Chapter 5: A Ghost in the Machine
The familiar silhouette of his house against the star-dusted sky was usually a comforting sight. Tonight, it felt like the finish line of a race he hadn'tknown he was running. Every muscle in Ben's body ached, a deep, weary pain that came from being stretched into a creature of fire and then violently snapped back.
He slipped the key into the lock, turning it with painstaking slowness, cringing at the soft click that sounded like a gunshot in the dead of night. He pushed the door open a few inches and slid through the gap, closing it behind him with the same silent care. The house was dark and still, breathing with the quiet hum of the refrigerator and the gentle ticking of a clock on the wall. He tiptoed through the entryway, his eyes slowly adjusting.
In the living room, bathed in the pale blue light of the streetlamp filtering through the window, was his grandfather. Max Tennyson was asleep in his favorite armchair, his head tilted to one side. Even in slumber, he looked formidable. His hair was a thick, neat mane of silver-grey, and his face, though relaxed, was etched with the lines of a life lived outdoors, full of laughter and hardship. A well-worn plaid blanket was draped over his lap, his strong, calloused hands resting on top.
Ben held his breath and continued his stealthy trek towards the kitchen, his bare feet making no sound on the cool wooden floor. He needed a tool. Something to pry with. His eyes fell on the cutlery drawer. As he reached for it, the light from his wrist caught his eye. He paused, looking down at the Omnitrix. The angry red had faded, and the familiar, healthy green of the hourglass symbol pulsed softly once again.
"It's green again?" Ben whispered to himself, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe it was over. He quickly squashed the thought. "No. I don't care."
He slid the drawer open, the sound of the rollers seeming deafeningly loud. He snatched a sturdy tablespoon and closed it again. Bracing his left arm on the kitchen counter, he jammed the tip of the spoon into the microscopic gap between the device and his skin. He gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his forehead, and pushed with every ounce of strength he possessed. The metal of the spoon bent under the strain, his knuckles turned white, but the watch didn't move. Not a millimeter. With a final, desperate heave, the spoon slipped, flying from his grasp and arcing through the air.
Ben flinched, waiting for the clatter of it hitting the floor, a sound that would surely wake his grandfather. But the sound never came.
He opened his eyes. The spoon was floating an inch from the floor, held suspended in a familiar, shimmering pink aura. His gaze followed the energy back to its source.
Gwen stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, an unimpressed look on her face. The pink glow faded, and she deftly caught the spoon before it could fall.
"You have the nerve," she said, her voice a low, accusatory whisper, "to come home after dinner time."
Ben's heart nearly leaped into his throat. He tried to play it cool, forcing a casual shrug. "Didn't think you'd still be up."
Her sharp green eyes, so much like his own, immediately dropped to his wrist. "What's that?"
Instinctively, he yanked his hand back, hiding it behind him. "Nothing," he said, his voice a little too quick. "Just a… a new accessory I got."
Gwen raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Still buying children's toys? Honestly, Ben." She sighed, placing the bent spoon on the counter. "Anyway, I have something you need to see."
She pulled her phone from the pocket of her pajamas and tapped the screen. She held it out to him. The headline was from a major news network.
"All Might stops another villain? That happens all the time," Ben said, trying to sound bored as he subtly kept his left hand out of sight. "What's so special about this one?"
"Look at the photos," she insisted, swiping through a gallery. The first few showed the Sludge Villain and the usual property damage. But then, a picture came up that made Ben's blood run cold. It was a clear shot of the villain, and clutched within its suffocating grasp, his face a mask of rage and terror, was a boy with spiky, ash-blond hair.
"Bakugo!" Ben exclaimed, his voice cracking. "He was taken hostage?"
"That's not all," Gwen said, her expression serious. She swiped again. The next few photos were blurrier, taken by a civilian. They showed a frantic, desperate figure—a boy with unruly green hair and a yellow backpack—dashing towards the monster.
Ben was completely stunned. He took the phone from her, his fingers trembling as he zoomed in. It was unmistakable. "Midoriya… What is that idiot doing? He's Quirkless, like me…" He looked up at Gwen, his earlier problems momentarily forgotten, his face etched with genuine worry. "Is he okay?"
"The report says All Might handled the situation before any real disaster happened. No one died," she explained. "But it looks like Bakugo won't be too happy about what happened. Having to be saved… and seeing Deku try to save him."
"I can't even imagine how he's going to act after his pride got so wounded," Ben muttered, handing the phone back. As he did, the Omnitrix on his hidden wrist suddenly emitted a soft, two-tone beep.
Gwen's eyes snapped back to his arm. Before he could react, she stepped forward, her curiosity piqued. "Seriously, what kind of accessory is that?" She reached out a finger.
"Wait!" Ben yelled, but it was too late. Her finger made contact with the faceplate.
The world dissolved into a blinding flash of green light and a sound like a charging capacitor. Gwen stumbled back, shielding her eyes. When the light faded, Ben was gone. In his place stood something else.
It was a phantom. Its body was a wispy, smoke-like grey, with a single, eerie purple eye that stared out from within the black lines covering its form. Its skin looked like a tattered shroud, and one of its claw-like hands drifted to its head.
"This," the creature said, its voice a dry, chilling whisper that echoed from multiple directions at once, "just got worse."
Gwen stared, her body frozen. Her mind, usually so quick and analytical, was blank. She registered the hourglass symbol on the creature's chest, the same symbol from the watch.
"Gwen," the ghost-thing whispered, its voice laced with Ben's familiar panic. "I have an explanation for this! I'll tell you everything, okay?"
The spell of shock broke. Gwen took one slow, trembling step backward. Then another. The logical part of her brain had shut down, and pure, primal fear took over.
"GHOST!" she screamed, a full-throated, terrified shriek that shattered the silence of the house. She spun around and bolted for the front door.
"Wait!" the ghost cried. It flew—not running, but gliding through the air—and phased through the living room wall, appearing directly in her path to the door. "Please, stop!"
But she couldn't stop. Her momentum carried her forward, and she ran directly into the specter. And straight through it.
The sensation was like plunging into ice-cold smoke. A chilling, violating feeling of displacement washed over both of them. Gwen stumbled out the other side, spinning to a halt in the entryway. The ghost re-solidified, its single eye wide with a shock that mirrored her own.
For a beat, there was silence. Then, they both began to scream.
Their continuous, dual-toned shrieking finally roused the man in the armchair. Max Tennyson's eyes snapped open. With a groan, he grabbed the golf club he kept propped against his chair and stormed into the hallway.
"What are you two doing?!" he boomed.
The screaming stopped. The three of them stood frozen in a bizarre tableau: Gwen, pale and trembling; the horrifying ghost, looking just as scared; and the patriarch of the family in his pajamas, wielding a nine-iron like a weapon.
Max blinked, staring at the ghost. He looked at Gwen, then back at the ghost. A long, heavy silence passed. Then, with a weary sigh, he lowered the club.
"Well," he said, turning to go back to his chair. "Looks like I'm getting old and starting to hallucinate."
"Grandpa, no, wait!" Gwen cried, rushing after him.
"It's me! It's Ben!" the ghost wailed, flying after her.
Max stopped, the noise and the pleading finally breaking through his tired disbelief. He spun around, his expression one of profound exasperation.
"Will everyone," he roared, his voice filling the house with an authority that stopped them both cold, "just be QUIET!"
Minutes later, the stars shone brightly in the night sky, indifferent witnesses to the strange events below. Inside, the living room was quiet. Ben, human once more, sat on one end of the sofa, nursing a glass of water. The Omnitrix on his wrist was glowing red again. Gwen sat on the far end, wrapped in a blanket, occasionally glancing at Ben's wrist as if it might bite her. Grandpa Max sat in his armchair, rubbing the grey stubble on his chin, his sharp eyes fixed on his grandson.
"It's a story wilder than fiction, Ben," he said, his voice a low rumble. "But… seeing you transform into… a ghost… makes it all frighteningly real."
"I've never heard of anything like this in my life," Gwen said, her voice still shaky. "A device that can alter your DNA? Who owns it? Who even invented it?"
"I'm telling you the story just like it happened," Ben insisted, his voice laced with exhaustion. "It's not like I wanted this thing. It just… won't come off."
As if on cue, the television, which had been left on a low volume, broke to a special news report. On the screen was grainy, shaky footage of a familiar figure made of rock and fire, running frantically through a burning forest. The chyron at the bottom of the screen read in bold letters: WANTED: UNIDENTIFIED ARSONIST VILLAIN.
Grandpa Max leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Isn't that the forest where we went camping yesterday?"
Gwen's head slowly turned towards Ben, her eyes wide with dawning horror. "Don't tell me…"
Ben sank lower into the sofa cushions. "I didn't know what was happening!" he said defensively. "The fire was just… coming out of my body!"
Gwen put a hand to her face, dragging it down her cheeks in a gesture of pure exasperation. "What kind of مصيبة (misfortune) has fallen on us?" she groaned. "Now you're a wanted criminal in the city."
"He has to be extremely careful not to turn into that flaming man again," Grandpa Max said, his voice firm and serious. "No… he has to avoid touching that device at all. I'll see what I can find out about this… Omnitrix."
Ben looked down at the glowing red watch. "School is tomorrow," he said quietly. "Should I… skip?"
"No," Gwen said, stifling a massive yawn. "You just have to wear a long-sleeved shirt, avoid letting anyone see it, and whatever you do, don't touch it. I'm exhausted… I'm going to sleep. Ugh."
She stood up and shuffled off towards her room. Grandpa Max gave Ben one last, long look—a look of deep concern mixed with something else, something unreadable—before heading to his own bedroom.
Ben was left alone in the quiet living room. He walked over to the window and sighed, his breath fogging the glass. Outside, the world was peaceful, the stars continuing their silent, cosmic dance, completely unaware of the impossible secret now wrapped around his wrist.
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