The days crawl by, each filled with preparations and a growing sense of anticipation. Finally, the morning of the road trip arrives. Ben bounces on the balls of his feet, his duffel bag slung over his shoulder. Gwen checks her packing list for the tenth time, ensuring she hasn't forgotten anything important. Laura stands quietly beside them, her own bag simple and practical.
"What's taking Grandpa so long?" Gwen asks, glancing at her watch. "We were supposed to leave an hour ago."
Ben groans, picturing the inevitable chaos that accompanies Max's "exotic food" runs. "Hopefully, he's not stuck at some obscure import store trying to find pickled herring or something," Ben says, a shudder running down his spine.
Laura, ever practical, offers a more reasonable explanation. "Perhaps he got caught in traffic," she says, her voice calm.
Sandra pats Ben's arm reassuringly. "He'll be here any minute, sweetie," she says, smiling warmly. Carl nods in agreement, his eyes scanning the road.
Just then, the gates of the mansion swing open. A vehicle unlike anything they've seen before rolls into the driveway. It is definitely not the Rustbucket.
The RV is a sleek combination of blue and white, with bold red lines accentuating its futuristic design. The bumper is a heavy, metallic structure, promising enhanced protection. Six massive wheels give it an imposing presence. A hatch covers a space big enough to store a go-kart or even a small vehicle.
Max steps out of the RV, beaming. "Sorry I'm late, kids!" he says, "Had a few last-minute adjustments to make."
Ben and Gwen gape at the RV, speechless. "Grandpa," Ben finally stammers, "what is this thing?"
"Where's the Rustbucket?" Gwen asks, her voice laced with disbelief.
Max chuckles, throwing an arm around Ben's shoulder. "Well, since we have more people coming on this road trip, I figured it was time for an upgrade," he says, grinning. "This is the new and improved Rustbucket!"
Ben stares at the RV, his mind reeling. "You call this the Rustbucket?" he asks, incredulous. "It looks like something out of a sci-fi movie!"
Max grins wider. "Had some help from a few old friends," he says with a wink. "Let's just say they know a thing or two about advanced technology."
Ben, still in shock, grabs his duffel bag and follows Gwen inside. "This is insane," he mutters, his eyes scanning the interior.
Gwen's jaw drops. The passage can easily fit two adults side-by-side. There are five beds, each appearing comfortable. A fully-equipped kitchen gleams with stainless steel appliances. A cozy dining area promises comfortable meals on the road. Even a toilet and shower are built into the vehicle, showcasing how high-tech Max went with the upgrade.
"This is... this is amazing!" Ben exclaims, running his hand over the smooth surface of a countertop. It certainly beats the cramped quarters of the original.
Suddenly, he feels a familiar presence on his shoulder. Greymatter climbs out of his bag, her large green eyes scanning the interior with an air of superiority. "Human, there is an appropriate space for my laboratory within this vehicle, correct?" she says, her voice carrying its usual hint of impatience. "I require a designated area for my projects."
Ben sighs, but a smile plays on his lips. "Yeah, yeah, I'll find you a spot, Greymatter," he says, amused by her demands. "Just try not to blow anything up, okay?"
"You insult me, human!" Greymatter exclaims, her voice rising in indignation. "My creations are flawless!"
Ben chuckles, "Alright, alright, I'm just messing with you," he says, clapping her lightly on the head. He starts looking around the RV, thinking about where to put Greymatter's lab.
Gwen, meanwhile, eyes the various sleeping quarters. "Shotgun!" she yells, staking her claim on one of the beds near the front.
Laura studies the arrangement with a trained eye, instinctively choosing a bed at the end of the row, positioned near the emergency exit and offering a clear view of the main cabin. It's a strategic choice, allowing her to react quickly to any potential threats.
Max is already making himself at home in the driver's seat, fiddling with the controls and humming a jaunty tune. Ben finds a space near the back of the RV that can function as a lab. After a bit of elbow grease and some help from the tiny Galvan-Human hybrid, a surprisingly high-tech mini-lab comes to be.
With the interior finally organized, Ben takes a deep breath, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation for the road ahead. He steps outside, finding Sandra and Carl waiting with bittersweet smiles.
"Be careful, sweetie," Sandra says, pulling Ben into a tight hug. "Call us every night, okay?"
"And try not to get into too much trouble," Carl adds with a wink, clapping Ben on the back.
Ben grins, returning their embrace. "I'll do my best, Mom, Dad," he says. He then turns to Gwen and Laura, giving them a playful nudge. "Alright, ladies, let's hit the road! Adventure awaits!"
Gwen rolls her eyes but can't help smiling. Laura nods, her expression stoic but her eyes betraying a hint of excitement. Max honks the horn of the Rustbucket, signaling it is time to go. With a final wave to Sandra and Carl, they pile into the RV, ready to embark on their journey.
…
Deep in the black void, a warship floats, its metallic hull reflecting the distant starlight. Inside, in a chamber filled with pulsating green liquid, Vilgax bides his time. The regeneration tank does its work, knitting together torn muscles and broken bones. His massive frame is almost fully restored; cybernetic enhancements gleam, and his octopus-like face is one of barely restrained fury.
On a large screen, images flicker— Ben Tennyson, a teenager, standing proudly. Around him are the female alien hybrids he summons using the Chaquetrix. A scowl deepens on Vilgax's face. He has been watching this child, this interloper who dares wield what is rightfully his. He has been watching, and for too long, he was ignorant of his presence.
Drones, cloaked and silent, have been Vilgax's eyes on Earth, feeding him a steady stream of information. Ben's daily routines, his interactions with those…things, his clumsy attempts at heroism – all have been cataloged and analyzed. What irks Vilgax the most is how easily Ben seems to command the aliens. How quickly they obey him, how fiercely they fight for him.
He initially planned to dispatch another wave of Mechadroids to retrieve the Chaquetrix, a simple, brute-force approach. But after witnessing Ben's control over those hybrids, he reconsiders. A direct assault might trigger an unforeseen reaction, unleashing a power he cannot immediately contain.
Then there's Max Tennyson. The old Plumber has been a thorn in Vilgax's side for decades, thwarting his plans time and again. He would be a fool to dismiss him, to underestimate his experience and resourcefulness. No, a more subtle approach is needed.
"Report!" Vilgax barks, his voice echoing in the chamber. "Status of my regeneration!"
A Mechadroid, its metallic form sleek and efficient, approaches the tank. "Supreme Leader, your healing process is proceeding as expected," it says in a monotone voice. "Full restoration is projected to be complete within the next few weeks."
"Weeks?!" Vilgax explodes, slamming a fist against the side of the tank. "Inacceptable! I need the Chaquetrix now! Every moment that device remains in the hands of that child is a moment of weakness, a moment of lost opportunity!" The green liquid bubbles furiously around him.
"Supreme Leader, direct intervention at this stage would be...ill-advised," the Mechadroid says, its voice unwavering. "Your physical state is still compromised. Premature action could jeopardize your recovery."
Vilgax clenches his fists, his eyes burning with impatience. "Then find me a workaround! I want that device, and I want it now!" He pauses, a predatory glint in his eyes. "Contact the underworld. Put out a call for bounty hunters. I want the best—the most skilled, the most ruthless. Offer them whatever they desire. But make it clear: their only objective is to retrieve the Chaquetrix. Tennyson and his pets are secondary."
The Mechadroid nods, its metallic head dipping in acknowledgment. "As you command, Supreme Leader," it says, turning and departing the chamber.
Vilgax is alone once more, the images of Ben and his aliens still dancing before his eyes. "You may possess it for now, child," he growls, his voice dripping with venom. "But know this: what is rightfully mine will be mine again. I will have the Chaquetrix, and you will pay for daring to stand in my way."
…
In the heart of the Triskelion, S.H.I.E.L.D.'s imposing headquarters, Nick Fury sat behind his desk. The room was sterile, all metal and hard angles. A lone lamp cast a pool of light on the stacks of files that surrounded him. Shadows clung to the corners, mirroring the secrets Fury guarded.
He shuffled through documents, his one good eye scanning the pages with practiced efficiency. Global threats, superhuman activity, potential breaches of security – the usual. It was a never-ending game of chess, and Fury was always several moves ahead. Or at least, he tried to be.
The door slid open, and Maria Hill walked in, her expression as unreadable as ever. She carried a slim folder, its cover unmarked. "The Tennyson file, sir," she said, placing it on Fury's desk.
Fury nodded, his gaze fixed on the folder. It was what he had asked for – a comprehensive dossier on Benjamin Kirby Tennyson. "Thank you, Hill."
Maria Hill watched as Fury picked up the file, opened it, and began to read. Fury had a keen interest in this "Chaquetrix" individual. This interest started ever since the battle between Diamondheart and the Mechadroid in the small town. She did not understand why. The Plumbers should be handling it. "What are your orders, sir?" Maria asks, with her stoic expression. "What should we do about Tennyson?"
Fury stopped reading and looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"Tennyson possesses an alien device," she stated, her voice crisp and professional. "A device of unknown origin and power. It allows him to summon different alien species. The potential risk is… considerable. S.H.I.E.L.D. should secure it immediately."
Fury steepled his fingers, his gaze piercing. "Normally, this would fall under the Plumbers jurisdiction."
"With all due respect, sir," Maria said, her tone firm, "the stakes are too high to leave it to them. This isn't some rogue alien selling contraband. This is a potential weapon of mass destruction. We need to contain it."
Fury was silent for a long moment, considering her words. He knew Maria was right, at least on a tactical level. But there were factors she didn't know about, considerations that went beyond immediate threats. "We'll monitor him."
Maria raised an eyebrow, her surprise barely perceptible. "Monitor? Sir, that seems… insufficient."
"Keep a close watch on Tennyson," Fury said, his voice brooking no argument. "Track his movements, analyze his actions. But no direct intervention."
Maria looked visibly confused. "Sir, why? What is the reason for this approach?"
Fury sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Tennyson is the grandson of Max Tennyson."
"Max Tennyson?" Maria said, her expression thoughtful. "The former Magister. That explains things. But still, he retired years ago."
Fury nodded. "Retired, yes. But Max still has influence within the Plumbers organization. He's also the son of Carl and Sandra Tennyson."
Maria's eyes widened slightly. "I understand," she said, her tone softening. "Max is an old friend of yours, and called you about this case."
Fury nodded. "He asked me to let him handle anything related to Ben. And I trust Max. He knows what he's doing."
Maria pursed her lips, but nodded in understanding. "Very well, sir. I will relay the orders."
As Maria exited the office, Fury's gaze hardened. "I hope you're right about this, old friend," he muttered to himself. "Because if you're wrong, the consequences could be catastrophic."
Unbeknownst to Fury, in another section of the Triskelion, a different kind of conversation was taking place. A nondescript S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, his face pale and unremarkable, sat at a computer terminal. His fingers flew across the keyboard, accessing the Tennyson file. He copied the data onto a encrypted drive.
He glanced around nervously, ensuring he was alone. Then, he uploaded the file to a secure server, masking his signal with layers of encryption.
"Hail Hydra," he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Within hours, the file on Ben Tennyson and the Chaquetrix reached a clandestine location, a hidden base nestled deep within the Swiss Alps. There, in the cold, sterile environment of a Hydra research facility, the information was devoured. The faces of high ranking Hydra members loomed over the screen, scrutinizing every detail of the Chaquetrix.
The alien device and its potential to weaponize alien DNA was of extreme interest. Plans began to form. Strategies were discussed. The hunt for Ben Tennyson and the Chaquetrix had begun.
***
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Advance chapters are in my P@|r3on - Najicablitz