code violation! No! A million times no!"

"Molly Gunther."

Ben shuddered involuntarily. "Molly… is scary. She was a top FBI agent before she became a Plumber. She’s got this look in her eye, like she’s calculating the five different ways she could disable you with a paperclip. She’s way too intense. Let’s just… not get on Molly Gunther’s radar for anything, ever. Please."

"Nyancy Chan."

"The crazy cat lady?" Ben groaned. "She’s annoying. And her power is controlling cats. And me, that one time. She tried to make me rob a fish market as Rath. It was humiliating. No. She’s too weird."

"Subdora."

"The weird dancing alien who’s in love with Exo-Skull and works for Maltruant? The time-traveling villain? You’re really getting desperate now, Attea. No."

"Suemungousaur."

"The giant Vaxasaurian from Undertown who wears a skull for a helmet? She’s a petty thief who got arrested by Techadon robots. No."

"Natalie Alvarez."

Ben blinked. "Who? Oh, the event planner from the Olde Bellwood Days festival. She’s just a nice lady who organizes festivals. She’s a civilian. Leave her alone. No."

"Myaxx."

"Eunice’s boss? The grumpy Chimera Sui Generis scientist who yelled at all of us?" Ben stared at Attea in disbelief. "Are you insane? She hates me! She thinks I’m a chaos magnet! She’d rather dissect me than date me!"

"She did call me a ‘feisty frog,’" Attea mused. "Perhaps she has some taste."

"No!" Ben, Eunice, and Elena said in unison.

"Alright, fine, fine." Attea waved a hand dismissively. "Last one on the list… Drew Saturday."

A wave of revulsion went through the room.

"Ew." Attea said, her face wrinkled in disgust. "She’s ancient! And she’s married! And she has a kid!"

"That is dishonorable!" Looma declared. "To court a mated female is a grave insult! Her mate would have the right to challenge you to mortal combat!"

"The social taboo against infringing upon an established pair-bond is a near-universal constant across most sentient species." EightEight noted. "Engaging would result in a 98.7% loss of social standing."

"She’s Zak’s mom." Ben said, feeling nauseous. "She’s like… an aunt. A cool, super-scientist, cryptid-fighting aunt, but still. Just… No. Why was she even on the list?"

"She was a contestant on that game show for your hand in marriage." Elena pointed out, a cruel smirk on her face.

"She was forced to be on it by a villain!" Ben protested. "It doesn’t count!"

Attea tossed her datapad onto the couch in frustration. "Fine! The audit is complete. The roster is finalized. Six active competitors. Two un-enlisted but high-threat former attachments. A handful of chaotic neutrals and non-viable long shots. The strategic parameters are set."

Ben just stared at her, his brain feeling like scrambled eggs. His entire romantic and social history had just been autopsied, analyzed, and categorized like a collection of bugs.

"I’m going to bed." he announced, standing up on shaky legs. "And I’m going to pray for a meteor to strike this house. A small one. Just big enough for this room."

He stumbled out, leaving the six of them in the living room. He didn’t see the look that passed between them—a new, strange kind of understanding. The audit, as bizarre and invasive as it was, had served a purpose. It had defined the battlefield. It had named the players. The game was afoot. And for the first time, they all knew exactly who they were playing against.

Chapter Text

Ben didn’t go to his room. He went to the one place in the house that had always been a sanctuary from the chaos: the kitchen, where his mom was usually found creating order from flour and sugar. Tonight, however, the kitchen was already occupied.

Sandra Tennyson was sitting at the table, a cup of tea steaming in her hands. Across from her, looking far too comfortable and far too glamorous for their suburban kitchen, was his Grandma Verdona, in her preferred human guise of a stylish, silver-haired older woman. And next to her, looking stressed but determined, was Gwen. It was a council of the most powerful women in his family, and they were all looking at him. It felt less like a sanctuary and more like a court martial.

"Ben, sweetie." his mom said, her voice gentle. "Come sit down. We need to talk."

"If this is about the Vreedle brother I allegedly insulted, I can explain." Ben said, pulling out a chair and slumping into it.

Verdona laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "Oh, no, dear. Nothing so simple. We were just discussing your… social life."

"My what?"

"Your harem, cuz." Gwen said bluntly, taking a sip of her own tea. "We’re talking about your harem."

"It’s not a… harem!" Ben groaned, burying his face in his hands. It was becoming his mantra.

"Ben." his mom said, reaching across the table to put her hand on his. Her touch was warm and steady. "We’re not here to judge you. We’re just… worried. There are six alien girls living in our house, one of whom is a princess, another tried to destroy the world, and a third keeps trying to sharpen her knives on my good china."

"Looma says it gives them a finer edge." Ben mumbled.

"That’s not the point, sweetie." Sandra said patiently. "The point is, this is a lot. For you. For them. For our homeowner’s insurance. You can’t keep going on like this. You’re being pulled in six different directions at once. It’s not fair to you, and frankly, it’s not fair to them, either."

"Your mother is right." Gwen chimed in. "They’re all here for you, Ben. And you’re just… letting them. You’re not making any choices. You’re just reacting. It’s leading them on."

Ben flinched. "I’m not leading them on! I’m just trying to survive!"

"By being a doormat?" Gwen challenged. "By letting them walk all over you, crash into your life, and set up a bizarre, point-based dating competition? You need to be nicer to them, yes, but you also need to be firm. You need to take control of your own life."

Ben looked at his mom, then at his cousin. They were right, of course. He knew they were right. He felt like a piece of driftwood, tossed about on a sea of alien emotions.

"I know." he whispered. "I just… I don’t know how. If I push one away, she might try to blow up the moon. If I get close to another, the rest of them might try to blow up the first one."

Verdona, who had been listening with an amused smile, finally spoke up. "Oh, you children and your terrestrial monogamy. It’s so complicated."

"Verdona!" Sandra said in a warning tone.

"What?" Verdona said, her eyes twinkling. "I’m just saying, on Anodyne, we don’t have these problems. If you find multiple beings whose mana signatures resonate with yours, you just… resonate with all of them. It’s a party! More love, more energy, more fun. Why choose just one flavor of ice cream when you can have the whole parlor?"

Gwen and Sandra both groaned.

"Verdona, that’s not helping." Sandra said.

"Ben is not a full-blooded Anodite." Gwen added. "He lives on Earth, by Earth customs. And even if he didn’t, he can barely handle one girlfriend, let alone six of them! He’d have a nervous breakdown!"

"He’s already having one." Verdona observed cheerfully. She turned to Ben, her expression softening. "But they do have a point, my dear grandson. Even if you were inclined to ‘resonate’ with all of them—which you clearly are not—this situation as it stands is unsustainable. It’s not a happy, polyamorous energy-fest. It’s a battlefield. And you’re the prize, the battlefield, and the referee all at once. That’s far too much work."

She floated out of her chair, her form shimmering with a soft, purple light. She drifted over to Ben and put a cool, ethereal hand on his shoulder.

"Listen to me, Benny. Your mother and cousin are right about one thing. In the end, this human heart of yours." she tapped his chest gently, "is probably only built to truly, deeply, and singularly connect with one other. These girls are all wonderful, powerful, and terrifying in their own unique ways. They all see something special in you. That’s a gift. But you can’t keep that gift for yourself and split it six ways. Eventually, you will have to choose."

Her eyes glowed with ancient wisdom. "You don’t have to choose tonight. You don’t have to choose tomorrow. But every day that you don’t, the chaos will grow. The choice is yours, Ben. Not theirs. Not yours, Sandra. Not yours, Gwen. His." She looked at him, her mischievous smile returning. "But personally, I’d take them all for a test drive first. See which one has the best horsepower."

"VERDONA!" Gwen and Sandra shouted.

"I’m just saying!" she laughed, dissolving into a shower of purple sparks and vanishing.

The kitchen was quiet again. Ben sat there, the weight of three generations of women’s advice settling on him. His mom’s plea for fairness. Gwen’s demand for boundaries. Verdona’s cosmic command to eventually choose.

"She means well." his mom said with a sigh.

"I know." Ben said. He stood up. He felt a little steadier. A little more resolved. "You’re all right. I have to do… something. I just need to figure out what."

He thanked them and headed upstairs, feeling the first flicker of agency he’d felt in weeks. He needed advice, but not from family. He needed to talk to someone who understood. Someone who was also in an… adjacent situation.

He pulled out his phone and dialed Rook.

His partner picked up on the second ring, his voice a model of Revonnahgander calm. "Ben. I was wondering when you would call. I trust your… houseguests… have not yet declared war on the neighborhood squirrels?"

"Not yet." Ben said with a weak chuckle. "Listen, Rook… I need to talk."

There was a pause on the other end, and then a weary sigh. "Let me guess. It is about your… committee."

"Yeah. And yours."

Another, even heavier sigh. "Ah. Yes. Fistina." In the background, Ben could hear a faint, feminine voice shouting, "Rooky-poo! Is that your harem-brother on the comm? Tell him I said hello!"

Ben winced in sympathy. "She’s still around?"

"Yes…" Rook said, his voice strained. "Fistina still believe that I am, and I quote, ‘head over heels in love with her big, beautiful, cybernetic chassis.’"

"Ouch."

"Indeed. She has taken to calling me her ‘Rook-cub.’ She refers to us as ‘harem-brothers,’ under the mistaken impression that our situations are identical."

"Are they?" Ben asked hopefully.

"Negative." Rook said firmly. "My situation involves one (1) overly affectionate Acrosian cyborg who I am attempting to gently but firmly mentor into becoming a productive member of the Plumber reserves. Your situation involves six (6) varied and highly volatile alien females, at least two (2) of whom have previously attempted galactic conquest, who are actively competing for your romantic attention in a structured, point-based system of your ex-girlfriend’s design. The situations are not comparable."

"When you put it like that…" Ben sighed.

"Fistina has, however, offered her assistance." Rook continued. "She believes her ‘womanly intuition’ and experience as a ‘reformed bad girl’ could be of use in ‘taming your wild mares.’ I have respectfully declined her offer." A muffled, "But Rooky-poo, I could teach them how to fight for their man!" was heard in the background.

Rook cleared his throat. "Ben, I am your partner. And your friend. While my own experience in this area is… limited… and deeply uncomfortable… I will, of course, offer any assistance I can. What do you need?"

The simple, unconditional offer of help was almost enough to make Ben emotional. "I don’t know, man." he said, his voice thick. "I just… thanks. Thanks for picking up the phone."

"Of course, Ben." There was a pause. "For what it is worth… my father once told me that the Revonnahgander way is to listen to all the winds, but to set your own sail. You are being blown by a hurricane. Perhaps it is time to build a rudder."

Ben smiled. It was weirdly profound, in that classic Rook way. "Yeah. A rudder. I’ll work on that."

"Excellent. Now, if you will excuse me, Fistina is attempting to arm-wrestle the Proto-TRUK. I must intervene before she damages the vehicle’s axle."

The line went dead.

Ben put his phone down, a small, genuine smile on his face. He felt better. Not solved, but better. He had a family who loved him, even if their advice was contradictory. He had a partner who had his back, even if he was dealing with his own romantic comedy of errors.

He wasn’t alone.

He flopped onto his bed, the exhaustion finally catching up to him. He had a lot to think about. Choices. Boundaries. Rudders. But for the first time in a long time, it felt less like an impossible tidal wave and more like a problem he could actually solve.

Tomorrow. He’d start solving it tomorrow. For tonight, he would sleep.

Chapter Text

Tomorrow arrived with the blindingly optimistic chirp of birds outside Ben’s window and the smell of… something burning. He sat up, sniffing the air. It wasn’t the acrid smell of an electrical fire, but the sad, carbonized scent of incinerated bacon. Looma was probably "helping" with breakfast again.

Ben sighed, swinging his legs out of bed. His resolution from the night before felt fragile in the morning light, a teacup in an earthquake zone. He had to do something. He had to take control. But what? What was the first step in de-hareming your life?

He decided on a strategy of proactive engagement. A peace offering. An attempt at a group activity that was so mundane, so normal, that it might just work.

He got dressed and marched downstairs, a man on a mission. He found the six of them in the kitchen, a tableau of barely-contained chaos. Looma was indeed holding a blackened frying pan with a crestfallen look on her face. Attea was critiquing the refrigerator’s organization. EightEight was scanning a carton of orange juice for contaminants. Elena was reading a quantum physics textbook. And Ester and Eunice were trying to diplomatically make toast without starting an international incident.

"Alright, everybody, listen up!" Ben announced, clapping his hands to get their attention. Every head swiveled towards him.

"Today." he said, trying to project a confidence he absolutely did not feel, "we are all going on a date."

The reactions were varied and immediate.

Attea scoffed. "A group date? How pedestrian. A private audience with me would be far more appropriate."

Looma beamed. "A glorious outing! Will there be tests of strength?"

Elena raised an eyebrow. "A date. With all of us. This is a socially inefficient configuration, prone to conflict."

Ester smiled cautiously. "Like, a real date? All of us?"

Eunice clapped her hands. "Oh, that sounds lovely!"

EightEight’s optic whirred. "Query: what is the objective of this ‘date’?"

"The objective." Ben said, "is to have a nice, normal, relaxing time. Together. As a… group of… friends. No fighting, no competing, no point-scoring." He looked directly at Elena. "For the next three hours, the CRHMI is officially offline."

Elena looked like he’d asked her to perform surgery with a butter knife, but after a moment’s hesitation, she gave a curt nod. "The system can be paused for designated ‘truce periods.’ Very well."

Attea looked intrigued. "And where are we going for this… truce?"

"We." Ben declared with a flourish, "are going to Mr. Smoothy. And then, we are getting chili fries from the best place in Bellwood."

It was the most Ben Tennyson date imaginable. It was simple. It was cheap. And it was built on the twin pillars of his culinary world: smoothies and fried potatoes covered in meat sauce. It was so ridiculously mundane, he hoped it might just short-circuit their competitive instincts.

An hour later, they were a seven-person battalion occupying a significant portion of the outdoor seating area at the newly re-opened Mr. Smoothy. The mission had, against all odds, started successfully. Getting there had been an exercise in crowd-parting, the sight of Ben Tennyson and his bizarre entourage turning heads and causing whispered speculation all down the street. But they had arrived without incident.

They now sat around a collection of small metal tables they’d pushed together, a rainbow of smoothie cups between them.

Looma was on her third, a concoction of mango, pineapple, and something called ‘whey protein fury,’ which she declared to be "an honorable fuel for a warrior’s body!"

Attea was delicately sipping a blueberry-acai blend, her pinky extended. "It’s… passable. For peasant nectar."

EightEight had foregone a cup, having had them inject a raspberry-kale blend directly into her chassis’s nutrient port. "Analysis: acceptable viscosity and sugar content."

Elena was nursing a simple green tea smoothie, her eyes scanning the crowd, her analytical mind never truly at rest.

Ester and Eunice were happily sharing a strawberry-banana, their conversation a low, pleasant murmur.

And Ben, sitting in the middle of it all, felt a strange, unfamiliar sensation. It was a faint, flickering feeling, but he thought it might be… contentment. They were actually doing it. They were coexisting. The sun was warm, the smoothie was cold, and no one was actively trying to vaporize anyone else. It was nice.

"This is nice." he said out loud, surprising himself.

Ester smiled at him. "See? I told you it could be."

"The caloric intake is satisfactory." Looma agreed, draining her third smoothie and slamming the cup down. "Now, for these… ‘chili fries’ you promised!"

Phase two of the operation took them to a small, slightly greasy-looking food truck parked a few blocks away, renowned throughout Bellwood for its legendary chili fries. The smell of fried potatoes, spicy chili, and melted cheese hung in the air, a holy trinity of comfort food.

Ben ordered a veritable mountain of the stuff. Seven large trays, each a glorious, messy pile of golden fries smothered in thick, meaty chili and a generous blanket of bright orange cheddar cheese.

They found a series of benches in a small park nearby to consume their feast. This was a more hands-on affair. Looma abandoned all pretense of decorum, using two hands to shovel fries into her mouth while the other two held backup trays. Attea, after a moment of sniffing the tray with royal suspicion. Soon, she was eating with, if still somewhat graceful, ferocity.

EightEight was using a complex series of manipulators that emerged from her fingertips to pick up individual fries and dip them in chili with horrifying precision. Elena was eating with a fork, of course, cutting each fry into neat, manageable sections. Ester and Eunice were sharing a tray again, laughing as a string of melted cheese stretched between them.

Ben watched them, a genuine smile on his face. This was working. This was actually working. He felt a swell of affection for this bizarre, chaotic group of women who had crashed into his life. The demanding princess, the boisterous warrior, the logical bounty hunter, the broken genius, the gentle friend, the innocent powerhouse. They were a nightmare, but they were his nightmare. And in this one, brief, shining moment, they were just… girls eating chili fries in a park.

"I have to, uh… go to the bathroom." Ben announced, standing up. "I’ll be right back. Play nice." He pointed a warning finger at them, but it was mostly for show. He felt safe leaving them for a minute.

He found the public restroom at the edge of the park. It was a small, concrete bunker of a building, and it smelled faintly of disinfectant and regret, but it was functional. He pushed the heavy metal door open and stepped inside.

The room was empty. The lights flickered overhead with a low, electric hum. It was quiet, a stark contrast to the lively chatter he’d just left. He went to one of the sinks to wash his hands, the events of the last few weeks swirling in his mind. Maybe, just maybe, he could make this work. Maybe it didn’t have to be a choice. Maybe it could just be… this. Friendship. A weird, heavily-armed, intergalactic friendship.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear the sound behind him. Not a footstep, but a faint, almost imperceptible whir. The sound of high-tech servos moving with silent, deadly grace.

The lights flickered again, and in the reflection of the grimy mirror above the sink, he saw a shape drop from the ceiling behind him.

It was tall and sleek, clad in armor that was the color of blood and midnight. The design was angular and aggressive, a modern, streamlined take on a classic knight’s plate, but infused with a lethal, high-tech aesthetic. The helmet was a smooth, featureless t-visor, glowing with a soft, crimson light. In one hand, it held a long, slender blade that hummed with contained energy. And emblazoned on its chest, a symbol that made Ben’s blood run cold:

The Forever Knights.

"No way." Ben breathed, spinning around. "You guys were… I thought you were done. Defeated."

The robotic knight didn’t speak. It simply raised its energy sword, the hum intensifying. It moved with a liquid speed that was terrifying, a blur of red and black. It wasn’t the clumsy, clanking Knights he was used to. This was something new. Something faster. Something deadlier.

Ben didn’t have time to think. He dove to the side as the energy sword scythed through the air where his head had been, leaving a molten gash in the tiled wall. He slapped the Omnitrix dial. "Don’t have time for this! Going with the first thing I get!"

He slammed his hand down. The flash of green light filled the small room, and when it faded, Four Arms stood in his place.

"Alright, tin can!" he boomed, cracking all four of his knuckles. "Let’s see how you handle this!"

He charged, swinging a massive fist. The red knight didn’t try to block. It simply sidestepped, the punch connecting with the concrete wall and sending a spiderweb of cracks through it. The knight moved with an inhuman grace, its movements economical and precise. It was like fighting a machine. A very, very well-programmed machine.

It lunged, its sword a blur. Four Arms crossed two of his arms to block, the energy blade striking his hardened skin with a shower of sparks and a sizzling sound. The blade was hot, and strong. He grunted, pushing the knight back. He swung with his other two arms, but the knight was too fast, ducking under one punch and using its free hand to slap the other aside, its movements borrowing from martial arts Ben had never seen before.

"Stand still!" Four Arms roared in frustration.

The knight tilted its head, a strangely human-like gesture for a machine. Then it moved. It wasn’t an attack, but a series of lightning-fast strikes against his pressure points—his shoulders, his elbows, his knees. They weren’t damaging blows, but they were precise, and they sent jolts of surprising pain through his massive frame. His muscles seized. He stumbled, his coordination failing him.

While he was off-balance, the knight swept his legs out from under him. The Tetramand hero crashed to the floor with a ground-shaking thud. Before he could recover, the knight was on him, the point of its energy sword pressed against the Omnitrix symbol on his chest.

The fight had lasted less than a minute. He’d been completely and utterly outmaneuvered.

The heavy door to the restroom creaked open. A second figure stepped inside, silhouetted against the bright afternoon sun. This one wasn’t a robot. It was a woman, dressed in a practical, dark-grey trench coat that was oddly reminiscent of the old Enoch-era Knights. She had short, choppy brown hair, a sharp jaw, and eyes that were cold and assessing. She carried no visible weapons, but she moved with the coiled readiness of a trained soldier.

"Target neutralized, Unit Zero?" she asked, her voice a no-nonsense alto.

The red robot knight gave a single, sharp nod, not taking its sword off of Ben’s chest.

The woman walked forward, stopping to look down at the defeated Four Arms. She had a smirk on her face, but it wasn’t one of triumph. It was one of grim satisfaction, like a mechanic who had just diagnosed a complex engine problem.

"Ben Tennyson." she said. "We meet at last. You’ve been causing a lot of problems."

"Who are you?" Four Arms growled, struggling against the paralysis from the nerve strikes.

"My name is Valerie." she said. "And I’m a knight of the new order. A real knight." She kicked his side gently. "And you’re right. The old Forever Knights, the ones obsessed with dragon-tech and medieval cosplay? They were defeated." Her smirk widened. "But an order doesn’t die so easily, Tennyson. It always come back. The order has been resurrected. Reborn. We have a new king. A new mission. And new technology." She gestured at the red robot.

"The old order was a bunch of fools chasing relics and busy with in-fighting." Valerie continued, her voice filled with a cold, hard passion. "We’ve moved beyond that, returned to our true mission. We have a supercomputer, the ‘Arbiter,’ that analyzes global threats on a scale they could never dream of. It sees the patterns. It calculates the odds. And the biggest threat it currently identifies… is you."

"Me?" Ben grunted. "I save the world!"

"You endanger it!" she shot back, her voice suddenly sharp. "You’re a nexus of chaos! You attract aliens to this planet like a porch light attracts moths! And you fraternize with them! You protect them! You even… date them." She glanced towards the park, a look of profound disgust on her face. "You are the primary vector for alien contamination on this planet. And the Arbiter has determined that you need to be contained."

The red knight, Unit Zero, pressed its sword harder against the Omnitrix. The energy from the blade began to interfere with it, causing it to spark and fizz.

"What are you doing?" Ben yelled, feeling a strange draining sensation.

"We’re not here to hurt you, Tennyson." Valerie said, her expression serious. "Not permanently. We just need to borrow something. The energy from that watch of yours… it’s the key."

She knelt down, her face close to his. Her eyes were intense, and for the first time, Ben saw something other than hatred in them. He saw fear.

"There’s another reason you’re a threat, Tennyson. A reason that makes your alien harem look like a minor inconvenience. You’re a magnet, not just for aliens, but for… other things. Older things. You fought the Dagon once, didn’t you? You and your friends stopped him."

Ben’s blood ran cold. "How do you know about that?"

"The Arbiter knows everything." Valerie said grimly. "And it knows that they’re back. Not Dagon himself. But his worshippers. The Esotericas. The Flame Keepers’ Circle."

Ben remembered them. The creepy cult that had worshipped Dagon, the one Julie had briefly gotten mixed up in. "That’s impossible. We shut them down."

"You shut down a part of it." Valerie corrected. "It’s a cult, Tennyson. A religion. You can’t just kill a religion. They’ve been regrouping in the shadows, gathering strength. And they believe the time is right for Dagon’s return. They’re trying to open a gateway. To bring that… thing… back to our dimension. To usher in their ‘utopia.’"

"So what’s that got to do with me?" Ben demanded.

"The Arbiter has calculated that the only energy source on Earth powerful enough to permanently seal a tear in reality of that magnitude is a concentrated, weaponized blast of Omnitrix energy." Valerie explained. "We’re not trying to destroy your watch. We’re trying to use it. To build a weapon that can save this world from a threat you can’t even comprehend."

She stood up. "I don’t like aliens, Tennyson. I don’t trust them. My family was… collateral damage… during the Dagon’s invasion attempt. I joined the Knights to protect this planet from scum like him. But I’m not a fool. The Dagon is a threat to everyone, human and alien alike. So for now, you’re coming with us."

She nodded to Unit Zero. The red knight’s other hand shot out, and a small device clamped itself onto Four Arms’s neck. A powerful sedative surged through him. His vision blurred. His massive limbs felt like lead.

"The girls…" he mumbled, his voice fading. "They’ll come for me…"

Valerie smirked. "I know." she said. "We’re counting on it. We need to test our new systems against powerful hostiles anyway."

The last thing Ben saw before the world went black was Valerie’s cold, determined face, and the glowing red eye of the silent, robotic knight standing over him. His nice, normal date was officially over. He had been captured. And his harem was about to become a rescue party.

Chapter Text

The first sign that something was wrong was the chili fries getting cold.

Attea poked a now-limp fry with a disdainful finger. "Benny-boo is taking an exceptionally long time to complete his… biological necessities. It’s unseemly."

"Perhaps the restroom facilities were not up to his standards." Looma suggested, having finished her fourth tray and now systematically licking the cheese off the cardboard. "A warrior requires a clean and honorable place for contemplation."

Ester looked towards the small, concrete restroom building at the edge of the park, a frown creasing her brow. "He’s been gone for almost fifteen minutes. That seems… long."

Eunice, who had been listening to the birds chirping, suddenly tilted her head, her expression growing concerned. "The park is too quiet. The happy sounds are gone."

Elena, who had been covertly reactivating the CRHMI on her device under the table, looked up, her eyes narrowing. She hadn’t been paying attention to Ben. She’d been paying attention to the ambient energy signatures. "The chroniton fields are fluctuating." she said, her voice low. "There was a spike a few minutes ago. A discharge consistent with an Omnitrix transformation."

That got everyone’s attention.

"Transformation?" Attea stood up, her leisurely posture gone, replaced by sharp-edged alertness. "Why would he transform in a restroom?"

"Possible reasons include:" EightEight began, her vocalizer flat and clipped, "1. Clogging of the plumbing system requiring enhanced strength. 2. Encounter with a hostile sewer-dwelling organism. 3. Ambush." She paused. "Probability of ambush: 67.4%. The asset has been left unattended in a non-secure location for 14.7 minutes."

"Ambush?" Ester whispered, her eyes wide with fear.

Before anyone could debate the logic, a new set of voices joined the conversation.

"Looks like the date’s over."

They all turned. Gwen and Kevin were striding towards them, their expressions grim. Gwen’s hands were already glowing with a faint, pink aura of mana. Kevin was cracking his knuckles, his eyes scanning the area for threats.

"Gwen! Kevin!" Ester said, relieved. "Ben’s missing!"

"We know." Gwen said, her voice tight. "I just got a Plumber alert. A massive energy spike, right here in this park. Unregistered, non-Plumber tech. And Ben’s Omnitrix signal just went dark."

"Dark?" Eunice asked, her voice trembling. "What does that mean?"

"It means it’s either been destroyed, which is unlikely, or it’s being shielded by some serious high-level tech." Kevin growled. "Either way, it means Tennyson’s in deep trouble."

A tense silence fell over the group. The remains of their peaceful, happy meal seemed to mock them from the table.

"So." Attea said, crossing her arms and surveying the group—Gwen, Kevin, Looma, EightEight, Elena, Ester, and Eunice. "Who took him?"

"We don’t know." Gwen admitted. "The energy signature doesn’t match any known alien tech in the Plumber database."

"Then we must find out!" Looma boomed, slamming a fist on the table so hard it buckled. "My Benny-poo has been taken! This insult will not stand! We will find who did this and I will crush their skulls into dust!"

"Crushing skulls is a good start, but we need a plan." Kevin said, surprisingly level-headed. "We’re blind here. We need intel."

Elena was already a step ahead. Her eyes were glowing, and a swarm of microscopic nanites had detached from her, spreading out into the park in an invisible, glittering cloud. "I am scanning the area for residual energy signatures and trace particulates. The restroom is the epicenter."

"Good. EightEight." Gwen said, shifting into command mode, "can your sensors pick up anything? Any exotic materials? Teleportation residue?"

EightEight’s optic whirred. "Scanning… Negative teleportation residue. Detecting trace amounts of a refined carbon-steel alloy with a polarized energy signature. Unfamiliar design. Also detecting synthetic neuro-inhibitors in the atmosphere within the structure. Sedatives."

"So they fought him, sedated him, and carried him out." Kevin surmised. "They didn’t teleport. That means they used a vehicle. There must be tracks."

"Attea, Looma, you’re with Kevin. Do a perimeter sweep. Look for anything out of place. Tire tracks, scorch marks, anything." Gwen ordered.

Attea bristled. "I do not take orders from you, red-head."

"Fine. Do you have a better idea, or do you want to stand here arguing while Ben gets dissected in a secret lab somewhere?" Gwen shot back.

Attea’s eye twitched, but she couldn’t argue with the logic. With a frustrated growl, she stomped off, Looma and Kevin following her.

"The rest of us, to the bathroom." Gwen said. "Let’s see what Elena’s nanites have found."

The scene inside the restroom was grim. A huge, spiderwebbed crater marked the wall where Four Arms’s punch had landed. A molten gash scarred the tiles. The air was thick with the smell of ozone and burnt ceramic.

Elena stood in the center of the room, her eyes closed, processing the data from her swarm. "The fight was brief. The asset transformed into his Tetramand form. He was overwhelmed by two assailants. One was cybernetic, humanoid, approximately two meters tall. The other was a human female."

"Human?" Gwen asked, surprised. "Working with a robot?"

"Correct." Elena said. "My nanites have a partial composite of her DNA from skin cells she shed. And a clear image of a symbol they left behind. It was marked in the dust on the floor, almost invisibly." A holographic image flickered into life above her hand.

Gwen gasped. "The Forever Knights."

"Impossible." Ester said. "Ben said they were gone."

"Apparently not." Gwen said grimly. "Looks like they’ve rebranded."

Just then, Kevin’s voice came crackling over Gwen’s Plumber badge. "Gwen, we found something. On the service road behind the park. Looks like tracks from a heavy-duty armored vehicle. And this." There was a pause, and then a picture materialized on Gwen’s badge. It was a small, empty casing for a high-yield sedative dart, stamped with the same sword-and-circle logo.

"It’s them, alright." Gwen said. "They drove him away. But where?"

"The Forever Knights always had hidden bases, ‘castles,’ they called them." Kevin’s voice said. "Old warehouses, abandoned military installations… they could be anywhere."

"We require a location." EightEight stated. "Without a target, we cannot formulate a rescue strategy."

The group was at a dead end. They knew who had taken Ben, but they had no idea where. Frustration and fear began to set in.

It was then that a new player entered the game.

A sleek, black sports car, one that looked far too expensive for Bellwood, screeched to a halt at the curb by the park. The driver’s side door opened, and a figure emerged. She was tall, athletic, and wore a look of intense annoyance. It was Kai Green.

From the passenger side, another figure emerged, looking equally grim. Julie Yamamoto.

"Gwen!" Julie called out, jogging towards them. "We got your text. What’s going on? You said Ben was in trouble."

Gwen quickly filled them in on the situation. As she spoke, Kai’s eyes narrowed, her expression shifting from annoyance to a cold, focused anger.

"The Forever Knights." Kai said, the name tasting like ash in her mouth. "A bunch of xenophobic idiots with a fixation on medieval times. I’ve run into them before at dig sites. They’re usually more trouble than they’re worth, but they’re not typically this… efficient."

Attea, Looma, and Kevin returned from their sweep, stopping short when they saw the new arrivals.

"What are they doing here?" Attea demanded, pointing at Julie and Kai.

"I called them." Gwen said firmly, cutting off any argument. "We need all the help we can get. Kai knows about the Knights. And Julie… well, Julie’s Julie. We need her. She has Ship."

The committee girls looked ready to protest, but the gravity of the situation held their tongues. This was bigger than their rivalry.

"It doesn’t matter." Kevin grumbled. "We still don’t know where they took him."

"Maybe we do."

All heads turned to a new voice. Leaning against a tree, a half-eaten bag of popcorn in her hand, was Hope. She must have been watching the whole thing.

"Hope!" Gwen exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"Got bored of watching Myaxx catalog gaseous anomalies." Hope said with a shrug, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. "Came back to see what kind of trouble Tennyson had gotten himself into. Looks like a real doozy this time." She sauntered over. "Forever Knights, huh? Nasty bunch. Had a run-in with them a while back when they tried to steal a grimoire from my uncle. They’ve got castles all over the place. Secretive little troglodytes."

"Can you find them?" Gwen asked, a note of desperation in her voice.

Hope smirked. "Magic, sweetie. It’s better than GPS." She closed her eyes, and a purple aura flared around her. "I’m scrying for major convergences of iron, misplaced chivalry, and pathetic, xenophobic rage… It’s a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack, if the needle was really angry and smelled like old chainmail."

The air grew heavy. The purple light around Hope intensified. "Got it." she said, her eyes snapping open. "There are a few hotspots, but there’s a big one. A new one. Lots of energy. Lots of tech. And… yep. I feel Ben’s annoying, heroic energy signature, faint, but it’s there. It’s in an old, decommissioned military bunker, deep in the Bellwood Quarry."

The very same quarry where Looma had started a rockslide just a few weeks ago.

Gwen’s face was set with determination. "Alright. We have a location." She looked around at the assembled group. It was the unlikeliest team-up in the history of the universe. Ben’s current girlfriend-committee. His two ex-girlfriends. His cousin. His best friend/rival. And a morally ambiguous sorceress who was mostly in it for the entertainment.

"Attea, your blasters are our ranged support." Gwen began, falling into her role as the team’s strategist. "Looma, you’re our heavy-hitter. You’re on the front line with Kevin. EightEight, you’re our stealth and tech support. I need you to find a way to disable their systems. Elena, your nanites are our best defense. Can you create a shield or a diversion?"

Elena nodded, her eyes glowing. "I can do both."

Gwen turned to the newcomers. "Kai, you know how these guys think. What are we up against?"

"Their new gear sounds tough, but they’re still fanatics." Kai said, her voice all business. "They’ll have choke points. Heavy fortifications. They’re arrogant. They’ll expect a frontal assault."

"Then we won’t give them one." Gwen said. "Julie, I need you and Ship to stay with Hope. You’re our comms and our escape plan. If things go south, you get us out of there."

Julie nodded, her face serious. A metallic whirring sound came from her backpack, and her Galvanic Mechamorph pet, Ship, peeked his single green eye out. "Ship, ship!"

Finally, Gwen looked at Ester and Eunice. "You two… I need you to stay back. You’re the reserves. If we need backup, we’ll call you. You’re our ace in the hole."

Ester looked like she wanted to argue, but she saw the logic. Eunice just nodded, her expression determined. "We’ll be ready."

Gwen took a deep breath. "Alright, team. Let’s go get our idiot back."

A strange, silent understanding passed through the group. They were a mess of conflicting personalities, tangled histories, and bitter rivalries. But they had one thing in common: Ben Tennyson was in trouble. And they were the only ones who could save him.

The strangest rescue squad in galactic history piled into Kevin’s new (and very clean) car and Kai’s sports car, with Hope and Julie following in a third vehicle. They sped off towards the quarry, a mismatched army united by a single purpose. The war for Ben’s affection was on hold. The war for his life had just begun.

Chapter Text

The Bellwood Quarry was a gaping, man-made wound in the earth, a series of descending terraces of gray rock that fell away into shadow. By day, it was a dusty, noisy hub of industry. By night, under the cold light of the moon, it was a silent, alien landscape of stark shapes and deep darkness. It was the perfect place to hide a secret castle.

Three cars pulled up on the ridge overlooking the quarry, their headlights cutting through the darkness. The unlikely rescue squad spilled out, the quiet of the night shattered by the slamming of car doors.

"So." Kevin said, peering down into the gloom. "Where’s the evil fortress? I’m not seeing any turrets or moats."

Hope pointed towards the far side of the quarry, to a section of the rock face that looked perfectly solid. "There. Behind that cliff wall. It’s an old Cold War-era military command bunker. They’ve just built on top of it. The entrance is shielded, magically and technologically."

"Can you get us through the magical shielding?" Gwen asked.

Hope cracked her knuckles. "Can a Vulpimancer smell? Please. It’s amateur hour stuff. Annoying, but breakable. Like a magical eggshell."

"And the tech?" Gwen looked at EightEight.

"The entrance is likely protected by a quantum-phase scrambler and a high-frequency energy barrier." EightEight stated. "I can bypass the barrier, but the scrambler will require direct access to its control panel. I will need to be physically at the door."

"Okay." Gwen started to formulate a plan. "So, Hope gets us past the outer wards. Then EightEight–"

"Forget that." Kai interrupted, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the quarry floor. "You’re all thinking like heroes. You need to think like villains. A frontal assault, even a stealthy one, is what they’ll expect. They’re arrogant. They’ll have all their defenses pointed at the front door."

"So what do you suggest, Dirt Digger?" Attea sneered.

Kai ignored her, pointing to a different part of the quarry. "That bunker was built in the fifties. It’ll have ventilation shafts. Drainage tunnels. They might have reinforced them, but they won’t be as heavily guarded as the main entrance. That’s our way in."

Kevin grinned. "I like it. A good old-fashioned sewer crawl. Classic."

"Elena." Kai continued, turning to the nanite queen. "Your nanites. Can they find a way in? A crack? A vent?"

Elena’s eyes glowed. "My swarm is already mapping the exterior of the structure. They are microscopic. There are always entry points." A holographic map of the bunker flickered to life in front of her, a complex 3D schematic built from the data her nanites were feeding back. Red lines indicated power conduits, blue for plumbing, green for ventilation. "There are three primary ventilation shafts on the roof and a main drainage pipe that empties into a runoff cistern half a kilometer to the south."

"The roof is too exposed." Gwen said. "They’ll have sentries. The drainage pipe is our best bet."

"It will be… foul." Attea said, wrinkling her nose.

"You’re a frog princess who grew up on a swamp planet. You’ll live." Kai retorted without looking at her.

A new plan was formed, one built on Kai’s cynical expertise and Elena’s invasive technology. Hope, Julie, Ester, and Eunice would remain at the command post on the ridge, providing magical oversight and a quick getaway. The main assault team—Gwen, Kevin, Kai, Attea, Looma, Elena, and EightEight—would infiltrate through the drainage system.

The journey to the drainage outlet was a trek through darkness and loose scree. The outlet itself was a large, circular grate set into a concrete wall, dribbling a foul-smelling trickle of water.

"Charming." Attea muttered.

Looma simply grinned. "A test of fortitude!" She grabbed the thick iron bars of the grate with all four hands. With a mighty roar that echoed through the quarry, she tore the entire grate from its concrete housing and tossed it aside like a dinner plate.

"Subtlety is not your strong suit, is it?" Kai deadpanned.

"My strength is my subtlety!" Looma declared proudly.

They entered the tunnel. It was dark, damp, and smelled like rust and decay. Kevin activated a light on his Plumber badge, illuminating a round, concrete pipe just wide enough for them to walk through single-file, provided Looma hunched over.

"This is disgusting." Attea complained, trying not to let her boots touch the slimy film on the floor.

"Quiet." Gwen hissed. "We don’t know if they have sensors in here."

"They do not." Elena stated calmly from the back of the line. "My swarm has already disabled all monitoring devices between here and the primary junction. We have a clear path."

They moved in silence for what felt like an eternity, the only sound the drip of water and the slosh of their footsteps. Finally, they reached a junction where the pipe opened into a larger maintenance corridor. A single, bare bulb cast a sickly yellow light over the grimy walls.

"Okay, we’re in." Kevin whispered.

Elena’s holographic map appeared again. "According to the schematics, the primary detention block is on sub-level three. We are on sub-level five. We need to go up."

"Stairs or elevator?" Kai asked.

"Stairs." EightEight answered. "Elevators are kill-zones. Easily trapped."

They found a stairwell and began their ascent, moving with a practiced stealth that was surprising, given the mismatched nature of their group. Attea’s natural agility, Looma’s surprising quietness for her size, Kevin and Kai’s experience, and Gwen’s magical senses made them a formidable infiltration unit.

They reached sub-level three. The air here was different. It was sterile, cold, and hummed with the thrum of high technology. The grimy maintenance corridor gave way to a hallway of polished steel and recessed blue lighting. It was clean, modern, and utterly menacing.

"This doesn’t look like any Forever Knight base I’ve ever seen." Kevin muttered.

"They’ve upgraded." Kai said, her hand resting on a wicked-looking blade sheathed at her hip.

They crept down the hallway, pressing themselves against the wall. Up ahead, they could see two guards. They weren’t the classic, clunky knights. They were soldiers in the same tactical gear, and their helmets bore the Forever Knights emblem. They were armed with the same energy rifles they’d seen in the park, used by SECT.

"Two tangos." Kevin whispered. "How do we want to do this?"

"I will crush them!" Looma growled, flexing her muscles.

"Too noisy." Kai countered. "We need to be silent."

Before anyone could suggest another plan, two black shapes detached from the ceiling. Attea and EightEight. They had scaled the walls, moving with silent, predatory grace. They dropped behind the two guards simultaneously. Attea delivered a sharp, precise chop to the back of one’s neck. EightEight used a low-frequency sonic stunner that emitted from her palm. Both guards collapsed without a sound.

Attea and EightEight dragged the unconscious bodies into an alcove.

"Impressive." Kai admitted grudgingly.

"Of course it was." Attea sniffed, dusting off her hands. "I am a master of infiltration."

"The maneuver was 97% efficient." EightEight added.

They continued down the hall until they reached a heavy blast door marked "Detention Block A."

"He’s in there." Gwen said, her voice low. "I can feel it."

The door was sealed with a complex electronic lock. "My turn." EightEight said. She interfaced with the control panel, her fingertips deploying a series of delicate electronic probes. A stream of code flashed across her optic. "Encryption is military-grade. Sophisticated. It will take me 37.4 seconds to bypass."

"We don’t have 37 seconds!" a voice yelled from down the hall.

They whirled around. A squad of Forever Knight soldiers was rounding the corner, their weapons raised. They’d been discovered.

"So much for stealth!" Kevin yelled, his skin hardening as he absorbed the metallic properties of the wall. "Looma, time to get loud!"

"With pleasure!" the Tetramand roared, charging down the hallway to meet the soldiers head-on.

The corridor erupted into a storm of chaos and violence. Looma was a whirlwind of destruction, her four fists sending soldiers flying. Kevin was right behind her, a nigh-invulnerable wrecking ball. Attea provided covering fire, her blaster bolts ricocheting off the walls. Gwen threw up a shimmering pink mana shield, deflecting the soldiers’ energy blasts.

Amid the chaos, Kai and Elena worked on the door.

"EightEight, forget the lock!" Kai yelled over the din. "Can you blow the hinges?"

"Negative." the bounty hunter replied, still working furiously on the panel. "The door is magnetically sealed. Power must be cut from this console."

"Then work faster!"

Elena stepped up next to her. "Allow me." A stream of black nanites flowed from her hand, pouring into the console. They weren’t trying to hack the code; they were devouring it. The console sparked, smoked, and then died.

"The lock is disengaged." Elena stated calmly.

"Breach!" Kevin yelled, peeling himself away from the main fight. He and Kai put their shoulders to the heavy door and heaved. It groaned, then swung open.

Inside was a row of holding cells, their fronts made of transparent, glowing energy fields. And in the farthest cell, slumped on a bench, was Ben. He was unconscious, but he looked unharmed.

"Ben!" Gwen cried, rushing towards the cell. She placed her hands on the energy field. It sparked violently, throwing her back. "It’s a neural scrambler field. It’ll knock out anyone who touches it."

"How do we turn it off?" Kai asked, looking for a control panel.

"We don’t." a voice said from inside the cell block.

From the shadows at the end of the hall, Valerie stepped out. She was wearing her trench coat, and she held a small, remote-like device in her hand. Behind her, a silent, menacing figure emerged. Unit Zero, the red robot knight, its energy sword humming to life.

"I have to admit." Valerie said with a smirk, "you’re all more competent than I expected. Especially you." Her eyes landed on Kai. "A human who knows how to fight. A rare and admirable quality."

"Let him go!" Gwen demanded, her hands glowing.

"I don’t think so." Valerie said. "He’s a vital part of our plan. And you all… you’re the perfect field test for our new security measures." She pressed a button on her remote.

Alarms blared. Red lights flashed. Blast doors slammed down, sealing the corridor behind them. They were trapped. Trapped in the detention block with Ben, Valerie, and the robot ninja that had taken down Four Arms in under a minute.

"Now." Valerie said, her smirk widening. "Let’s see what you’ve really got."

Chapter Text

The detention block became a cage. The blaring alarms and flashing red lights created a disorienting, hellish atmosphere. The team was split—Looma, Attea, and Kevin were cut off on the other side of the blast door, the sounds of their battle with the Knight soldiers suddenly muffled and distant. Trapped inside were Gwen, Kai, EightEight, and Elena, facing down Valerie and her crimson-armored trump card, Unit Zero.

"You’re trapped." Valerie stated, the observation unnecessary but satisfying for her to say. "You should have stayed home."

"We don’t leave our friends or family behind." Gwen shot back, her stance wide as she gathered mana into her hands, forming shimmering pink discs of solid energy.

Valerie’s smirk didn’t waver. "A noble sentiment. And a foolish one." She gave a slight nod to her robotic partner. "Zero. Engage. Prioritize the Sotoraggian and the Anodite-hybrid. The other two are non-powered. Subdue them for capture."

Unit Zero moved. It wasn’t a charge; it was a flow. One moment it was standing still, the next it was a red blur, its energy sword leaving a sizzling trail in the air as it closed the distance on EightEight. Its programming was clear: eliminate the biggest technological and energy-based threats first.

EightEight reacted with equal speed. Her own arms morphed, one into a plasma cannon, the other into a vibro-blade. She met Zero’s charge head-on. The clash of their weapons was a deafening shriek of protesting metal and energy. They were a whirlwind of precise, deadly choreography, a battle of machines moving at speeds no human eye could properly track. Sparks flew as blades met, and concussive blasts from EightEight’s cannon were deflected by Zero’s sword with impossible grace.

While the two robots were locked in their high-speed duel, Gwen unleashed her own attack. She hurled the mana discs at Valerie. But Valerie didn’t even flinch. She simply took a half-step back, and the air in front of her shimmered. The discs hit an invisible barrier and dissolved into harmless pink glitter.

"A personal kinetic-field generator." Valerie said, tapping a device on her belt. "Standard issue for all Knights of the new order. Your parlor tricks won’t work on me, Tennyson."

Kai didn’t waste time with energy blasts. She saw Valerie’s focus on Gwen and charged, her own blade, a wicked-looking saber forged from some dark, alien metal, drawn and ready. She moved low and fast, aiming to get under Valerie’s guard.

"A real weapon!" Valerie said with genuine approval. "Finally!" She dropped the remote and met Kai’s charge, drawing a concealed energy baton from inside her trench coat. The clash of Kai’s alien metal against the crackling energy of the baton was a sharp crack. The two women were instantly locked in a fierce, close-quarters battle. It wasn’t a flashy fight of energy blasts, but a brutal, efficient dance of strikes, parries, and blocks. Kai was skilled, a seasoned adventurer and fighter, but Valerie was something else. She was a soldier, her movements economical and powerful, each block designed to create an opening, each strike aimed at a vulnerability.

This left Elena. She stood back, observing, her face a mask of cold calculation. Her two most powerful rivals, Gwen and Kai, were occupied. Her two most annoying obstacles, Attea and Looma, were on the other side of a door. And her primary objective, Ben, was helpless in a cage. This was a perfect confluence of tactical opportunities.

She could help, of course. She could unleash her nanites, overwhelm Valerie and Unit Zero, and be the hero of the day. The CRHMI would award her a massive number of points. But where was the long-term strategic advantage in that?

A different, colder, more efficient plan began to form in her mind.

Gwen was struggling. Every mana construct she threw at Valerie was effortlessly deflected. She tried to encase her in a cage of energy, but the kinetic field simply repelled it. She was on the defensive, forced to dodge the energy blasts from Valerie’s baton.

Kai was also being driven back. Valerie was a superior hand-to-hand combatant. She was stronger, faster, and her fighting style was brutally effective. She disarmed Kai with a sharp twist and a blow to the wrist, sending her saber clattering to the floor. She followed up with a kick to the chest that sent Kai stumbling back towards Ben’s cell.

"You’re good." Valerie admitted, breathing a little heavily. "But you’re an amateur. You fight with passion. I fight with training."

EightEight and Unit Zero were still a blur of motion, but it was clear who had the upper hand. Unit Zero was a newer android, faster, stronger. It had been designed for one purpose: to hunt and neutralize powerful targets. It landed a solid blow with the hilt of its sword, stunning EightEight for a microsecond. In that microsecond, it drove its blade through EightEight’s shoulder joint, injuring the arm that held her plasma cannon.

"EightEight!" Gwen cried out, distracted for a fatal second.

Valerie capitalized on it. She lunged, not at Gwen, but past her, heading straight for Ben’s cell. Her target wasn’t Gwen. It was Kai, who was now cornered against the energy field.

But Elena moved first.

"The asset is mine." she said, her voice dropping into the layered, harmonic tones of the Queen. A torrent of black nanites surged from her, not towards Valerie, but towards the control panel for Ben’s cell.

"What are you doing?!" Gwen yelled, thinking she was trying to free Ben.

"Re-routing the power." the Nano-Queen stated. The panel sparked, and the energy field around Ben’s cell flickered and died. But in the same instant, the field around the adjacent cell flared to life, trapping a shocked Kai inside.

"Elena, no!" Kai screamed, slamming her fists against the newly activated barrier. It sparked, and she recoiled in pain.

Valerie skidded to a halt, looking at Elena with surprise and then dawning respect. "A tactical betrayal. I’m impressed. You have the makings of a true Knight."

"I am a Queen." Elena corrected, ignoring her. "And I am claiming my King."

She glided towards the now-deactivated cell where Ben lay unconscious. This was it. The ultimate power move. She would retrieve Ben herself. She would be the sole savior. She would win.

But she had made a critical miscalculation. She had assumed Unit Zero’s programming was simple.

The red knight, having disabled EightEight, registered a new primary threat: the being who had just demonstrated control over the facility’s systems and was now moving to secure the primary target. Its protocols shifted. With a burst of speed, it disengaged from the injured EightEight and launched itself at the Nano-Queen.

Elena was caught completely by surprise. She threw up a hasty nanite shield, but it wasn’t enough. Unit Zero crashed into her, its momentum carrying them both straight into Ben’s open cell. The two of them tumbled in a heap over Ben’s unconscious form.

The energy sword clattered to the floor. Everyone froze. Gwen, Valerie, the struggling EightEight, the trapped Kai.

Valerie was the first to recover, her face a mask of fury. "Zero! Maintain protocol!"

But the andorid—Zero—was too damaged to respond. She stared at the faces staring back at her, this momentary lapse was all the opening the rescuers needed.

Gwen, recovering first, saw her chance. While Valerie was distracted by her partner, Gwen unleashed a concentrated blast of mana, not at Valerie’s personal shield, but at the ceiling above her. A chunk of reinforced concrete and wiring crashed down, forcing Valerie to dive for cover.

"Elena! Get Ben!" Gwen yelled, turning her attention to the energy field holding Kai. She began channeling her power into overloading the cell’s control mechanism.

Elena, whose grand gambit had just spectacularly backfired, was scrambling to her feet inside Ben’s cell. Annoyed, she directed her nanites not at the stunned android, but at Ben, forming a protective cocoon around him and preparing to lift him.

The sounds of battle from the other side of the blast door intensified. A series of massive, concussive BOOMs echoed through the metal. Then, with a shriek of tearing metal, the blast door bulged inward. A second later, a four-armed fist punched straight through the steel, followed by another. Looma ripped the door apart like it was tissue paper, her face a mask of Tetramand fury.

"MY BENNY-POO!" she roared, bursting into the detention block. Behind her, a battered but triumphant Kevin and a scowling Attea stepped through the wreckage. The hallway beyond was littered with the unconscious forms of Forever Knight soldiers.

"Status report!" Kevin growled, his skin reverting from its metallic state to normal.

"They have Ben! And they trapped Kai!" Gwen said, finally shorting out Kai’s cell. The energy field died, and Kai stumbled out, rubbing her wrists and shooting a venomous look at Elena.

"The asset is secure." Elena announced, her nanites having levitated Ben’s unconscious form out of the cell. "We must depart immediately."

Valerie, having extricated herself from the debris, saw the situation was lost. Her perfect weapon was compromised, her soldiers were defeated, and the target was being extracted. Her face twisted in a snarl of pure rage and frustration.

"You think you've won?" she spat, backing towards a control panel on the far wall. "You've just accelerated the timeline!"

She slammed her hand down on a large, red button protected by a clear casing. A new, deeper, more urgent alarm began to sound, drowning out the others. A computerized voice echoed through the bunker.

"Self-destruction sequence initiated. T-minus three minutes to detonation. All personnel evacuate."

"She's blowing the base!" Kevin yelled. "We gotta go! Now!"

"Trajectory to the drainage exit is compromised!" EightEight reported. "The structural integrity of the lower levels will be the first to fail."

"Then we go up!" Kai shouted, pointing to the stairwell they’d come down. "Through the main entrance!"

"No time for stealth!" Looma agreed, scooping up Ben’s floating form from Elena’s nanites as if he were a doll. "I will clear the path!"

The race for survival began. Looma led the charge, a one-Tetramand wrecking crew, smashing through every door and barrier in their way. Gwen and Kevin provided cover, deflecting energy blasts from the few remaining Knights and robots who tried to slow them down. Attea, furious at the entire situation, took her anger out on the environment, blasting control panels and light fixtures as they passed.

They burst out of the main entrance, a massive, camouflaged door built into the quarry wall, into the cool night air. The moon was high, casting long shadows across the rocky terrain.

"Hope! Julie! We're out! We need extraction, now!" Gwen yelled into her Plumber badge.

From the ridge above, two vehicles roared to life. Hope’s black sports car and Julie’s more sensible sedan sped down the winding quarry road towards them.

They didn’t stop running until they were a safe distance away. Just as the last of them piled into the cars, the ground beneath them shuddered. A deep, subterranean rumble was followed by a brilliant, silent flash of light from the entrance of the bunker. Then, the sound hit them—a colossal WHUMP that shook the very air. The entrance to the Forever Knight base collapsed in on itself, sending a plume of dust and debris high into the air before it settled into a pile of rubble, entombing the Knights’ new technology and their secrets.

The cars sped away from the quarry, leaving only silence and destruction in their wake. Inside Julie’s sedan, a cramped and chaotic scene unfolded. Ben lay across the back seat, his head in Ester’s lap, while Eunice tried to make him comfortable. In the very back, EightEight maintained her position, fixing her broken armor.

In the other car, driven by a cackling Hope, the mood was equally tense. Gwen was in the passenger seat, Kai and a fuming Attea were in the back, and Looma was squeezed in between them, still holding Ben’s legs, which stuck out the window.

The unlikeliest alliance in history had survived its first battle. But the war for Ben Tennyson was far from over. It had just gotten a lot more complicated.

Chapter Text

The world returned to Ben Tennyson in pieces. First came the smell: the familiar, comforting scent of his own bedroom, mixed with the faint, alien aroma of ozone and… frog? Then came the sound: a low, rhythmic beeping that he recognized as the heart monitor his Grandpa Max kept for serious injuries. Finally, came the feeling: a deep, bone-aching weariness and a dull throb in his head, as if he’d been used as a punching bag by a team of Vaxasaurians.

He groaned, forcing his eyes open. The blurry shapes of his room slowly resolved into focus. He was in his bed. The beeping was coming from a small monitor on his nightstand. And sitting in a chair pulled up right next to the bed, her chin resting on the mattress and her big, amber eyes fixed intently on him, was Attea.

"You are finally awake." she stated, not a trace of relief in her voice, more an announcement of a fact she had been waiting to confirm. "You sleep like a hibernating Nocturnian grub. It was boring."

Ben tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. "What… what happened? The Knights… the red robot…"

"The ‘red robot’ was just a piece of garbage." Attea said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "A pathetic deception. We crushed their little hideout. It exploded. It was moderately satisfying." She leaned closer. "You, however, were useless. You were captured by a human girl in fancy armor. It was embarrassing for the entire committee."

Memories flooded back—the ambush in the bathroom, the fight as Four Arms, the paralyzing nerve strikes, the cold face of Valerie. "They knew about the Esoterica… about Dagon…" he mumbled, his throat dry.

"Here." Attea shoved a glass of water into his hand, almost spilling it on him. "Drink. Your vocal cords sound like gravel being crushed."

Ben drank greedily. The water helped clear his head. "The others? Is everyone okay?"

"Your primitive family and friends are fine." Attea reported, as if giving a battlefield summary. "The red-headed magic-user sustained minor mana depletion. The Osmosian sustained bruising. The dirt-digger and the tennis player are unharmed, though their usefulness was limited. The Sotoraggian unit sustained a shoulder injury but is already 78% repaired. The Nano-Queen is sulking because her treacherous plan failed. The Kraaho and the Omnitrix-key are downstairs, being ‘helpful’ and ‘nice.’ It is nauseating."

Ben managed a weak smile. "So… you all came for me."

Attea’s cheeks puffed out slightly, a sign of irritation. "Of course we did! You are the guy! Letting a pack of xenophobic humans dissect you would have been a catastrophic loss for me.. uh, us"

But Ben saw something else in her eyes, just for a second. Not just tactical concern, but something sharper, more personal. "Thanks, Attea." he said softly.

She looked away, flustered. "Do not thank me. It was a group effort. A sloppy, disorganized, emotionally-driven group effort, but an effort nonetheless." She stood up abruptly. "The others will want to know you are functional. Do not move. I will inform them."

She marched out of the room, her pride barely concealing her relief.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, and Gwen and Kevin peered in. They looked tired but unharmed.

"Hey, doofus." Kevin said, a grin spreading across his face. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

"Ben!" Gwen rushed to his side, her face filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

"Like I went ten rounds with a Techadon robot." Ben groaned. "But I’ll live. Attea told me what happened. You guys… you all came after me. Even Julie and Kai. Even Hope."

Gwen sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Yeah, well. Don’t get used to it. It was a one-time emergency alliance. Your… committee… is still a logistical nightmare and a menace to public property."

"But." Kevin admitted grudgingly, "they’re effective. I’ll give ‘em that. The frog princess can punch, the bounty hunter is scary-smart, and even the nanite girl, for all her crazy, knows how to break stuff. It was… almost like having a real team."

"Almost." Gwen emphasized. "A real team doesn’t have a points system for dating."

Just then, Kai and Julie appeared in the doorway. They hovered awkwardly, not quite coming in.

"Hey, Ben." Julie said, offering a small smile. "Glad you’re okay."

Kai just nodded, her arms crossed. "Don’t make a habit of getting kidnapped, Tennyson. It’s bad for my blood pressure."

"Thanks, you guys." Ben said, sincerity in his voice. "Really. I know you didn’t have to get involved in all… this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the chaos of his life.

Julie’s smile softened. "We’re your friends, Ben. Messy harem or not, that doesn’t change."

Kai uncrossed her arms, her expression serious. "She’s right. What happened with us… that’s in the past. But you’re still someone I care about. Just… as a friend. A very, very annoying friend who attracts trouble like a magnet."

The admission hung in the air, a simple, honest moment of closure. It was a weight off Ben’s shoulders. They had moved on, and they were okay. And they were still his friends.

After a few more minutes of checking on him, the group filed out, leaving him alone to rest. The crisis was over, and the temporary alliance had dissolved back into its component parts. The "harem" was once again just his problem.

Or so he thought.

Later that evening, as he was drifting in and out of sleep, he heard his door slide open quietly. A shadowy figure slipped inside. It was Attea again. She was carrying a small tray with a bowl of something steaming and… a familiar, lumpy shape under her arm.

"I have brought you grub." she announced, her voice a loud whisper. She placed the tray on his nightstand. The bowl contained what looked like green, lumpy soup. "It is Incursean warrior broth. It will restore your vitality. Eat it."

Ben eyed the broth warily. "Uh, thanks, Attea."

"And." she said, her tone shifting to something oddly hesitant, "I brought Mr. Ribbington. For moral support." She revealed the plush frog with the little crown that Ben had won for her at a carnival what felt like a lifetime ago. She propped it up on the pillow next to him.

Ben couldn't help but smile. "Mr. Ribbington. I see you’ve still got him."

"Of course I do!" she said, her voice rising before she remembered to whisper. "He is a symbol of your… adequate courtship efforts! And he is a superior tactical advisor!" She picked up the plushie and made it ‘hop’ towards Ben. "Mr. Ribbington says you should drink your broth or you will remain weak and pathetic."

Ben chuckled, then winced as it hurt his head. "Okay, okay, I’ll drink it." He took a tentative sip. It tasted… like boiled moss and regret. But he forced it down, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

Attea watched him, a strange mix of demanding and concerned on her face. She fussed with his blankets, straightening them unnecessarily. "You need to recover quickly. The committee cannot be leaderless for long. Elena is already trying to recalibrate the points system to account for the ‘rescue mission.’ It is intolerable."

She was trying to nurse him back to health and complain about her rivals at the same time. It was so quintessentially Attea that Ben felt a genuine surge of affection for her.

Just then, his phone, which was charging on the nightstand, buzzed. An unknown number flashed on the screen.

Ben picked it up cautiously. "Hello?"

"Tennyson." The voice was cold, familiar. It was Valerie.

Ben’s blood ran cold. "You! How did you get this number?"

"The Order has its ways." she said dismissively. "I’m calling to inform you that your little victory was pointless. The Esoterica are still out there. Their rituals are ongoing. The threat of Dagon is more real than you can possibly imagine."

"I don't believe you." Ben snapped, anger pushing through his fatigue. "You're just trying to mess with me."

"Am I?" Valerie’s voice was laced with contempt. "You fought them once. You know what they are capable of. You know I’m right. You need our help to stop them, whether you like it or not. That energy, the power of the Omnitrix, is the only thing that can permanently seal the rift they’re trying to open."

"If you really cared about Earth." Ben shot back, his voice trembling with anger, "you’d stop being evil, racist jerks and actually help people instead of kidnapping them! I’ll defeat whatever evil comes, with or without you. I always have!"

Attea, who had been listening with growing fury, snatched the phone from his hand. "LISTEN, YOU PALE, TRENCH-COAT-WEARING SIMPLETON!" she screamed into the receiver. "IF YOU EVER COME NEAR MY BENNY-BOO AGAIN, I WILL PERSONALLY PEEL THAT ARMOR OFF YOUR LITTLE ROBOT GIRL AND USE IT AS A PLANTER FOR MY SPACE-FUNGUS! YOU ARE BENEATH US! BENEATH ME! DO YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

There was a pause on the other end. Then, Valerie’s voice, icy calm, replied, "Tell your frog she has a surprisingly powerful set of lungs for such a small creature." The line went dead.

Attea handed the phone back to Ben, her chest heaving with indignation. "The audacity! Trying to threaten you after we so thoroughly defeated her!"

Ben leaned back against his pillows, exhausted but smiling. "Thanks, Attea."

She huffed, sitting back down in her chair. "It was nothing. Now, finish your broth. Mr. Ribbington is watching."

Chapter Text

A few days later, Ben was finally back on his feet. The effects of the sedative and the nerve strikes had worn off, thanks to a combination of Plumber medical tech, his own resilient biology, and Attea’s aggressively administered "warrior broth." The chaos of his life had settled back into its usual, manageable level of insanity.

To his surprise, the other girls had given him a wide berth. Ester and Eunice had returned to their duties in Undertown, promising to check in later. Elena had retreated to her stuff, no doubt running complex simulations on the "Unit Zero variable." EightEight was with her armor fully repaired and had resumed her silent, observant patrols of the perimeter. And Looma, after ensuring Ben was healthy, had declared she needed to "punch a mountain to relieve stress" and had taken off for parts unknown.

This left Attea, who had appointed herself his primary caretaker and was now growing restless.

"This is boring." she announced, pacing in front of the sofa where Ben was watching TV. "You are healed. The excitement is over. We require an activity."

"How about a nice, quiet evening in?" Ben suggested, channel-surfing.

"Quiet is for the weak and the elderly." Attea scoffed. "We are going on a date. A proper date. Just the two of us." She paused, a sly look on her face. "Well, just the two of us, plus probably EightEight hiding in the shadows and Elena monitoring our heart rates from a satellite. But we shall ignore them!"

Ben sighed. He knew resistance was futile. And honestly, after nearly being dissected by neo-Forever Knights, a normal date sounded… kinda nice. "Alright, fine. A date. What did you have in mind?"

An hour later, they were sitting at an outdoor table at the newly re-reopened Mr. Smoothy (the franchise was nothing if not resilient). Attea was sipping a vibrant green smoothie she’d dubbed "Swamp-water Surprise" and was, to Ben’s amazement, actually enjoying it.

"See? Earth has its charms." Ben said, sipping his own classic Berry Blast.

"It is… acceptable." Attea conceded, though she’d already drained half the cup. "But the real prize is next. You promised me chili fries."

"And chili fries you shall have." Ben said with a laugh. It was strangely normal, sitting here with an alien empress, talking about junk food.

As they walked towards the legendary chili fries food truck, Attea looped her arm through his in a possessive, almost ceremonial way. "This is pleasant." she stated. "No Looma roaring, no Elena scheming, no EightEight stating the obvious. This is how courtship should be."

"Don’t jinx it." Ben said, looking around suspiciously. He half-expected EightEight to drop from a lamppost or Elena to manifest from a sewer grate.

They got their fries—two large trays loaded with golden fries, rich chili, and a mountain of melted cheese—and found a bench in the same park where everything had gone wrong just days before. The memory was sobering, but the smell of the fries was comforting.

Attea abandoned all pretense of royal decorum, eating with a gusto that rivaled Looma’s. "These are magnificent!" she declared, cheese smeared on her chin. "A truly worthy culinary achievement! I shall have my chefs on Incurseus attempt to replicate this! Though they will likely fail. The primitive charm is part of the appeal."

Ben laughed, enjoying the simple moment. For the first time in a long time, he wasn't thinking about points, or committees, or intergalactic threats. He was just sharing chili fries with a girl he… well, a girl he definitely had complicated feelings for.

Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the familiar sound of the Proto-TRUK pulling up to the curb. Rook Blonko stepped out, his expression a mixture of relief and professional concern.

"Ben! I came as soon as I heard the details from Gwen." Rook said, striding over. "I was on a mission with Fistina, assisting with a cargo shipment, or I would have been here sooner." He nodded politely to Attea. "Empress."

"Revonnahgander." Attea replied, not looking up from her fries.

"Rook! Good to see you, man." Ben said, genuinely happy. "Yeah, it was a whole thing. New Forever Knights, a robot ninja girl, a base blowing up… you know, the usual."

Rook’s brow furrowed. "This is far from ‘the usual,’ Ben. The Forever Knights were believed to be disbanded. And this ‘Valerie’… who is she? My database has no record of a high-ranking Knight by that name. Let alone a female Forever Knight. And the technology you described is far beyond their previous capabilities."

Before Ben could answer, the passenger door of the Proto-TRUK opened and Fistina tumbled out, holding a large, greasy bag.

"Rooky-poo! You forgot sustenance!" she bellowed, holding out the bag. "I got extra chili fries because you are a growing boy who needs his strength!" She spotted Ben and Attea. "Oh! Harem-brother! And the feisty frog! Are you on date? How adorable! Here, have some of Rook’s fries! He is too shy to offer!"

Rook looked pained. "Fistina, that is not necessary. We are in the middle of an intelligence debriefing."

"Nonsense! A warrior fights on a full stomach!" Fistina declared, thrusting the bag at Rook, who reluctantly took it.

Ben was about to explain what little he knew about Valerie when the air was split by a high-pitched, obnoxious laugh.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Ben Tennyson, playing kissy-face with his alien girlfriend while the world moves on!"

They all turned. Standing there, hands on his hips and a smug grin on his face, was Billy Billions. And beside him, her polished chrome form gleaming in the sun, was his android bodyguard, Mazuma.

"Ugh, Billy." Ben groaned. "What do you want? I’m kinda busy."

"I want what I always want, Tennyson! To see you fail!" Billy chirped. "I heard you got your butt kicked by a bunch of guys in tin cans! Pathetic! I figured while you were licking your wounds, it was the perfect time to come and rub your nose in it! Mazuma! Make a mess!"

Mazuma stepped forward, her single red eye glowing. "Compliance."

"OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—" Ben yelled, slapping the Omnitrix. He didn’t have the patience for this. The green light flashed, and where Ben stood, there was now the hulking, armored form of Humungousaur.

"Really, Billy? This again?" Humungousaur boomed.

Attea was already on her feet, her blaster drawn. "You dare interrupt our courtship ritual, you insignificant human tadpole?!" she shrieked at Billy.

Rook moved to join the fight, but Fistina wrapped a muscular, cybernetic arm around his shoulders. "Now, now, Rooky-poo, let the harem-brother handle his own harem-adjacent problems! You need to eat your fries before they get cold! Look, I even got extra cheese!" She shoved a fry towards his mouth while he struggled.

Humungousaur stomped towards Mazuma. The fight was short and brutally one-sided. Billy’s tech was good, but it was no match for one of the Omnitrix’s heavy hitters. Humungousaur swatted aside the energy blasts from Mazuma’s arm cannons and grabbed the android, lifting her over his head.

"Give up, Billy! It’s over!" he roared.

"Never!" Billy screamed. "Mazuma, self-destruct! Take him with you!"

"Self-destruct sequence initiated." Mazuma intoned.

"Not in my park!" Attea yelled. She took aim and fired her blaster, not at Mazuma’s core, but at a delicate-looking junction on the android’s neck. It was a precise, almost surgical shot.

A shower of sparks erupted from Mazuma’s neck. Her red eye flickered. "Er-r-r-ror. Sys-s-s-tem mal-f-f-function." She went limp in Humungousaur’s grasp.

Billy’s jaw dropped. "What did you do to her?! Mazuma!"

"Temporary neural disruption." Attea said proudly, holstering her blaster. "I have been studying Earth robotics. They are so… fragile."

Humungousaur de-evolved back into Ben, who laid the dormant android gently on the ground. Billy, seeing his plan foiled and his bodyguard disabled, turned and ran, screaming obscenities over his shoulder.

Attea walked over to Mazuma and nudged her with a boot. "Hmm. A well-built chassis. Wasted on that simpering child." A greedy glint appeared in her eye. "Perhaps she could be… repurposed. Retrained. She would make an excellent servant for the Imperial household."

"Attea, no." Ben said firmly. "You can’t just take her as a slave."

"It is not slavery! It is… a reassignment of assets!" Attea argued. But as she spoke, Mazuma’s systems rebooted. Her red eye glowed back to life. She sat up, her movements jerky.

"Primary directive: Protect Billy Billions." she stated. Then she paused, her head tilting. "Directive… cannot be completed. Target absent. New parameters required." Her eye swiveled and focused on Ben. "Scanning. Subject: Ben Tennyson. Threat level: Variable. Ally designation: Probable. New primary directive: Assist Ben Tennyson."

Ben stared in disbelief. "Uh, what?"

Mazuma stood up, her posture now rigid and attentive. "Unit Mazuma online. Awaiting your orders, Ben Tennyson."

Attea facepalmed. "Oh, wonderful. You broke her. Now she thinks you are her master."

"I don’t want a master!" Ben protested.

"Query." Mazuma said. "Do you require protection? Nourishment? Tactical analysis? I am programmed to provide optimal service."

"This is not happening." Ben muttered. He looked at Mazuma’s blank, expectant face. She was like a lost puppy. A lost, heavily-armed, android puppy.

Attea sighed dramatically. "Elena is going to be insufferable about this. She will demand we add ‘confused android’ to the official roster. The CRHMI will need a new sub-category."

"This is NOT a harem!" Ben insisted, for what felt like the millionth time.

Rook, who had finally managed to swallow the fry Fistina force-fed him, approached cautiously. "This is a… unique development."

Fistina clapped him on the back. "See, Rooky-poo? His harem gains members even when he is not trying! It is true gift! You could learn from this!"

Rook looked like he would rather be fighting a horde of Highbreed.

Later that day, Ben and Rook stood in Max Tennyson’s living room, receiving a lecture that had been a long time coming. Max’s face was stern, his arms crossed.

"Ben, I’ve been patient." Max said, his voice calm but firm. "I told you weeks ago to handle the Attea situation with diplomacy. Instead, you’ve let it spiral into… this." He gestured vaguely, encompassing the entire chaotic situation. "A ‘committee.’ A points system. And now I hear you’ve acquired a malfunctioning android who thinks you’re her owner?"

"It’s not my fault!" Ben protested. "It was Attea! And Billy!"

"And you, Rook." Max turned his gaze to the Revonnahgander. "I expected you to be a stabilizing influence. Not getting tangled up with an Acrosian cyborg who refers to you as ‘Rooky-poo.’"

Rook looked at the floor. "My apologies, Magister Tennyson. The situation with Fistina is… complex."

Max sighed, the anger draining out of him, replaced by weary exasperation. "I know you’re both doing your best. But this has gotten out of hand. The Forever Knights are back, more dangerous than ever. This ‘Valerie’ and her ‘Unit Zero’ are unknowns. And this talk of the Esoterica returning…" He rubbed his temples. "We need focus. So, here’s what we’re going to do."

He pointed at Rook. "Rook, you’re going to complete your original assignment. You and Fistina are to report to the Plumber base and assist with loading that cargo ship. It’s a simple, straightforward job. No drama."

Rook stood straighter, relieved to have a clear order. "Yes, sir."

Then Max pointed at Ben. "Ben, you need a reminder of what normal Plumber work looks like. You’re going on a patrol with Agent Molly Gunther. A normal, boring, routine patrol of Bellwood. No aliens, no harems, no ancient cults. Just you, Molly, and hopefully a very quiet day."

Ben nodded. "Okay, Grandpa. That sounds… good, actually."

"Meanwhile." Max said, a grim look on his face, "I’m going to do some digging. I’ll reach out to my old contacts. I want to know who this Valerie really is, where these new Knights came from, and if there’s any truth to this Esoterica activity." He looked at both of them. "Understood?"

"Understood." they said in unison.

As Ben and Rook left the house, Ben felt a small sense of relief. A normal patrol with Molly Gunther sounded like a vacation. Maybe, just for a few hours, he could just be Ben Tennyson, Plumber, and not Ben Tennyson, the center of a galactic dating game.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Ben met up with Molly Gunther at the Plumber base. She was exactly as he remembered: tall, athletic, and with eyes that seemed to analyze everything with terrifying efficiency. She was dressed in practical Plumber body armor.

"Tennyson." she said by way of greeting, handing him a standard-issue Plumber blaster. "Try not to lose this. Or transform into something that breaks it. Again."

"Hey, Molly." Ben said, taking the blaster. "Ready for a nice, quiet patrol?"

Molly gave him a look that could freeze lava. "Quiet is a relative term when you’re involved, Tennyson. But Magister Tennyson’s orders are clear. We patrol the industrial sector. We look for signs of alien smuggling or tech theft. We do not engage in inter-species diplomacy or romantic entanglements. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." Ben said, feeling oddly chastised.

They set off in a Plumber hover-vehicle, Molly driving with a precision that bordered on obsessive. The first hour was, blessedly, completely boring. They checked a few warehouses, scanned for residual energy signatures, and found nothing. Ben was starting to relax.

His phone buzzed. He pulled it out. A text from Ester: Hey Ben! Just wanted to say hope your patrol is going well! Stay safe! :) P.S. The new batch of chili is extra spicy!

Ben smiled and typed back a quick thanks.

A moment later, another buzz. This one from Eunice: Ben! I have been practicing my human small talk! Question: How is the weather for patrolling? Is it sufficiently patrolling weather? I hope you are having a normall day!

Ben chuckled and replied that the weather was, indeed, very normal.

Molly side-eyed him. "Personal communications during patrol, Tennyson?"

"Just friends checking in." Ben said, putting his phone away.

He spoke too soon. As they turned a corner into a more deserted part of the industrial park, Molly suddenly slammed on the brakes. "What in the world…?"

Blocking the road ahead was Looma Red Wind. She was standing with all four hands on her hips, a massive grin on her face. "BENNY-POO! I have completed my stress-relief mountain punching and have come to supervise your patrol! A warrior must be ever vigilant!"

Ben facepalmed. "Looma, what are you doing here? This is a Plumber patrol!"

"Then I shall be your Plumber backup!" she declared. "I am a princess and a champion! I am the best backup!"

Before Ben could argue, a voice came from the rooftop to their left. "The Tetramand’s logic is flawed. Her presence is disruptive."

They looked up. EightEight was perched on the edge of the roof, her red optic glowing. "My analysis indicates this patrol route has a 3.7% chance of encountering hostiles. My presence increases defensive capabilities by 400%. I have assigned myself as covert operational support."

"YOU!?" Looma roared, pointing up at EightEight. "I am the official backup! You are just a sneaky metal skeleton!"

"Sneaky metal armor has a 98% success rate in neutralization missions." EightEight retorted. "Loud, colorful princess has a 72% success rate, with a 100% rate of property damage."

As Looma and EightEight began to argue, a sleek, black car pulled up behind them. The window rolled down, and Attea leaned out. "A patrol? How droll. But if you are doing it, then I shall accompany you. I wish to observe Earth ‘law enforcement’ techniques. And also, I have not had chili fries in over 24 hours. We will rectify that after this… patrol."

Molly Gunther’s eye was twitching. "Tennyson. Explain."

"I… can’t." Ben admitted weakly.

Then, a shimmer in the air resolved into Elena, who was suddenly just there, leaning against the hover-vehicle. "The asset’s location is sub-optimal for defensive maneuvers. This vehicle is a conspicuous target. I have taken the liberty of deploying a nanite-based cloaking screen. It is now invisible to standard optical and sensor detection."

The hover-vehicle promptly vanished from sight.

"MY VEHICLE!" Molly yelled, jumping out. She ran her hand through the empty space where it had been. "You cloaked a Plumber vehicle without authorization!"

"It was a tactical necessity." Elena said coolly. "Also, I have been monitoring your vitals, Ben. Your heart rate elevated by 12% upon the Tetramand’s arrival. This suggests either excitement or stress. The CRHMI requires clarification."

Ben was about to have an aneurysm when a final figure marched around the corner. It was Mazuma, walking with stiff, purposeful steps.

"Unit Mazuma reporting for patrol duty." she announced, stopping at attention in front of Ben. "I have run a diagnostic on this sector. Three stray cats have been identified as potential low-level threats. Shall I neutralize them?"

"NO!" Ben, Molly, Looma, Attea, and EightEight all shouted at once.

Molly Gunther pinched the bridge of her nose, taking deep, calming breaths. "Okay. Okay. This is fine. This is a normal patrol. I am a professional." She turned to Ben, her voice dangerously quiet. "Tennyson. Get. Them. Out. Of. Here. Now."

"Right! Okay, guys, listen up!" Ben said, trying to take control. "This is an official Plumber operation! You can’t all just… show up! You’re gonna blow our cover!"

"Cover is unnecessary when you have overwhelming force!" Looma argued.

"Stealth is a form of overwhelming force." EightEight countered.

"I am an Empress! I do not take orders from a common soldier!" Attea sniffed, glaring at Molly.

"The asset’s safety supersedes Plumber protocol." Elena stated.

"Primary directive: Assist Ben Tennyson." Mazuma recited. "Current assistance: being present."

The five of them immediately launched into a chaotic argument about patrol tactics, jurisdiction, and who had the right to be Ben’s primary protector. It was a cacophony of roaring, logical analysis, imperial decrees, nanite-based reasoning, and robotic loyalty.

Molly Gunther watched the scene, her professional composure finally cracking. A slow, grim smile spread across her face. She reached into her belt and pulled out a pair of advanced-looking handcuffs.

"Okay, ladies." she said, her voice cold as steel. "You want to participate in a patrol? Fine. You’re all under arrest for interfering with an official Plumber investigation, unauthorized use of Plumber property, and being a general public nuisance. Let’s take this down to the base and sort it out."

She took a step forward, the handcuffs glinting in the sun. The five girls stopped arguing and turned to look at her, a unified front of disbelief and indignation.

Ben put his head in his hands. This was not a normal patrol. This was a circus. And he was the ringmaster, whether he liked it or not.

The standoff was broken by a sound that made everyone’s blood run cold. It was a low, guttural chanting, coming from the abandoned warehouse they were parked next to. The sound was ancient, evil, and unmistakably familiar.

A symbol, glowing with eerie green energy, began to burn itself into the metal door of the warehouse: a flame. The symbol of the Esoterica. The symbol of Dagon.

Valerie had been telling the truth.

Ben’s phone buzzed one last time. A text from an unknown number—Valerie’s number. It contained only two words:

I told you.

It was the mark of the Esoterica. The mark of Dagon.

Molly Gunther’s professional demeanor vanished, replaced by the cold, hard focus of a soldier facing a confirmed threat. Her hand, which had been holding the cuffs, now went to her Plumber-issued blaster, gripping it tightly. "Everyone, weapons ready. That’s an Esoterica sigil. Tennyson, is this what the Knight was talking about?"

Ben’s face was pale. "Yeah. Yeah, it is." The text from Valerie flashed in his mind: I told you. She hadn't been lying. The cult was active, and they were here, in Bellwood.

Attea’s imperial arrogance was gone, replaced by a warrior’s scowl. "What is that foul energy? It smells of dead things and bad magic."

"It is an extradimensional entity of immense power." Elena stated, her voice taking on the layered quality of the Queen as her nanites swarmed around her, forming a defensive perimeter. "The Dagon. Its followers seek to open a gateway to its dimension. The energy signature is consistent with a summoning ritual."

Looma cracked all four of her knuckles, a fierce grin spreading across her face. "A summoning? Then they will need warriors to greet their god! I will be happy to provide a welcome!"

EightEight’s optic whirred, scanning the building. "Life signs: indeterminate. Energy readings: off the scale. The structure is saturated with chroniton particles and psionic resonance. This is a significant threat."

Mazuma stood rigid, her programming analyzing the new data. "Threat identified: Esoterica cult. Primary directive: Protect Ben Tennyson. Suggested action: Immediate retreat to a secure location."

"Retreat?" Looma roared. "We will not retreat! We will attack!"

Before the argument could restart, the warehouse doors exploded outward. Not with force, but with a wave of palpable darkness that seemed to swallow the light. From the shadows, figures emerged. They were clad in ragged, hooded robes the color of dried blood, their faces hidden. But their movements were wrong. They didn't walk; they glided, their feet not quite touching the ground. 

"There!" Molly yelled, raising her blaster. "Plumbers! Identify yourselves!"

The lead cultist raised a hand. Its fingers were long, pale, and too numerous. A voice, like gravel grinding against bone, echoed from within the hood. "The hour of the Great Return is at hand. The Key will be ours. The gate will open."

Then, they moved. They didn't run. They simply… vanished from one spot and reappeared a few feet closer, their teleportation leaving behind a brief afterimage of light and a smell of ozone and rot.

"It's hero time!" Ben shouted, slapping the Omnitrix. He didn't have time to be careful. He needed speed, power, and versatility. The dial cycled through aliens rapidly before he slammed it down. A flash of green light, and where Ben stood, there was now the sleek, black-and-white form of XLR8.

"Spread out! Don't let them surround you!" XLR8 yelled, his voice a high-speed buzz.

The battle was joined in a chaos of motion and energy. XLR8 became a blur, zipping around the cultists, trying to disorient them. But the teleporting assailants were hard to pin down. They would vanish just as he was about to land a hit, reappearing behind him or to the side.

Looma charged into the midst of them, her four fists a whirlwind of destruction. She connected with a cultist, sending it flying, but it simply teleported mid-air, landing gracefully behind her and lashing out with a bone rod that crackled with dark energy. It struck her back, and she roared in pain, stumbling forward.

Attea provided covering fire, her blaster bolts sizzling through the air. But the cultists teleported around the shots with infuriating ease. One appeared right in front of her, its hand outstretched. A wave of psychic force hit her, throwing her back against the cloaked hover-vehicle with a sickening thud.

EightEight was a study in efficiency. She didn't waste shots. She calculated the teleportation vectors, firing not where the cultists were, but where they were going to be. One of her plasma bolts connected, and a cultist shrieked, a hole burned through its robe. It didn't bleed; it leaked a black, smoky substance.

Elena was the most effective. Her nanites weren't bound by linear movement. She sent a cloud of them swarming towards a group of cultists. The nanites began eating away at their robes, their artifacts, even the air around them. The cultists teleported, but the nanites followed, a relentless, devouring tide. One cultist, overwhelmed, dissolved into a pile of black dust and a fading scream.

Molly Gunther fought with cold precision, her blaster set to a wide dispersal beam that made it harder for the cultists to avoid. She was a rock of disciplined combat amidst the chaos.

Mazuma, true to her programming, positioned herself directly in front of XLR8, using her own body as a shield. She intercepted a teleporting cultist, grappling with it. The thing was surprisingly strong, its cold fingers trying to find seams in her armor.

"Their teleportation is short-range and line-of-sight!" Elena announced, her voice cutting through the din. "They need to see where they are going! Obscure their vision!"

"On it!" XLR8 yelled. He zipped around, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and debris from the broken pavement, creating a thick screen around the battlefield.

The tactic worked. The cultists’ movements became hesitant, disoriented. They couldn't teleport effectively through the dust cloud.

"Now! Take them down!" Molly ordered.

Looma, enraged from the earlier strike, grabbed two cultists and smashed their heads together. They dissipated into black smoke. Attea, recovered, picked off another with a well-aimed shot to its hooded head. EightEight systematically eliminated the stragglers. Within minutes, the last of the cultists was gone, either destroyed or having teleported away to lick their wounds.

The dust settled. The eerie green sigil on the warehouse door faded away, leaving only a scorch mark. The chanting had stopped. The industrial park was silent once more, but the air still thrummed with residual evil.

The rescue squad-turned-patrol-party stood panting, looking at each other. The rivalry was forgotten. They had just fought a common, terrifying enemy, and they had won, but it was a hollow victory.

XLR8 de-evolved back into Ben. He leaned over, hands on his knees, breathing heavily. "Okay… so Valerie wasn't messing with us."

Molly Gunther was already on her Plumber badge. "Command, this is Agent Gunther. Code Dagon. Confirmed Esoterica activity in the Bellwood Industrial Sector. Requesting immediate containment and forensic teams. And send a new hover-vehicle. Mine has been… compromised." She glared at Elena, whose nanites were currently un-cloaking the vehicle, which now had a slight dent from where Attea had been thrown into it.

Looma was rubbing her back where the bone rod had struck her. "Their blows carry a strange coldness. It is not an honorable pain."

Attea brushed dust off her uniform, trying to regain her composure. "Teleporting cowards. They are beneath the notice of an Empress."

Elena’s eyes were glowing as she recalled her nanites. "The energy signature is consistent with a probe, not a full-scale ritual. This was a test. They were assessing our capabilities."

EightEight’s optic scanned the area. "The threat has temporarily retreated. However, the probability of a subsequent, larger-scale attack has increased to 89.3%."

Mazuma stood at attention next to Ben. "Threat neutralized. Primary directive: Maintain vigilance."

Ben looked at the assembled group—the Plumber agent, the alien empress, the warrior princess, the cyborg bounty hunter, the nanite queen, and the loyal android. It was the most powerful, most dysfunctional team imaginable. And they were all he had to face a threat that wanted to unravel reality itself.

"We need to tell Grandpa Max." Ben said, his voice grim. "Now."

Chapter Text

The sterile white of the Plumber base infirmary was a stark contrast to the chaotic rainbow of personalities that had just saved Ben’s life. The smell of antiseptic fought a losing battle against the lingering scent of ozone, dust, and something vaguely like boiled moss, a parting gift from Attea’s "warrior broth." Ben sat on the edge of a bio-bed while a medical drone finished its final scan, its polite chirps a counterpoint to the stern silence emanating from his grandfather.

Max Tennyson stood with his arms crossed, his iconic floral shirt doing little to soften the hard lines of his expression. He had listened to the full report from Molly Gunther, his face growing grimmer with each detail: the teleporting cultists, the Dagon sigil, the tactical competence of Ben’s... entourage.

"The Esoterica." Max said, his voice a low rumble. "I was hoping I’d never have to deal with them again. After we stopped the Dagon, I thought Vilgax had scattered them for good."

"Looks like they found a new purpose." Ben said, rubbing his temples. "Valerie, the new Forever Knight girl, she knew they were back. She said she was trying to stop them."

"By kidnapping you and trying to weaponize the Omnitrix?" Max’s eyebrow arched. "That’s a strange way of asking for help."

"She’s… complicated." Ben admitted. "Her family was collateral damage during the Dagon invasion. She hates aliens, Grandpa. All of them. But she seems to hate the Dagon more. She said my watch was the only thing powerful enough to seal the rift they’re trying to open."

Max’s expression softened slightly. He walked over and sat next to Ben on the bed, the familiar weight of his presence a comfort. "Revenge is a powerful motivator, Ben. It can make people do terrible things for what they think are the right reasons. But it also makes them predictable. And dangerous." He sighed, running a hand over his face. "A new, technologically advanced Forever Knights order led by a Dagon survivor, and the return of the Esoterica, all at the same time. This isn’t a coincidence. It’s a storm gathering."

Ben looked at his hands. "Valerie’s wrong about aliens. About everything. But… she might be right about the threat. That fight was… different. They weren’t just thugs. They were organized."

"I know." Max said grimly. "Molly’s report was thorough. And she had some… interesting things to say about your backup." He gave Ben a pointed look. "It seems your ‘committee’ can do more than just argue over chili fries."

Ben winced. "Yeah, well, they’re not so bad in a fight. When they’re not fighting each other."

"Ben." Max’s voice turned serious. "Listen to me. This situation with the girls… it’s gone beyond a personal problem. You saw it today. They’re a force of nature. A powerful, volatile, and unpredictable tactical asset. And you’re the one they all listen to. Whether you like it or not, you’re their commander."

The word hit Ben with the force of a physical blow. Commander. He wasn’t a commander. He was a guy trying not to get his head bitten off, literally and figuratively.

"That means you have a responsibility, not just for them, but to them." Max continued, his voice softer now. "You need to get them to work together. To trust each other. Because if this Esoterica threat is as big as I think it is, you’re going to need every last one of them. You’re going to need an army. And it looks like you’ve already got one, whether you intended to or not."

Ben thought of the scene in the industrial park. Looma’s roar, Attea’s precise shots, EightEight’s cold logic, Elena’s overwhelming power, even Mazuma’s robotic loyalty. They had fought as a unit. A messy, bickering, dysfunctional unit, but a unit nonetheless.

"I don’t know how to be a commander, Grandpa." Ben confessed, his voice quiet.

Max put a hand on his shoulder. "You’ll learn. You’ve been learning your whole life. You lead by example. You trust your instincts. And you trust your team, even the parts of it that drive you crazy." He stood up. "I’m going to coordinate with Plumber Command and start digging into this Valerie. See what we can find. You… you figure out your next move. But whatever it is, do it carefully."

As Max left, Ben was left alone with the weight of his grandfather’s words. A commander. An army. He looked at his phone, a dozen different text threads from a dozen different girls, all asking if he was okay, where he was, and when they were going to get those chili fries Attea had mentioned.

He scrolled to his contacts and found the unknown number from Valerie. He had to know more. He had to understand what he was up against. If he was going to lead this chaotic army, he needed intelligence. He needed to talk to the enemy. Or the other enemy. Or the potential ally. It was all so confusing.

He took a deep breath and typed a message.

We need to talk. Face to face. No robots, no ambushes. Just you and me.

He hit send, his heart pounding. The storm was coming, and he was standing right in the middle of it.

Chapter Text

The Tennyson living room had become a de facto war council chamber. Ben had barely been home for five minutes before they had all converged, drawn by some invisible signal that screamed ‘Ben is about to do something stupid’.

Attea was pacing in front of the fireplace, her arms crossed. Looma was practicing her intimidation stances by the window, making the glass vibrate. EightEight was perched silently on the back of the sofa, her single red optic fixed on Ben. Elena was leaning against the doorframe, a faint, analytical smirk on her lips. Ester and Eunice were sitting nervously on the ottoman, radiating concern. Rook had been summoned, standing at parade rest near the kitchen, looking as though he’d rather be wrestling a Kinceleran. Even Mazuma was there, standing motionless by the TV, her programming apparently interpreting this as a high-stakes protection detail.

"Let me be certain I have processed this correctly." Attea said, stopping her pacing to glare at Ben. "You intend to meet with the treacherous human female who kidnapped you, who leads a cult of xenophobic primitives, and whose metallic pet nearly disassembled you?"

"She’s not a pet, she’s a highly advanced android, and Valerie says she’s not a part of the Esoterica, she’s trying to stop them." Ben clarified, already feeling exhausted. "And her name is Unit Zero, apparently."

"A distinction without a difference!" Looma boomed. "She is a dishonorable foe who uses sedatives and ambush tactics! To meet with her is to invite a knife to your back!"

"The statistical probability of this meeting being another ambush is 73.4%." EightEight stated calmly. "Valerie has established a pattern of duplicitous behavior. To engage with her under these terms is strategically unsound."

"I’m going to take precautions." Ben insisted. "I told her, no robots, no tricks."

Elena let out a soft, condescending laugh. "And you believe her? Ben, your capacity for misplaced trust is statistically remarkable. She will analyze your tactics, your emotional state, your weaknesses. This meeting is not a parley; it’s a data-gathering exercise for her."

"Elena’s right, Ben." Ester said gently, wringing her hands. "It just feels… wrong. It’s too dangerous. What if they hurt you again?"

"We should all go with you!" Eunice suggested brightly. "We could be your honor guard! To ensure the meeting is honorable!"

"That is the exact opposite of what I’m trying to do." Ben groaned. "This needs to be a quiet conversation, not a diplomatic incident."

Rook finally spoke, his voice a calm baritone in the sea of feminine protest. "Ben, while I understand your desire for intelligence, the others raise valid points. This Valerie has proven herself to be an enemy of the Plumbers and a threat to you personally. Approaching her without backup is a violation of standard operating procedure."

"My primary directive is to protect you, Ben Tennyson." Mazuma intoned. "Your current plan places you in 1.4 giga-joules of potential harm. I must advise against this course of action."

Ben threw his hands up in frustration. "Look, I appreciate that you’re all… worried. But this is the only way! Valerie knows more about the Esoterica than we do. I need that information. I have to know what we’re up against. And I can handle myself!"

"You said that before you were found unconscious in a public restroom." Attea shot back, her voice sharp. But then, her expression shifted. The imperial anger faded, replaced by something softer, something that looked almost… vulnerable. She took a step closer, her voice dropping so only he could hear. "Benny-boo, I… I do not wish to see you… neutralized. That Valerie girl… she is cold. She has no honor. That Unit Zero android… it is a killer. When we found you… you were helpless." She looked away, her cheeks puffing out. "It was… unpleasant."

The admission stunned Ben into silence. Attea wasn’t just being possessive or jealous. She was genuinely, truly worried. She had seen him at his weakest, and the memory clearly disturbed her.

EightEight’s optic whirred, focusing on Attea, then on Ben. "The Empress’s emotional assessment aligns with my tactical analysis. The risk to the asset is unacceptably high. I also find the prospect of your neutralization… suboptimal."

Coming from EightEight, that was practically a declaration of profound affection.

Ben looked around the room at the circle of concerned faces—alien, human, android, and hybrid. His army. His friends. Max’s words echoed in his head. You’re their commander. A commander listened to his troops. But a commander also had to make the hard calls.

"I hear you." Ben said, his voice firm but quiet. "I hear all of you. And I know the risks. But this is a risk I have to take. I’m going. Alone."

A wave of protests erupted, but Ben held up a hand, and to his surprise, they quieted.

"This isn’t up for debate." he said, a note of command in his voice he didn’t know he had. "The meeting is in one hour. Public place. The Bellwood Central Library plaza. It’s open, lots of witnesses. It’s as safe as it’s going to get. I’ll be fine."

He turned and walked towards the door, feeling the weight of their collective disapproval on his back. He had made his decision.

As he left, Attea sidled up to the silent Sotoraggian. "Psst. EightEight."

The red optic swiveled to face her. "Empress."

"He is a fool." Attea whispered, her voice a conspiratorial hiss. "A brave, handsome, infuriating fool. He is going to get himself killed."

"The probability of a negative outcome remains high." EightEight agreed.

"Therefore." Attea continued, a cunning glint in her eye, "we cannot allow him to go alone. But if he sees us, his ridiculous male pride will be injured, and he will send us away."

EightEight’s optic whirred as she processed the logic. "You are proposing a covert surveillance operation. To act as a clandestine failsafe should the situation escalate."

"Exactly!" Attea grinned. "You will use your stealth technology to remain unseen. I will… also remain unseen. We will find a high vantage point and observe. If that tin-plated human and her red-bladed toy try anything, we will intervene. Decisively."

"This plan is logical." EightEight concluded after a moment’s calculation. "It balances the asset’s directive for solitude with the practical necessity of his survival. I will comply."

"Excellent." Attea purred. "Now, let us prepare. I need to find a suitable disguise. Something… inconspicuous." She looked down at her royal Incursean uniform.

This might be more difficult than she thought.

Chapter Text

The Bellwood Central Library was a grand old building of marble and stone, a temple to quiet contemplation. Its sprawling front plaza, dotted with benches and fountains, was usually a peaceful oasis in the bustling city. Today, for Ben, it felt like the site of a prisoner exchange.

He sat on a cold stone bench, pretending to read a newspaper he’d found, his eyes scanning the sparse crowd of students and office workers on their lunch break. He felt exposed, his hand hovering instinctively near the Omnitrix. He had chosen this spot for its openness, but now he felt like a target on a firing range. He tried to spot Attea or EightEight, whom he was 99% sure had followed him, but saw no sign of the Incursean Empress or the Sotoraggian bounty hunter. They were good.

"Tennyson."

The voice was as cold and sharp as he remembered. Ben looked up. Valerie stood before him, her hands shoved into the pockets of her signature grey trench coat. She looked just as out of place here as he felt. Her eyes, sharp and analytical, swept the plaza, cataloging every person, every exit.

"Valerie." Ben said, folding the newspaper. "You came. Alone, I hope."

"Unit Zero is monitoring from a secure, off-site location." she said flatly. "A necessary precaution. I don’t trust you any more than you trust me."

"Fair enough." Ben said, patting the bench beside him. "Have a seat."

She remained standing, a predator unwilling to relax. "This isn’t a social call. You wanted to talk. Talk."

From a rooftop across the street, a pair of high-tech macrobinoculars focused on the scene. "Subject Valerie appears agitated." EightEight’s voice murmured into a commlink. "Asset Tennyson is maintaining a calm posture. No immediate signs of hostility."

Attea, crouched beside her behind an air conditioning unit and wearing a comically large pair of sunglasses and a floppy sun hat she’d stolen from Sandra’s closet, growled into her own comm. "She is standing over him! A clear power play! It is an insult! Should I vaporize the bench to assert dominance?"

"Negative." EightEight replied calmly. "That would compromise the covert nature of the operation."

Back in the plaza, Ben decided to get straight to the point. "The Esoterica. They attacked me. And my… friends."

"I know." Valerie said. "I received the Plumber reports. And the energy signature logs. It was a probing attack. They were testing you."

"Testing us for what?"

Valerie finally sighed, the sound sharp with frustration, and sat down on the far end of the bench. "They’re looking for the Key. That’s what their leader called you. They believe the Omnitrix isn’t just a weapon; it’s the key to unlocking the gate to the Dagon’s dimension permanently. They think they can use its power to bypass the need for complex rituals and just… pry open the door to reality."

Ben felt a chill run down his spine. "And you? The Forever Knights? What’s your angle in all this? You said you wanted to weaponize the watch."

"We do." Valerie stated, her voice devoid of emotion. "The Arbiter—our analytical supercomputer—calculated that a focused, controlled blast of Omnitrix energy, channeled through a specific dampening field, could create a resonance cascade that would permanently seal any interdimensional rift, including the one the Esoterica are trying to create. It would be like cosmic concrete. We’re not trying to destroy your watch, Tennyson. We’re trying to turn it into a lock."

"By kidnapping me and threatening my friends?" Ben shot back, his anger rising. "You’ve got a funny way of asking for help, Valerie. You talk about saving the world, but you act just like the villains you claim to be fighting."

"We do what is necessary!" she retorted, her cold composure cracking for a moment. "The old Knights were fools, chasing dragons and glory. We are realists. We see a threat, and we neutralize it, by any means necessary. And aliens are a threat! Your presence here, your very existence, invites chaos to this planet!"

"That’s where you’re wrong!" Ben stood up, turning to face her. "You think aliens are the problem? The Esoterica are human, Valerie! The ones who worshipped a trans-dimensional monster and tried to sacrifice the entire planet to it? They were human! Your own order, the Forever Knights, have tried to commit genocide against aliens a dozen times! You’re so blinded by your hate for anyone who isn’t from this planet that you can’t see the real monsters are the ones who are driven by hate itself!"

His words hung in the air between them. Valerie stared at him, her expression a mixture of anger and… something else. Confusion. Conflict.

"My family was killed by an alien, Tennyson." she said, her voice dropping to a low, painful whisper. "During the Dagon’s attack. It wasn’t the Dagon itself. It was one of his Lucubra minions. A psychic parasite that possessed our neighbor. It… it made him…" She trailed off, unable to finish, but Ben could imagine.

"I’m sorry." Ben said softly, and he meant it. "I truly am. But that was one alien. Corrupted by a greater evil. You can’t judge every species in the universe by the actions of one monster. My partner is an alien. My cousin is half-alien. The girls you saw me with… they’ve saved my life more times than I can count. They’re not perfect, but they’re not evil. They’re just… people. From different places."

Valerie looked away, towards the fountain, her jaw tight. "The Arbiter’s logic is absolute. Alien contact increases global threat levels by a factor of twelve."

"Then your computer is an idiot!" Ben said. "It’s not about where you’re from. It’s about what you choose to do. You have a choice, Valerie. You can keep being a hateful bigot who thinks blowing stuff up is the answer to everything, or you can be a hero. A real one. You can help me stop the Esoterica, the right way."

Valerie was silent for a long time, watching the water dance in the fountain. Ben could practically see the war going on inside her head. Her grief, her training, her hatred, all clashing with the simple, frustrating logic of his words.

Finally, she stood up. "I will not apologize for my methods. And I will not pretend to like your alien menagerie. The Arbiter’s plan to weaponize the Omnitrix is still our primary objective." She paused, turning to look him in the eye. Her expression was still cold, but the burning hatred had been banked, replaced by a grudging pragmatism. "But… you are correct that the Esoterica are the more immediate threat. And your… team… proved to be surprisingly effective against them."

She took a half-step closer. "For now, the Knights will operate on a parallel track. We will hunt the Esoterica, and you will hunt them. We are not allies. But we are not, for the moment, active adversaries. I will establish a secure communication channel. We will share intelligence. Nothing more."

It was the closest thing to a truce he was going to get. "Okay." Ben said, nodding. "A truce. For now."

"One more thing, Tennyson." Valerie said, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk touching her lips. "I have reviewed the data from the recent skirmishes. Your operational security is a disaster. You surround yourself with emotionally volatile, hyper-competitive females who are clearly all vying for your attention." Her eyes flicked towards the rooftop where Attea and EightEight were hiding, a clear sign that her own surveillance had spotted them ages ago. "Having a harem is a tactical nightmare, Ben. It’s a massive vulnerability. You should really get that under control."

"IT’S NOT A HAREM!" Ben yelled, his voice echoing across the plaza. Several people turned to stare.

Valerie just shook her head and walked away, disappearing into the lunchtime crowd. Ben stood there, his face burning, fuming at her parting shot.

On the rooftop, Attea lowered her binoculars, her face a mask of fury. "That wretched, pale-faced harpy dares to annoy my Benny-boo? The audacity! The sheer, unmitigated gall! EightEight, recalibrate my blaster to ‘incinerate trench coat’!"

"That would be a violation of the newly established truce." EightEight pointed out.

"Details, details!" Attea fumed, but she didn’t press the issue.

The meeting was over. Ben was safe. And they had a new, bigger enemy to worry about.

Chapter Text

The moment Ben got back to the relative safety of Kevin’s garage—the designated neutral ground since his house was overflowing with aliens—he got to work. He pulled out his Plumber badge and initiated a secure data transfer to Max, Molly, and the main Plumber command server.

He uploaded everything. His conversation with Valerie, her explanation of the ‘Arbiter’ supercomputer and the Forever Knights’ plan to create an "Omnitrix lock." her intel on the Esoterica believing the Omnitrix was the ‘Key’ to Dagon’s dimension. He included his own analysis, the description of the teleporting cultists, and the energy signatures they had left behind.

Kevin Levin leaned against his workbench, wiping grease from a complex-looking car part with a rag. "So, the new Knights want to turn your watch into a cosmic doorstop to keep Cthulhu out, and the Cthulhu-worshippers want to use it as a key to let him in. You’re popular."

"Tell me about it." Ben sighed, watching the progress bar on his badge fill up. "At least now we have a clearer picture of what we’re up against. Two different groups, both obsessed with the Omnitrix for different reasons."

"Sounds like the same old story to me." Kevin grunted. "Everyone wants a piece of the hero. Or his watch." He tossed the rag aside. "You really think you can trust this Valerie chick? She seems like bad news."

"I don’t trust her." Ben said. "Not one bit. But I think she’s more scared of the Dagon than she is of me, for now. That makes her predictable. We can use the intel she gives us, as long as we double-check everything."

The transfer completed with a soft chime. Within seconds, his badge buzzed with an incoming call from Max.

"Ben, I got the data." his grandfather’s voice said, sounding strained. "This is… more serious than I thought. A supercomputer called the ‘Arbiter’? A plan to weaponize the Omnitrix? I’m running a search through old Plumber and CIA archives for any Cold War-era projects with that name. It sounds familiar, but I can’t place it."

"What about the Esoterica?" Ben asked.

"That’s the other problem. The energy signature you recorded from the attack… it’s a match for readings we’ve been getting from all over the world. Small, isolated spikes of extradimensional energy. We thought it was just atmospheric interference. But it’s not. It’s them. They’re setting up shop everywhere, preparing for something big."

"A global summoning ritual?" Kevin muttered, overhearing the conversation. "That’s ambitious, even for a doomsday cult."

"Exactly." Max’s voice confirmed. "Ben, this intel from Valerie is vital. It changes the entire scope of the threat. I’m classifying the Esoterica as a level-ten global priority. All Plumber assets are being mobilized. Molly Gunther is putting together a specialized rapid-response team. We’re going on a war footing." He paused. "You did good, Ben. Taking that risk paid off."