Gwen couldn't sleep.
Not because the desert night was too hot. Not because of coyotes or rustling wind. It was because every time she closed her eyes, she saw it — the look in Ben's eyes last night.
Not scared. Not childish.
Calculated. Certain.
Alien.
That wasn't her cousin.
Or… maybe it was.
Maybe that was what scared her most.
---
Earlier That Evening
Gwen had been watching Ben for hours. From the moment the sun dipped past the mountains, he'd been working in silence. He wasn't tinkering like some ten-year-old curious about gadgets. No. He was building systems, writing in alien code, using scraps of shipwrecked technology salvaged from Max's stash like he already knew how it all fit together.
It wasn't just genius. It was too familiar.
She watched from a distance, fingers curled around her diary — where, in increasingly panicked handwriting, she had tracked everything Ben had done since that first transformation:
Alien forms activating faster than expected.
No trial and error. Immediate mastery.
Use of terms like "adaptive molecular memory" and "recursive transformation layering."
Editing the Omnitrix's interface — something not even Azmuth dared easily do.
She turned the page to today's entry:
> June 10
"Ben doesn't flinch anymore. Not in battle. Not even when he glitches.
It's like… he knows what's going to happen.
Like he's read the script.
Like he's done all of this before."
---
Flashback – Days Ago
It had been a small moment, barely noticeable.
They were walking past a fast-food joint in Bellwood, and Gwen had casually mentioned a brand-new sandwich promotion. One she'd just read about in a pop-up ad.
Ben had shrugged and said, "Oh yeah, that one's going to flop. They discontinue it in three weeks."
Three. Weeks.
She'd asked him how he knew. He just gave her a playful smile.
"You'll see."
She had seen.
Three weeks later, it vanished.
That had been the first breadcrumb. Now? She was drowning in a trail of them.
---
Present – In the Rustbucket
Gwen sat at the small dining table, surrounded by Plumber tech, Max's notes, and her own laptop. She was building a profile. Not of a criminal — but of a paradox.
She had data now. Real readings.
Ben's energy signature wasn't just alien. It wasn't just Omnitrix-based. It was spiking into frequencies outside the normal space-time continuum. Gwen had seen enough magical anomalies to recognize when someone was "tethered to something bigger."
Ben wasn't just chosen by the Omnitrix anymore.
He was synchronizing with it.
Merging.
Her theory was simple. Terrifyingly simple:
> "Ben's not just changing the Omnitrix.
The Omnitrix is changing Ben.
Or worse — he's letting it."
She stared down at a photo of the two of them taken just a year ago. His face in it was still round, still boyish. His smile was real.
She wasn't sure it was, anymore.
---
Later That Night
She approached his tent again.
"Ben?"
No answer.
She stepped inside — cautiously. The tent was empty. Cold. Not like someone had left for a bathroom break — like it hadn't been slept in all night.
And then she saw it: a small glowing data spike attached to the Omnitrix's portable scanner. She picked it up. Alien symbols flickered on its surface. She tapped it.
> ACCESSING PROTOCOL: OBSERVER LOG – GWEN.TENNYSON
Her blood ran cold.
> He knew she would come.
He recorded something for her.
A hologram burst into life.
Ben's face. Calm. Eyes glowing faintly.
> "Hey, Gwen. If you're seeing this, then you're starting to doubt me. Good. You should. That means you're still you. That means you're sharp. Thinking. Watching."
She clutched the spike tighter.
> "I can't tell you everything yet. You'd try to stop me — and right now, I can't afford that. But I need you to know this: I'm not the villain here. I'm not losing control. I've seen what happens if I don't change the future. Everyone dies. You. Grandpa Max. The whole planet."
> "I got a second chance, Gwen. And I'm not wasting it by playing dumb and letting fate steamroll us again."
The recording flickered — then paused, as if giving her time to catch up.
Then Ben's voice continued, softer:
> "I remember you trying to save me. I remember you crying over my body. I remember your hands shaking when I died."
> "Don't let it happen again. Let me be more than I was meant to be."
The message ended.
Gwen was frozen.
---
Outside the Tent – Moments Later
Ben appeared at the edge of the clearing, silently stepping from behind a boulder. He hadn't been running.
He'd been watching her.
They stood in silence.
Finally, she asked, "Why trust me with this? If you knew I'd find it?"
Ben looked at her — a softness in his eyes no alien power could fake.
"Because if there's anyone who can decide whether I've gone too far… it's you."
She didn't speak. Didn't move. Her hands shook just slightly.
But she didn't run.
Didn't call Max.
Didn't turn away.
---
Final Scene
That night, Gwen wrote one line in her journal:
> He's not the same Ben.
But maybe that's exactly what we need.
She closed the book, placed the spike beside her pillow, and lay back.
Sleep didn't come easy.
But for the first time… she didn't fight it.