The warehouse still stank of scorched steel. Even after the fire crews had come and gone, the smell clung to Brendon's clothes, his hair, his skin. No amount of scrubbing made it go away.
He sat in his office the next morning with the blinds half-drawn, staring at the reports scrolling across his tablet. Half a million in damages. Three prototypes reduced to slag. Insurance adjusters already circling like vultures, asking questions he couldn't answer without sounding insane.
He scrolled back to the video feed, replaying the fight for the tenth time. The merc suits were crude — hydraulics that hissed under strain, plating cobbled together from stolen blueprints. But the weapons? Too advanced for scavenger tech. Someone was bankrolling this.
He didn't need a neon sign to know who.
"Hammer," he muttered. The name tasted like rust.
He shoved the tablet away and rubbed his face with both hands. His company was supposed to be his shield, his normal life. But the Omnitrix blurred the lines more each day. The prototypes weren't just inspired by alien biology anymore — they were alien. And Hammer knew it, or at least suspected enough to come crashing through the front door with mercenaries.
A knock pulled him from the spiral.
"Mr. Brendon?" His assistant, Alicia, leaned into the office. She was young, sharp-eyed, the kind of person who noticed everything. Today, though, she wore the cautious look of someone about to step on a minefield. "There's a… visitor in the lobby. Says she's from Homeland Security."
Brendon's stomach dropped. Not yet. Not them.
"Name?" he asked.
Alicia checked the card in her hand. "Hill. Maria Hill."
He forced himself to stay calm, though his pulse spiked. "Tell her I'll be down in five."
Maria Hill didn't waste time. She stood straight-backed in the sleek lobby, her dark suit immaculate, her gaze cutting across the room like she was cataloging every exit and camera.
Brendon approached with his most practiced CEO smile, hand extended. "Agent Hill, was it? To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She shook his hand firmly, not a hint of warmth in her eyes. "Mr. Brendon. I'll keep this short. We've been tracking a series of incidents across the city. Property damage, unexplained rescues, unidentified combatants. You've seen the footage, I assume?"
"Who hasn't?" Brendon said lightly, trying not to let the Omnitrix burn a hole through his sleeve.
Hill's eyes flicked to him, measuring. "Locals are calling him Morpher. A shapeshifter. Someone who can appear as fire, crystal, claws, speed. Curious set of abilities."
Brendon gave a polite chuckle. "Sounds like a comic book to me."
Her expression didn't change. "Funny. The damage is very real. And the pattern of incidents overlaps with facilities you own, or are within two miles of your company's assets."
The smile strained at his lips. "Coincidence. I don't control where crime happens."
Hill let the silence hang for a long moment before sliding a card onto the reception desk. "If you happen to learn anything, Mr. Brendon, you'll call me. Because if we discover you've been withholding, well—let's just say I'd hate for your promising little firm to become collateral."
She walked out without another word, heels clicking sharp against the marble.
Brendon exhaled only when the doors slid shut behind her. His hand clenched into a fist. The Omnitrix pulsed once, faint and almost mocking.
That night, he couldn't sleep. He stood by the window of his apartment, the city glittering below, the watch glowing faintly in the dark. He remembered the chants on the street after his last fight — "Morpher! Morpher!" Like they already believed he belonged to them.
But Hammer's mercs hadn't been chanting. They'd been hunting.
And Hill? She was circling closer with every step.
Brendon whispered into the night, as though the Omnitrix could hear him.
"How long can I balance this? How long before it all collapses?"
The Omnitrix gave no answer. Just that steady green heartbeat.
By morning, the headlines had shifted again.
"Morpher Defends City Against Armored Raiders."
"Who is New York's Green Guardian?"
"Morpher vs. Mercenaries — Are We in a Superhero Arms Race?"
Brendon closed the paper. His reflection in the black coffee staring back at him looked tired, older than he felt.
The world wanted a hero. Hammer wanted a corpse. Hill wanted the truth.
And he? He just wanted one day where the watch didn't define his every move.