March 9, 2010 – New York City, Manhattan
Three months had passed since Angela Green found herself at a crossroads, her life a precarious tightrope stretched between duty and desperation. In the bustling warmth of a Midtown café, she sat tucked into a corner booth, her fingers drumming an anxious rhythm on the worn wooden table. She checked her watch for the third time, the ticking second hand a reminder of the risk she was taking.
A man by the name Benjamin Tennyson had reached out with a cryptic email, proposing a business venture that sparked equal parts skepticism and intrigue. The message had been oddly specific, referencing her career at Zeldin Corporation with a precision that set her nerves on edge.
Against her better judgment, she'd agreed to meet him here, in a coffee shop just blocks from her office, hoping for a lifeline out of the suffocating routine that defined her days.
Angela's life was a delicate balancing act, one she navigated with the precision of a seasoned strategist. As a single mother of two—a bright-eyed daughter and a rebellious son—she juggled the demands of a high-pressure job at Zeldin Corporation, an unreliable ex who drifted in and out of their lives, and the persistent, unwelcome advances of a boss who saw her as a trophy to be won rather than a professional.
Every day felt like treading water in a storm, the waves of responsibility threatening to pull her under. At thirty-four, Angela was known for unyielding professionalism and a sharp strategic mind, but she felt stifled, her talents wasted in a company that was spiraling into a toxic morass. After a decade of loyalty, the recent leadership shift had turned Zeldin into a place she barely recognized—a soulless machine driven by egos and agendas.
Quietly, she'd begun searching for an exit, scouring job boards and networking discreetly, desperate for a way to reclaim her own future.
Ben's email had nearly gone to her spam folder, dismissed as another cold pitch from a startup dreamer. But something about his words—the way he pinpointed her frustrations at Zeldin, her undervalued contributions, her hunger for something more—had hooked her.
He claimed to offer a "unique business opportunity" that could change her life.
It sounded too good to be true, and Angela wasn't naive. Yet the faint promise of escape, of a chance to break free from the grind, had been enough to bring her here, sipping lukewarm coffee in a crowded café, waiting for a stranger who might just be her ticket out—or another dead end.
The bell above the door chimed, and Angela's eyes flicked up as a young man entered. He was taller than she'd expected, lean but athletic, with a mop of dark hair and piercing green eyes that scanned the room with quiet confidence. He looked more like a newly enrolled college student than a corporate visionary, dressed in a dark gray jacket over a simple black t-shirt and jeans.
But there was an assuredness in his stride, a purposeful energy that belied his youth. Spotting her, he offered a polite nod and approached, his gaze steady and direct.
"Ms. Green, thank you for meeting me," he said, sliding into the booth across from her. His voice was calm, measured, with a hint of warmth that put her at ease despite her wariness.
"You have ten minutes, Mr. Tennyson," Angela replied, her arms crossed, her expression a mask of cool professionalism. She wasn't here to waste time, and she wanted him to know it.
Ben smiled faintly, unfazed by her guarded tone. "Fair enough. I'll get straight to the point."
Angela studied him closely, her years of corporate negotiations sharpening her instincts. He was young— maybe early twenties, at most—but there was something about him that didn't quite fit the mold of the startup founders she'd met. Those men were often brash, overconfident, or dripping with rehearsed charisma.
He was different. His confidence was quiet, almost understated, but it carried a weight that made her pause. His eyes held a depth that suggested he'd seen more than his age implied, and the way he carried himself—relaxed yet purposeful—hinted at someone who knew exactly what he was doing.
"You've got my attention," she said, her tone cautious but curious. "But I'll be honest, I was hesitant to come. I don't usually entertain unsolicited offers from strangers. So, who are you, Mr. Tennyson, and what do you want?"
Ben leaned back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "I get it. This probably seems like it came out of nowhere, and I don't blame you for being skeptical. But I'm here because I know what you're capable of, Angela, and I think you deserve a chance to show it."
His words, delivered with a disarming sincerity, caught her off guard. She kept her expression neutral, but her mind raced. "Go on."
"You've been with Zeldin Corporation for nearly ten years," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You've been a key player in their growth—streamlining operations, boosting efficiency, navigating their mess of a corporate structure. But the last few years haven't been easy. The company's shifting in a direction you don't agree with, and the new leadership is making it worse. You're undervalued, overworked, and stuck in a role that doesn't let you shine."
Angela's eyes narrowed, her fingers tightening around her coffee mug. "You made that clear in your email. What I want to know is how you know so much about me. Did you dig into my background?"
Ben shook his head, his expression open. "Only enough to understand your career. Public records, industry reports, a few connections in the right places. I'm not here to pry into your personal life, Angela. I'm here because I see potential in you—potential that Zeldin's wasting."
She raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "And what makes you think you're the one to unlock that potential? You're asking me to take a leap of faith on someone I've never met."
"Fair point," Ben said, leaning forward slightly. "Think of me as someone who recognizes talent in the overlooked. I know you value loyalty, structure, and the freedom to work without someone breathing down your neck. I can offer you that—and more."
Angela folded her hands on the table, her posture rigid. "And what exactly are you offering?"
Ben's eyes lit up, a spark of excitement breaking through his calm demeanor. "A new company. One where you can call the shots, build the culture from the ground up, and lead with the vision you've been forced to suppress at Zeldin. We're talking cutting-edge technology—smartphones, wearables, an entire ecosystem designed to make life easier, safer, and more connected. A company that could rival the likes of Apple or Stark Industries, but with a focus on accessibility for everyone, not just the elite."
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a sleek black smartphone, sliding it across the table with a hint of pride. "This is a prototype of what I've been working on. Try it out for yourself."
Angela picked up the device, her fingers brushing against its lightweight, polished surface. The screen flickered to life, vibrant colors dancing across a display that felt years ahead of anything she'd seen in 2010. She swiped through the interface, her movements instinctive, marveling at its responsiveness. "This is… impressive," she admitted, her eyebrows lifting as she navigated a series of apps that flowed seamlessly.
"Go ahead, try the voice command," Ben said, leaning forward with a grin, his enthusiasm infectious.
Angela hesitated, then spoke clearly. "Open calendar."
The calendar app appeared instantly, its sleek design displaying her upcoming appointments—pulled, she realized, from a test profile embedded in the prototype. "Huh," she said, glancing at Ben. "That was fast."
Ben's grin widened. "That's just the start. The custom processor is five years ahead of anything on the market. It handles multitasking like a dream—no lag, no crashes, even with multiple apps running. The AI-driven operating system learns your habits—when you wake up, your most-used apps—and optimizes battery life accordingly."
Angela swiped to another screen, revealing a health-tracking app with real-time metrics. "And this? Fitness data?"
"More than that," Ben said, his voice brimming with passion. "It integrates with smart home devices and future wearables devices for real-time health monitoring. I even built in features for parents—tracking your kids' activity levels, sending alerts if they stray too far from home, all synced with a smartwatch I'm developing. It's not just a phone; it's the foundation of a lifestyle brand—smart home tech, educational tools, you name it."
Angela's skepticism began to thaw, replaced by a cautious intrigue. "And you did all this by yourself?"
Ben nodded, a mix of pride and determination in his eyes. "Just me. Design, coding, the whole deal. I've got the vision and the tech, but I need someone like you to turn it into a reality. Someone who can handle operations, management, and keep the machine running while I focus on the big picture."
Angela set the phone down, her mind racing. "This is really is away ahead of the competition. But how do you plan to compete with established brands? Apple, Stark Industries—they're giants."
"I'm not just competing," Ben said, his voice steady. "I'm redefining the game. This all right here is just the prelude to the bigger pieces. "
Angela leaned back, her eyes narrowing. "Why me? You could've approached anyone. Why a mid-level manager from Zeldin?"
Ben paused, choosing his words carefully.
"Because you're the right person to make this work. I can handle the tech and the vision, but I need someone with your experience—your ability to navigate chaos, build trust, and get results. I know it's a lot to ask, and I'll be upfront: there will be times when I'm… unavailable. I need someone I can trust to keep things moving without me hovering."
Angela's gaze sharpened. "Unavailable? That's vague. What are you not telling me?"
Ben met her eyes, his expression earnest. "Nothing that changes the offer. I'm committed to this, but my work sometimes pulls me in unexpected directions. I need a partner who can take the reins when that happens. That's you."
The silence stretched between them, Angela's skepticism warring with the spark of possibility his words ignited. She'd spent years being undervalued, her ideas dismissed, her potential stifled. Ben's offer was audacious—almost reckless—but there was a conviction in his eyes that transcended youthful arrogance.
He knew what he was asking, and he believed she could deliver. Still, doubts lingered. Was he looking for a workhorse, someone to handle the grunt work while he took the credit? Her lack of tech expertise made her wary—could she trust him not to exploit that?
"You're asking me to risk my career," she said finally, her voice steady. "This sounds ideal on paper, but what if it falls apart? My reputation, my family—I can't afford to lose everything."
Ben nodded, his expression serious. "I understand. That's why I'm offering a sizable compensation package upfront—call it an insurance policy. If this doesn't work, you're covered. But Angela, this is a chance to build something from the ground up, with full control over operations and culture. I'll handle the tech, and we'll be transparent every step of the business. You set the terms—role, authority, exit package. I want you to feel secure."
Angela took a deep breath, her fingers tracing the edge of the prototype. The weight of her current life—her toxic job, her kids' futures, the constant struggle—pressed against her. Ben's offer was a gamble, but it was also a chance to reclaim her agency, to build something that mattered.
"Alright, Mr. Tennyson," she said, her voice firm. "If I do this, I want a clear contract—my role, my authority, my compensation, all in writing. If things go south, I need an exit package that ensures I don't regret this. And I want you involved in the corporate side, too—not just the tech. I need to know you're in this for real."
Ben's face broke into a grin, a mix of relief and excitement. "Consider it done."
As they shook hands, a surge of adrenaline coursed through Angela, a feeling she hadn't known in years. It was exhilarating, terrifying, and utterly new. She didn't know what the future held, but for the first time in a long time, she felt in control. As she left the café, the prototype tucked safely in her bag, she couldn't shake the sense that she'd just stepped into something bigger than herself—something that could change everything.
---
Unbeknownst to Angela, Ben's "unavailability" wasn't just a quirk of his work ethic. As he watched her leave, his hand brushed the Omnitrix hidden beneath his sleeve, its faint green glow a reminder of the double life he was building. For the past three months, he'd been balancing his new identity as Benjamin Tennyson, tech visionary, with his nocturnal heroics as an alien shapeshifter.
The fire at the apartment building had been just the beginning—since then, he'd stopped muggings, thwarted a bank heist, and even disrupted a low-level crime syndicates operation, all while keeping his true identity hidden.
Ben knew he was walking a tightrope, but with Angela on board, his plans were falling into place. A tech empire to fund his mission, a partner to keep it running, and the Omnitrix to face whatever the Marvel Universe threw at him.
---
March 9, 2012 – New York City, Manhattan
Two years had passed since Ben—Ben Tennyson, in this world—had begun carving his place into the shifting landscape of heroes, criminals, and gods. In the private training room of his five-star Manhattan condo, sweat darkened the fabric of his gray tank top as he moved through the last phase of his morning routine. His breath came steady, controlled, the kind born not of comfort but of discipline.
The room had been custom-built—reinforced walls, modular equipment, climate control tuned for performance rather than luxury. It was less a gym than a laboratory for self-improvement. Ben had long accepted a truth that gnawed at him more with each encounter: the Omnitrix made him powerful, but it did not make him strong. When the watch was gone—or worse, when it failed—what remained had to be enough.
Using Brainstorm's hyper-intellect and XLR8's accelerated cognition, he had devoured theory at an impossible pace. Martial arts treatises, military manuals, biomechanics, combat psychology—years of academic learning compressed into months. But knowledge was not mastery. Muscle memory could not be downloaded. Reflexes had to be forged through repetition, failure, and pain. At twenty, Ben was sharper and stronger than he had ever been, but he knew the gap that remained between himself and the Marvel world's elite: Daredevil, the Punisher, Shang-Chi. Closing that distance had become an obsession.
Time, however, was the one enemy he could not outfight.
He no longer trained endlessly. He trained precisely.
---
Morning: Strength & Conditioning
Ben rose at 4:00 a.m., long before the city stirred. His mornings were devoted to building a body that could survive violence—short, brutal sessions designed for efficiency rather than spectacle.
He began with compound lifts: squats, deadlifts, weighted pulls and presses. The movements were deliberate, the sets tight and unforgiving. No wasted repetitions. Every motion was chosen for what it gave him in a fight—explosive power, grip strength, the ability to drive an opponent backward when leverage and momentum were all that stood between him and the pavement.
Conditioning followed. Some mornings it was sprint intervals across a reinforced rooftop track, legs burning as he forced oxygen into starving muscles. Other days it was the pool—clean, powerful strokes that built endurance without tearing his joints apart. Jump rope drills sharpened footwork, turning exhaustion into rhythm rather than collapse.
The session ended with ten minutes of mobility work: hips, shoulders, spine. He had learned early that flexibility was not optional. Injuries stole time he could not afford.
By the time the sun crested the skyline, his body was already taxed—but never broken. That was the rule.
---
Evening: Martial Arts & Live Training
If the morning built the weapon, the evening taught it how to strike.
Ben did not chase mastery in everything at once. Each day had a singular focus.
On striking days, it was boxing, Muay Thai, and Savate—footwork, head movement, elbows and knees at close range. He worked pads until his shoulders burned, then stepped into controlled sparring, testing timing and distance against partners who did not pull their punches.
Grappling days were spent on the mat. Jiu-jitsu, judo, wrestling—takedowns, transitions, escapes. Rolling against experienced fighters taught him humility faster than any book ever could. Every mistake was punished. Every improvement was earned in bruises and breathless resets.
Weapons days were colder, more clinical. Firearms handling, blade defense, staff work. Drawing, reloading, using cover. Disarming under pressure. He did not romanticize these sessions; the techniques were designed for survival, not style.
He was careful with live sparring. Pushing too hard too often only led to injury. Real fighters learned when to back off. Vigilantes who ignored that lesson did not last.
To compensate, he was building something else—an AI-driven robotic sparring system, still in its infancy, meant to analyze his form, adapt to his habits, and simulate real-world chaos. For now, human partners and his own relentless self-critique were enough.
---
Late evenings: Tactical Conditioning & Recovery
Combat was not won by strength alone. It was decided by positioning, awareness, and the ability to function when fear narrowed the world to a tunnel.
Ending the day with recovery drills.
Ben drilled movement against multiple opponents, learning how to control space when outnumbered. He practiced fighting in confined environments—hallways, stairwells, mock elevators—where every mistake was amplified by the lack of room. Weapon disarm scenarios forced him to confront the brutal reality of close-quarters encounters, where hesitation meant bleeding.
Mental conditioning followed. Breathing exercises under simulated stress. Visualization of worst-case scenarios. Loud noises, flashing lights, timed responses. He trained his mind to stay sharp when adrenaline threatened to turn thought into instinct.
Recovery was non-negotiable. Stretching. Ice. Contrast showers. Massage when the damage ran deep. Ben had learned that the body did not grow stronger through punishment alone—it adapted only when given the chance to heal.
Ben's training section were spread out through the week working on a different training regiment to built upon.
---
Fuel & Discipline
His diet matched the precision of his training: lean proteins, complex carbohydrates, healthy fats. Meals were planned in cycles—higher intake on heavy days, lighter on recovery days. Hydration was constant. Supplements were chosen for function, not hype. He slept whenever the city and his responsibilities allowed, knowing that exhaustion was a weakness no amount of willpower could fully overcome.
---
Two years of this regimen had changed him. Not just in muscle and speed, but in restraint. He had learned that becoming dangerous was easy. Becoming effective required patience, planning, and the discipline to stop before the body broke.
Ben was no longer chasing the illusion of invincibility.
He was building something far more formidable.
A man who knew his limits—
and how to fight beyond them.
Even with the Omnitrix's advantages, true mastery required years of live combat experience, something he couldn't fast-track. Still, he had plans: seeking out mentors like Shang-Chi or Stick, creating his AI sparring bot, and incorporating military-grade survival tactics. One day, he wouldn't just match the best—he'd surpass them.
As he finished his breakfast—oatmeal with berries, three boiled eggs, and a glass of orange juice—he glanced at the clock: 8:00 AM. Another long day awaited, split between his growing tech empire and his secret heroics.
"Alright... let's get to work." Grabbing his keys and slipping into his green jacket, he left the suite, the Omnitrix hidden beneath his sleeve.
---
Outside, Ben straddled his sleek BMW S 1000 RR, the motorcycle's engine purring as he weaved through Manhattan's morning traffic. The city's skyline gleamed in his tinted visor, a reminder of the world he was shaping. "Olivia, turn on the news," he said, his voice calm but expectant.
"Sure thing, boss," replied a smooth, robotic voice with a southern Texas drawl. Olivia, his custom-built AI assistant, activated the heads-up display in his helmet, projecting a news broadcast onto the visor.
News Anchor: "Good morning, New York. Since Tony Stark's revelation as Iron Man, our city has become a magnet for the extraordinary. Super-powered individuals—some familiar, some unknown—have emerged, reshaping our understanding of the world. But now, something even stranger is stirring."
Civilian #1: "It was like a tiger, but… bigger, stronger. Tore through metal like it was nothing. Didn't hurt anyone, though—just vanished."
Civilian #2: "I thought I was done for, but then this… diamond thing appeared. It shielded us from falling debris. It was protecting people."
Civilian #3: "Are they even friendly? They're as weird as the Hulk. We don't know if we're safe."
Civilian #4: "The blue ghost—it froze a bunch of muggers solid in seconds. Scary as hell, but… kinda amazing."
News Anchor: "With the city on edge and authorities baffled, speculation is rampant. Are these creatures allies? Harbingers of a larger threat? One thing is clear: their presence is undeniable, and New York remains on high alert."
Ben tapped his glove, shutting off the broadcast with a wry smile. He didn't need to hear more—he knew exactly who they were talking about. His heroics as Rath, Diamondhead, and Big Chill had saved lives, but they'd also drawn attention. S.H.I.E.L.D. was circling, and he could feel the weight of their scrutiny.
Pulling up to his company's sleek headquarters—a modern glass tower bearing the name "Tennyson Industries"—Ben parked smoothly, removed his helmet, and adjusted his jacket. The Omnitrix's faint glow pulsed beneath his sleeve, a reminder of the double life he led. As he strode inside, employees nodded in greeting, unaware that their CEO was also the alien vigilante haunting New York's streets.
Another day had begun.
Character Bio:
Angela Green
Full Name: Angelina Gabriella Green
Age: 30
Eye Color: Blue
Hair Color: Brown
Height:5'10" (170 cm)
Occupation: Businesswoman, CEO and President of Tennyson Industries
Notable Traits: Intelligent, resourceful, compassionate, strong-willed, ability to keep a calm mind under pressure.