ASGARD – ODIN'S VAULT
Golden light flared and died as a shimmering bifrost-colored portal snapped shut behind Odin and Frigga. They stood now in the deepest chamber of the vault, surrounded by treasures that hummed with ancient power: caskets that froze entire worlds, spears that never missed, tablets etched with the names of dead stars. The air was cool and heavy, scented faintly of ozone and old magic.
The Tesseract rested in Odin's gnarled hand, its blue glow pulsing like a heartbeat against the gold of his armor.
"My Queen," Odin said, his voice low and resonant, echoing off the vaulted stone. "What is your judgment of the mortal boy's capabilities?"
Frigga's gaze lingered on the cube, her expression unreadable beneath the delicate golden circlet that bound her dark hair. She was silent for several long breaths, as though weighing each word against the fate of realms.
"He is dangerous," she said at last, the words simple yet edged with certainty. "His abilities already place him on the same footing as our sons—perhaps beyond, in time."
Odin inclined his head, the single eye beneath his winged helm sharp and thoughtful. "He claimed the device adapts each transformation to the peak potential of that species… relative to his own age."
Frigga's brow furrowed faintly as she absorbed the implication. Then her eyes widened, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing her regal features.
"In mortal years," she murmured, "Thor and Loki would be scarcely twenty-seven. You are saying this is why young Tennyson's strength already rivals—or soon will surpass—theirs?"
"Precisely," Odin replied. "A boy granted the perfected physiology of any species he chooses. Had circumstances allowed, I would have asked him to assume his Asgardian form here, under our watchful eyes, that we might study the limits more closely."
He fell silent for a moment, regret shadowing his stern face. Then his tone hardened, the Allfather once more.
"But we have graver matters to attend."
They walked deeper into the vault until they reached what appeared to be an unremarkable stretch of golden wall. Odin raised his free hand and spoke in the old tongue—words that predated the stars themselves. The wall rippled like water and dissolved, revealing a hidden alcove lit by soft, ethereal light.
At its center stood an ornate pedestal of black stone veined with silver. Odin placed the Tesseract upon it with deliberate care. The cube settled into a shallow recess as though it had always belonged there, its glow dimming to a steady, watchful pulse.
Frigga stared at it, then lifted her gaze to the empty space beside it—an identical recess, waiting.
"Two Infinity Stones revealed in so short a span," she said quietly, worry threading through her voice like frost across glass. "This bodes ill for the times ahead."
She had seen what even one such gem could do in the hands of a being who truly understood its nature. Two, so close together, felt like the first rumbles of a cosmic storm.
Odin's jaw tightened. "Indeed. Take the Mind Stone at once. Conceal it on one of the Nine Realms under our protection—somewhere no map records, where even Heimdall's sight struggles to pierce."
Frigga inclined her head, solemn and resolute. Neither of them needed to voice the deeper fear: that the stones were appearing one after another for a reason, drawn together by a will far greater and far darker than any they had yet faced.
As Frigga turned to leave, the vault's ancient wards sealed silently behind her, and the golden light of Asgard seemed, for the first time in centuries, just a little dimmer.
Alone now, Odin's brow furrowed in the dim glow of the vault. He had intended to banish the Mind Stone far beyond the Nine Realms, to a place where its whispers could tempt no one. But his old ally, the Ancient One, had cautioned against it—insisting the gem still had a role to play, entwined with a certain mortal on Midgard.
"The Scarlet Witch," Odin muttered, shaking his head. The tale still struck him as absurd, even after the Ancient One's grave recounting of destinies intertwined. "It seems there is much I yet do not grasp about the Infinity Stones."
With a heavy sigh, he turned away, leaving the Tesseract—and the Space Stone within—pulsing softly in its cradle. The vault's wards sealed behind him with a resonant hum, the air thick with unspoken warnings.
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EARTH – NEW YORK CITY, TWO WEEKS LATER
BEN'S CONDO APARTMENT
In the soft hum of the bathroom fan, Angela stared at her reflection, her gaze distant and unfocused. Stray strands of hair framed her face, lit by the warm vanity lights.
"Miss Green," Olivia's voice chimed from the hidden speakers, her robotic drawl laced with a folksy Texas twang. "You've been standin' there a spell longer than usual. Everything alright, boss lady?"
"Oh—sorry," Angela blinked, snapping back to the present. She grabbed a hair clip and pulled her locks into a quick ponytail. "Are Josh and Juliana up yet?"
"Yes ma'am, they're already parked in the livin' room, mama," Olivia replied smoothly.
Angela gave herself a final once-over in the mirror, then stepped out into the hallway. The open-plan space led to the living room, where her nine-year-old twins sat cross-legged on the rug, eyes glued to the TV. She frowned at the screen: a heated news debate about the recent alien invasion, complete with grainy footage of shattered skyscrapers and glowing portals.
Two anchors—sharp-suited men in their fifties—traded barbs over the government's response and the broader implications of extraterrestrial life. Josh and Juliana were utterly absorbed, oblivious to her approach. At their age, they should be lost in cartoons or video games, not this grim adult discourse. Still, Angela couldn't fault them; the chaos had hit too close to home.
"Mornin', my little angels," she called out, injecting cheer into her voice.
"Morning, Mom," they chorused without looking back.
Angela sighed, shaking her head as she moved to the kitchen island. "Have you two eaten yet?"
"No," they replied in sync.
She grabbed a box of oatmeal from the pantry, eyeing their backs as the debate raged on.
"This could just be the first wave," one anchor—Frank, his nameplate read—insisted, slamming a palm on the desk. "We can't assume the crisis is over just because the government says so, Eric. How do we know they don't have more portal devices stashed away?"
"I get your concern, Frank, but we have to trust our leaders—"
"Nonsense!" Frank cut in. "They were caught flat-footed this time—fine, I'll forgive that, given the tech gap. But what have they done since? It's been nearly two weeks, and all we've got is a bigger military budget and recruitment drives. No real announcements, Eric. Nothing substantial."
Eric frowned, adjusting his glasses. "It's barely been half a month. There's a lot to coordinate before—"
"Before another invasion? Maybe global next time?" Frank leaned forward, staring straight into the camera, his expression deadly serious. "I'm not fearmongering, folks—this is the truth. We're in unprecedented times. But the path forward? It's already been lit. Exhibit A."
The screen split to show gritty images of Captain America, Iron Man, and the Hulk in action—followed by a few shots of Ben fighting alongside them. Angela's heart skipped, her breath catching at the sight.
"Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Dr. Bruce Banner," Frank continued as close-ups filled the frame. "These are the heroes who saved New York—and the world. What do they have in common? Simple: they're paragons of what we can achieve as individuals and as a nation. Rogers, the original super-soldier, thawed out to lead us. Banner, the brilliant mind behind the Hulk, chasing that same serum with mixed results. And Stark—the billionaire playboy turned philanthropist in powered armor."
"True enough," Eric nodded, playing devil's advocate. "But what's your point?"
Frank grinned broadly. "It's obvious: why not pour resources into mass-producing what these men represent? They're all American citizens—it's their duty to contribute to global security. Even Stark, for all his ego, isn't above the law. He should ditch the lone-wolf routine and get back to what he does best: building weapons. Mass-produce those Iron Man suits for the military. They're the easiest to control and replicate. Look at what Colonel Rhodes has already done with his."
The channel flipped abruptly to a bright, bouncy kids' cartoon— an episode of SpongeBob replacing the tense debate.
"Hey! Who changed it?" Josh and Juliana protested in unison, finally twisting around.
"I did," Angela said, drawing their eyes to her. "You two have soaked up enough of that for the past couple weeks." She poured milk over two bowls of cereal she'd prepped.
"It's good you're interested in the world," she added, sliding the bowls toward them. "But don't get too wrapped up in every talking head. Otherwise…"
"Otherwise what?" Juliana pressed, tilting her head.
Angela smiled softly, dodging. "Nothin'. I just want you to be kids—not worry about stuff you don't need to yet. Now come eat, then we'll play some games."
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MOMENTS LATER
Angela left the twins to their cartoons and games, slipping quietly into the hidden room tucked behind a false panel in Ben's condo. The space was a stark contrast to the rest of the sleek, modern apartment—a compact command center lined with humming servers, holographic displays, and reinforced walls that screamed "fortress."
She and the kids were staying here for one grim reason: their own home had been reduced to rubble during the invasion. Fear still gripped the city like a vise, whispers of another alien assault echoing in every news broadcast and street corner conversation. Angela would've preferred holing up in the company building, but its defenses had taken a brutal hit—turrets offline, shields cracked, the works.
If Ben had rigged that place like a bunker behind her back, she figured his personal condo wouldn't be far behind. And sure enough, it was a veritable safe house: concealed force fields, automated turrets, and sensor arrays that could detect a fly sneezing from a block away. She'd moved in without a second thought, seeing it as payback for the years of lies he'd fed her while they built the company together.
It was also for Josh and Juliana's sake. As much as she wanted to cut ties with Ben and Tennyson Industries entirely after the chaos, she couldn't risk her children's safety. Ben, for his part, had relocated to the company HQ without a peep—likely guessing her real motives but smart enough not to argue.
"Olivia," Angela called softly, stepping into the room's cool glow.
"Yes, boss lady?" The AI's voice drawled through the speakers, her holographic avatar materializing on the central table. She appeared as a curvaceous woman in full cowgirl regalia—boots, jeans, a plaid shirt tied at the waist, and a wide-brimmed hat tipped jauntily. Legs crossed casually, she floated there like a digital ranch hand ready for a showdown.
Angela eyed the avatar, suppressing a sigh. *Why on earth did Ben design her like this?* It shattered every stereotype of a sleek, corporate AI—especially after meeting Tony Stark's polished JARVIS. Olivia was all sass and swagger, more saloon than server farm.
"Can you run me through the sequence of events leading up to the invasion? Again?"
Olivia planted her holographic hands on her hips, tilting her head with exaggerated exasperation. "Boss lady, this'd be the 111th time you've asked. I ain't a broken record, y'know—I'm one of the sharpest AIs spinnin' on this blue marble."
"Olivia… please," Angela murmured, lacing her fingers together, her voice softening with quiet desperation.
"Alright, mama," Olivia relented, her tone warming. Holographic screens flickered to life around them, replaying footage and timelines in crisp detail. Angela watched intently, her expression thoughtful as the invasion's prelude unfolded: Loki's arrival, the Tesseract's theft, the Avengers' assembly.
She'd already made up her mind to resign from the company she'd helped build and run for the past two and a half years. But on paper, she was still CEO and president, navigating the fallout from the Battle of New York. Her thoughts churned like storm clouds. 'How can things get even weirder?' she whispered, echoing Ben's words from that fateful day.
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TENNYSON INDUSTRIES BUILDING
Deep in the sublevels of the fortified tower, Ben sat alone in his office on the third basement floor. Holographic schematics hovered before him, casting an eerie green glow across his tanned skin. His eyes—sharp and focused—dissected diagrams of Chitauri weapons, sleek flying chariots, segmented armor, and biomechanical implants.
"So, the Chitauri are bio-engineered grunts, huh? Linked to a central hive mind?" Ben murmured, zooming in on neural pathways that branched like twisted roots.
"That's what my scans confirm, boss," Olivia replied in her signature Texas twang. "Most of the foot soldiers—excludin' those whale-sized Leviathans—ain't older than three to six months. Fresh off the assembly line."
Ben leaned back, rubbing his chin with a frustrated sigh. "At the very least, couldn't they had on some emblem or insignia I'd recognize from the comics? Something to give me a clue?"
If there'd been a familiar mark, he could've pieced together their origins, their masters, their endgame. He suspected the Tesseract and Loki's scepter tied into the Infinity Stones—cosmic artifacts from the Marvel lore he half-remembered. But he wasn't a die-hard fan; his knowledge came from casual reads and cartoons, not deep dives into comic shops or collector's editions. For all he knew, they were just potent relics in this universe, no grander scheme attached.
His deduction was pure guesswork: starting from wild theories, narrowing to the plausible, and meeting in the murky middle.
"Boss, Agent Hill's requestin' a meetin' back at the base. Private chat. Pronto."
Ben chuckled, amusement curling his lips. "Huh, that took longer than I expected." He paused, a knowing smile forming. "By any chance, is Fury still on the Helicarrier?"
"Director Fury ain't aboard anymore, and I can't ping his location," Olivia admitted, her voice tinged with rare chagrin.
"That's fine," Ben waved it off, unperturbed. "Means the super-spies finally cut through the red tape."
The battle's aftermath had been a whirlwind—two weeks of non-stop cleanup, debriefs, and repairs. Ben had only caught his breath yesterday, carving out time to rest amid the rubble. He'd anticipated this summons since his rooftop chat with Odin and Frigga. Hell, he'd been prepping for it since the Omnitrix latched onto his wrist and thrust him into this universe as an unlikely hero.
He glanced at the device on his wrist. Taking a steadying breath, he dove back into the Chitauri analysis—probing weapons for weaknesses, armor for exploits.
An hour and a half later, he finally decided to leave grabbing his jacket and helmet. Opting for his motorcycle, he cruised through the scarred streets, taking in the city's battered pulse: boarded windows, cleanup crews, and civilians with haunted eyes. Ten minutes brought him to a heavily fortified dockside compound, ringed by razor wire and watchtowers.
"Sir, this is a restricted area. Identify yourself or you'll be neutralized," a armored agent barked, rifle trained. His squadmates tensed, fingers hovering over triggers as they eyed the newcomer.
"I'm Ben Tennyson," Ben replied evenly, no hint of nerves. He eased off his helmet, pulling an ID card from his jacket pocket with deliberate calm.
Security protocols dragged on: scans, questions, verifications. Cleared at last, he parked his bike near the entrance. Hill waited there, arms crossed, irritation etched into her sharp features as she fixed him with a glare.
He took his sweet time sauntering over, a faint smile playing on his lips. "Agent Hill, you look—"
"Don't even start," she cut him off, voice level but laced with acid. "It's been nearly two hours since we requested you."
"My bad," Ben said, sarcasm dripping. "Had some pressing matters. Hope I didn't keep you waiting too long."
Hill's stare could've melted steel; as Deputy Director of SHIELD, few dared waste her time, Tennyson for all his powers and abilities wasn't qualified to waste her time.
"Follow," she snapped, pivoting on her heel and striding away without a backward glance.
Ben trailed her, eyes lingering appreciatively on her form-fitting SHIELD uniform. 'Of all the actresses, why'd she have to look like Cobie Smulders?' He'd harbored a crush on the star since childhood. Meeting her counterpart here—stunning in that blue dress at Tennyson gala—had made his heart stutter. But learning she was Maria Hill? Ice water to the veins. Of all Marvel characters, the most no-nonsense hardliner.
'At least she's not as much of bitch as in the comics,' he mused internally. 'Maybe because she's not running SHIELD yet in this universe.'
They reached a dimly lit conference room. The door hissed open, revealing Fury standing with his back to them, staring out a reinforced window at the choppy harbor waters. His trench coat cast long shadows in the low light, the air thick with unspoken tension.
SHIELD BASE – INTERROGATION ROOM
The door sealed behind them with a hydraulic hiss, leaving Ben, Hill, and Fury in a stark, dimly lit chamber that screamed "off the books." Reinforced concrete walls absorbed sound like a tomb, broken only by the faint hum of hidden surveillance tech. A single metal table dominated the center, flanked by uncomfortable chairs. Fury remained at the window, his back turned, silhouetted against the gray harbor view. Hill gestured sharply to a seat, her expression a mask of controlled fury.
"Take a seat, Tennyson," she said, voice clipped. No "please." No room for debate.
Ben complied with casual ease, sliding into the chair like he was settling in for coffee. He leaned back, arms crossed loosely, a faint smile tugging at his lips. His tanned skin caught the overhead light, highlighting the subtle scars from years of training and recent battles. The Omnitrix sat innocently on his wrist, its green core pulsing softly—a constant reminder of the impossible.
Fury turned slowly, his single eye locking onto Ben with the precision of a targeting system. He didn't sit, opting instead to loom at the table's edge, hands braced on the surface. Hill dropped into the opposite chair, her posture rigid, like a coiled spring.
"Let's cut the bullshit," Hill started, leaning forward aggressively. "You've been dodging us since the rooftop. Odin and Frigga grill you about that Asgardian transformation—based on Thor's DNA, no less—and suddenly you're spilling stories about parallel universes? The same fairy tale you fed me on the Helicarrier, like it was some joke?"
Ben's smile didn't waver. "Aggressive much, Agent Hill? I thought we were past the good-cop-bad-cop routine." He glanced at Fury, who remained impassive, observing like a chess master plotting ten moves ahead.
"Don't play cute," Hill snapped, slamming a tablet onto the table. Repaying recorded files: scans of the Omnitrix, footage of Ben's transformations, timelines pieced from SHIELD intel. "You expect us to buy that you're some ordinary kid yanked from another reality? With a magic watch that turns you into aliens? Who sent you? What's the real angle?"
Fury raised a hand slightly, his voice calm and measured, cutting through her barrage like a knife. "Easy, Hill. Let's hear the man out." But his eye never left Ben, calculating every micro-expression, every shift in posture. "Start from the top, Tennyson. Who are you, really? And don't give us the abridged version."
Ben exhaled slowly, his demeanor relaxed—almost amused—as if this were a casual chat over beers. "I've already revealed the basics. To you on the Helicarrier, Hill. And yeah, to Odin and Frigga up on that rooftop. I'm Ben Stewart—or Tennyson, if you prefer the alias I adopted here. A few years back, I was just an eighteen-year-old orphan grinding through life in New York. Construction gigs, freelance design, the works. Nothing special."
He paused, letting that sink in, but kept his cards close. No mention of the Stan Lee lookalike or the eccentric multiverse travel who yanked him across realities. Certainly no hint that this world—the Avengers, Asgard, all of it—had been mere fiction in his old life: comic panels he'd flipped through as a kid, cartoons shows like Ben 10 were the Omnitrix originated. Revealing that would be idiotic, based since Paradox was involved dimensional hoping and time traveling events were going to happen down the line.
That would happen eventually even without Paradox doing anything, hence revealing his origins from being from alternate reality early was reasonable.
"Then bam," he continued, gesturing vaguely at the Omnitrix. "I get pulled into this universe. Forcibly. No warning, no choice. Landed right in the middle of Times Square with this thing strapped to my wrist. The Omnitrix—created by a genius alien named Azmuth. It's not magic; it's tech. Advanced beyond anything here. Scans DNA, lets me transform into peak specimens of different species. That's how I pulled off the Asgardian form—snagged a sample from Thor during the fight."
The reason why Ben revealed so much about the Omnitrix is that anyone who understands its basic function. From the why he used it.
Hill's eyes narrowed, her aggression barely leashed. "Convenient. And this Azmuth? Where is he? Why send you here, of all places? You expect us to believe it's coincidence you show up and a few years later Loki's invades?"
Ben shrugged lightly. "Azmuth's a recluse. Galvan Prime's his turf—think hyper-intelligent frogs building universes in labs. As for why here? Beats me. Could be random, could be targeted. But I'm not some sleeper agent, if that's what you're fishing for. I've been building a life here: the company, the hero gig. Helped stop the Chitauri, didn't I?"
Fury tilted his head, his tone still even, probing without heat. "You've got holes in your story, Tennyson. Locked functions on that watch—means someone's pulling strings. And your 'ordinary' background? We've run checks. No records predating two and a half years ago. You're a ghost until suddenly you're not."
Ben met Fury's gaze steadily, unflinching. "Like I said, parallel universe. No records because I don't belong here. The Omnitrix? Yeah, it's got safeguards. Azmuth's paranoid—doesn't trust anyone with full access. But I'm not hiding an agenda. What you see is what you get."
Hill scoffed, leaning in closer. "Bullshit. You're holding back. We know about the company fortress, the drones, not to mention the various other business you've been building. If you're so transparent, hand over the watch. Let our people study it."
Ben chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Not a chance. This thing's bonded to me—literally. And even if it wasn't, I'm not turning it over to SHIELD's lab rats. I've told you enough to play nice. If you want trust, it goes both ways. I don't you'd find another individual as transparent as"
Fury straightened, exchanging a glance with Hill—a silent calculation of risks and leverage. "Fair enough. For now. But we're watching, Tennyson. One wrong move, and that priority level 12 bumps up."
Ben stood smoothly, his calm unbroken. "Understood. Anything else, or can I get back to cleaning up your mess?"
The door hissed open at Hill's reluctant gesture, but as Ben stepped out, he felt their eyes boring into his back. He'd given them threads to pull—just enough to satisfy without unraveling the whole truth. Some secrets stayed buried.
' Well, it's not like SHIELD could ever stop me, in the first place. ' Ben thought to himself as he walked toward the science lab.
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