NEW YORK – 2 PM
-Alright, alright, that was Spiderman, and Shocker was there too. This thing is way too realistic as I glance at the watch on my wrist… I'm filthy, poor… poorer than I should be, and for some reason, I understand English, which shouldn't even be possible, because my English is caveman-level, not super fluent like it could pass for my native tongue. So, considering all that, I probably need a mirror or some reflective surface, because I feel like I'm about to have another damn attack as I bring a hand to my chest, my heartbeat racing after seeing two supposed fictional characters engage in a super realistic movie fight.
Looking around, there's nothing I can see myself in—not even a puddle. I fix my eyes on one of the dumpsters.
-Damn it… desperate times call for desperate measures as I shuffle my skeletal body closer to the dumpster, trying to lift one of the lids. I have to stretch, stand on tiptoe to reach it.
It's heavy. My body's too skinny, and I'm starting to feel hungry and thirsty. With the little strength I have, I manage to lift the lid, and it smacks the wall behind me, thankfully staying in place.
With great effort and patience, I climb in. The smell is unbearable. I swallow repeatedly, trying not to throw up again. At least everything's in garbage bags. The only good thing is I weigh so little that I barely put pressure on the bags.
I start opening them, looking for anything useful: food containers, parts of what I guess are household devices, batteries… and a portion of noodles in a small separate bag.
-Grrrrrrruuuuuum
I clutch my stomach—it's like a giant hole. The hunger intensifies when I see those noodles… garbage… but I'm so hungry.
My trembling hands tear a section of the bag, big enough to fit my tiny hand through the hole.
I grab a portion of noodles. They're cold, sticky, a bit hard…
-Smack-smack-smack I devour them as if manna fell from the sky. At some point, I don't even use my hand to bring the food to my mouth; I press from the other side to force the noodles straight in, barely chewing.
The taste is disgusting. Some noodles stick in my throat, but hunger wins. When I'm done, I use part of my shirt to wipe my mouth. My hand, still filthy, keeps digging through the trash. My stomach wants more.
I find some bottles with a little liquid inside. I leave not a single drop. Half-eaten burgers, stale donuts, cheese with suspicious green spots… disgust doesn't bother me anymore. Lost in the need to eat and drink, I just want to fill that emptiness inside.
Until my hands touch a small metal oval, palm-sized, with a thin frame and a short handle that folds against itself. With a faint click, a surface pops up—it's a mirror. Several pieces are missing, but I manage to see myself, moving it in different directions to get a look at my face.
It takes a second to register what I'm seeing.
I freeze.
That face… that face couldn't be mine.
The reflection shows a bony, starving boy with cheekbones so sharp they look like they could cut. His long, greasy hair hangs in dirty strands brushing his face. His skin is covered in scars, like he's been through a war that never ended.
A lump forms in my throat. I touch my cheek slowly, and in the mirror, the shadow does the same. I step back, as if the reflection is mocking me.
No… it can't be me. No.
I step closer, looking for a flaw, a crack in the glass that could distort the image. Nothing. The sunken, dull eyes are mine. That scarred skin is mine. That miserable shadow… that's me.
The air feels heavy in my chest. It's like staring at a stranger trapped in my body.
Suddenly, a hand grabs my neck from behind.
-"You filthy little bastard! I told you to get out of here, stop rifling through my trash!"
I'm thrown to the ground like a rag. My body hits the pavement with a sickening thud.
A tall, burly man with a beard and a cap glares at me, angry.
-"I warned you once. I told you I didn't want you here. This isn't a place to come die like a damn dog. If you want a place to leave your filthy, stinking corpse, jump off a bridge or something, not next to my store!" He slams the dumpster lid, sweeps away the makeshift tent with his legs, grabs a cardboard on the ground, crumples it into a ball, and throws it at me.
He covers his hand with a bag and grabs my hair. I try to struggle, my fingers trying to loosen his grip, but I have no strength. He drags me back to the sidewalk and throws me again. I roll into a parked car. The impact dazes me, and suddenly my head hurts.
I remember passing this place four days ago—the revolver in the trash. The same man threw me against a wall and kicked my stomach.
-"Come back here, and I'll drag you by your hair into the street, piece of shit. Don't come back!"
It feels like someone's shoving memories into my head, but they're not mine—they belong to whoever owns this fragile body.
People dodge me as they pass, some glancing briefly with pity, disgust, or contempt.
The man turns and heads back to a door I hadn't seen, hidden behind one of the dumpsters.
-"W-wait, I… who am I? Where am I?"
He keeps walking.
-"And how would I know, idiot? You don't even know we're in New York. Why don't you do us all a favor and disappear?"
The door slams shut behind him.
I blink, confused. New York? Wait… how am I understanding all of this?
I glance at the device on my wrist. If I remember correctly, it had a real-time universal translation function—so that's how I understand everything.
I stand up, scanning my surroundings, comparing myself to the passing people. I shouldn't be taller than 5'3"/1.60 m—great, I'm short too.
Alright, I'm a homeless kid. I've got nothing except one of the most powerful devices in all of fiction and maybe knowledge of things that might happen. With luck, this is one of the simpler Marvel Earths.
First, I need to stabilize myself, find a place to stay for a while, somewhere I can also test this as I look at the watch.
SMACK
A piece of paper hits my face. I push it away and look—it's a Daily Bugle newspaper. A big picture of Spiderman fighting the Lizard, headline:
"Spider and Reptilian Mutant Threat Spread Chaos in Central Park"
Good to know Triple J is up to mischief… Now that I think about it, Central Park. Huge place, full of trees, possible hiding spots, big enough for a small refuge, and maybe to test some of the Omnitrix's less flashy transformations.
It could work temporarily. There are spots to bathe and get water. I could make a tent from sticks and newspapers from the trash. During the day, I could scavenge food near fast-food places. I just have to watch out for police and bystanders who could blow my cover. I need to last as long as possible and stabilize a bit before getting kicked out.
Alright, sounds like a plan. I just need directions, so… let's get to work.
I take two steps before a voice interrupts me:
-"Young man? Are you okay? I'll need you to come with me, alright? We'll take you to the station, give you clothes, food, and then a temporary foster home."
A Black woman in a police uniform, about forty, extends her hand. She watches me carefully, with pity… maybe even concern. Next to her is a built man, too muscular to be just a regular officer, scanning me, hand hovering over his taser.
-"Sweetheart, come with us, okay? I can make you some hot chocolate and give you a couple of donuts. Chocolate ones." She steps slowly toward me. The skinny boy—me—stares blankly, barely able to stand, extending my hand carefully, afraid it might break.
I glance at both officers. Honestly, I'm tempted to accept their offer, but there's one big problem—how the hell do I explain the device on my wrist? And I don't even know if it can be removed. Based on my knowledge of the series, there's no method on Earth to take it off—at least none that doesn't involve killing myself or cutting off my arm.
I have no choice but to run. I know the man will try to taser me, so I need to stay alert, dodge, and run like my life depends on it.
1… 2…
As the woman almost grabs my shoulder, I pivot and start running. After three or four steps, I zigzag. Something brushes my left shoulder. Damn it—the bastard was really going to taser a malnourished homeless kid who isn't even 18.
-"HEY, WAIT! WE WON'T HURT YOU!"
-"Yeah, sure, because the taser just tickles, right?!" I shout while running in no particular direction, darting around corners, trying to lose them. Even with some distance between us, it's not enough. I tire fast, but they keep pace. The man runs like he's going to win some damn prize.
I'm a homeless kid, not a damn terrorist. They're not giving me a medal for being caught. I can barely keep up. I take a wrong turn, and luck hits me again—a dead-end alley, with the super cop on my tail.
I trot with the last of my stamina, leaning against the wall at the back of the alley.
-Well, I tried my best. Hopefully, they just cut off my arm and give me some kind of plan I could sell for… what, twenty dollars? Is that a lot? Not much? Damn, I'm from Argentina, where a Guaymallen costs 500 pesos. How the hell am I supposed to know if that's okay or not? Shit, they're going to dissect me and sell me to some ultra-secret Yankee program and then toss me in the trash once they realize the only interesting thing is this damn… I glance at my watch.
Wait… am I an idiot? I have the damn Omnitrix. What better time to use it than now? And if I want to go unnoticed and move freely, I have the right alien for the job.
My fingers touch the glassy surface. The familiar Omnitrix activation sequence kicks in as a small circular structure rises. I rotate the crystal, cycling through different aliens until I land on the one I want.
I don't want to activate the random selection like young Ben did by slamming the watch, so I press the structure gently but firmly, sinking it back into the watch.
A green flash momentarily blinds me.
A tingling runs through my body, starting at my hands and spreading to my head, as if every cell wakes at once. It's a strange, almost electric sensation—but it doesn't hurt. My arms and legs feel light, like they could move without effort. I try to breathe, and each inhale makes me feel more connected to something I don't fully understand.
Suddenly, my body stretches and reshapes in a different form. It's not painful, but it's disorienting. I feel detached, as if the ground had chains I hadn't seen before, now freed. My movements feel fluid. I look at my hands—I barely recognize them. Not human, but not unfamiliar either.
My vision sharpens. Details that were once invisible now pop out: textures, shadows, even the vibration of air around me. Everything feels closer, more intense. And though I feel powerful, there's a dizzying vertigo, as if I've crossed a line that wasn't there before.
I test my movement, and I can glide with a lightness I've never felt. Every turn feels natural. I relax, keep my breath steady, and my form fades as I merge into the wall, leaving only my head outside. It feels… natural, like I've always known how to do it.
I see the officer arrive quickly, catching his breath and keeping the taser raised, scanning for the scrawny kid.
Soon, his partner shows up, frowning and sweating. She grabs the rookie by his uniform shirt, bringing him close. She looks furious.
-"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING, TASERING AN UNDERAGE HOMELESS KID, ARE YOU CRAZY, SIMPSON?!"
Simpson? That name rings a bell—not the yellow cartoon family, but some pill-addicted lunatic… I hope the surname's common.
-"You never know who could be a threat, Harrison. He could've stabbed you with some hidden knife. I was just being cautious." He keeps scanning the area, taser still out.
-"Stabbed? Who do you think I am, Simpson, some damsel in distress? I can handle a knife. That kid could barely run. If he tried anything, he wouldn't even have the strength to stab me. He was a lost, homeless child—not a wanted criminal." The woman shoves him, scanning around for me.
-"Anyone can be dangerous, Clare, I was just being cautious—"
-"And protect me? I don't have time for your nonsense. Find the kid." She moves some boxes, checking the dumpsters.
I'm safe—unless they're magicians, I doubt they'll find me. I don't remember if it was mentioned in the series, but I didn't know Fantasmatico had to hold his breath to phase through things… or that he even breathed.
I feel like I could last a while longer, but I'm in a rush, so I have to make the most of my time I glance at the officer with the taser at his waist—though I'm tempted to balance the karma a little.
I stretch my hand toward the taser holster. My fingers find the cold weapon without him noticing. Carefully, I twist, press, and fiddle… a tiny adjustment, imperceptible, but enough.
Then, the taser sparks unexpectedly. The officer screams as electricity courses through him. I feel the shock through the weapon, but it doesn't reach me; I'm invisible, intangible to his eyes, and I watch him lose control of his body.
He collapses, muscles tense from the shock. His partner reacts, moving closer, trying to help. But touching the weapon—or him—would send the current to her too. I dial the taser's power down to medium-low. It shouldn't kill him, and it will stop working soon anyway.
I chuckle quietly, rising into the air. Flying feels liberating. I breathe easier as I spot the vast green of New York's park contrasting sharply with the city's cold gray.
I steady my breath, chart a course, and fly toward what I hope will be my temporary refuge… hoping I haven't raised a red flag.
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Well, that's it for today's chapter. Our protagonist is still in shock from everything that happened… no joke
As I said, he hasn't had time to process any of it yet. He had to act fast and come up with a plan quickly due to the precariousness of his situation.
We'll see how he manages in the park, and what surprises await him.
You know the drill—give it a like or whatever this site offers if you enjoyed it. I'd be happy to read any suggestions or answer any questions in the comments. The only way I could show you images I found was by uploading them in the comments, hehe—something is better than nothing.
See you later, folks!