Jayden Stark's POV
Days blurred into weeks, and weeks into months. I kept my head down, surviving off freelance work—illustrations, commissions, anything that paid enough to keep me afloat. I couldn't risk a regular job. Not after what happened. Not when I wasn't sure if I could trust myself.
The Omnitrix had become my shadow. Always there, glowing faintly against my skin, reminding me of the fire, the screams, the ash. I hated it. I feared it. But I couldn't ignore it.
So I studied it.
At first, I thought it was broken. Unlike the original Omnitrix I remembered, mine didn't respond to clicks or commands. No dial to twist, no menu to scroll through. It was embedded into me, fused with my body.
Then one day, it just… clicked.
I don't know how else to explain it. I wasn't pressing anything, wasn't even trying. I just thought about it, and suddenly the transformation surged through me. Instinct. Natural. Like breathing.
That terrified me more than anything.
Because if it was instinct, then it wasn't entirely mine to control.
I practiced in secret, late at night when the city was quiet. Each time, the transformation came easier, smoother. But each time, I noticed something else—my emotions fluctuated wildly. Rage, despair, euphoria, paranoia. It was like my mind wasn't mine anymore.
The Omnitrix had to recharge, just like the original. After each transformation, it went dormant, glowing faintly until it was ready again. That gave me time to breathe, to remind myself I was still human.
But the changes weren't only physical. My pupils had turned bright cyan, glowing faintly even in the dark. I couldn't hide them. Every time I looked in the mirror, I saw someone different staring back.
I told myself it was fine. That I was adapting. But deep down, I knew something was wrong.
Months passed. The world moved on.
Tony Stark returned. The news was everywhere—his escape from captivity, his announcement, the birth of Iron Man. Cameras flashed, headlines screamed, the world celebrated.
I watched from my apartment, hoodie pulled tight, eyes narrowed.
It didn't bother me. Not really. Tony could have his fame, his empire, his spotlight. But then it hit me.
What if I became a superhero?
The thought came suddenly, but it stuck.
Right now, New York's heroes were shadows. Vigilantes working underground. Spider-Man hadn't even gotten his powers yet. The city was vulnerable, waiting for someone to step up.
Why not me?
I wasn't just Howard Stark's bastard son. I wasn't just Tony's forgotten brother. I had the Omnitrix. I had power no one else could even dream of.
I could make a name for myself. I could prove to Tony, to the world, that I was more than a mistake.
The idea burned in me, brighter than any flame.
But I wasn't ready. Not yet.
I still didn't understand the device. Still didn't understand myself. My emotions were unstable, my mind fractured. I didn't know it then, but the Omnitrix was influencing me in ways I couldn't see. The personalities of the aliens weren't separate—they were bleeding into me, embedding themselves into my thoughts.
I was becoming a ticking time bomb.
But that was a problem for another day.
For now, I had a goal.
I would rise. I would fight. I would carve my name into this world.
And when the time came, Tony Stark would see me—not as his bastard brother, but as something greater.