Chapter Text
At this rate, Ben was tempted to pay Techadon a visit as Way Big. What was this, the third time they'd sent a string of killer robots after him? Clearly they'd learned from the times before — this group kept evading him until he timed out, then going in for the kill. He'd been able to put a couple of them down, but…
He dodged another swing. "Cut it out!" he snapped, then snorted at his own pun. "Get it? Cut it out?"
The knife-handed robot didn't appreciate the joke. Rook wouldn't, either, but he wasn't here. Something something Proto-TRUK maintenance on another planet something something "do not die while I am away, Ben. I will be very upset if you do."
Right. Working on that.
He needed to figure out their image lock. He'd tried covering the Omintrix, his face, his jacket… no dice.
Still, as good at the robots were at evading, they hadn't managed to land a hit. He was kind of wondering about that, but no looking a gift horse in the mouth, right?
He rolled out of the way, ducking back to dodge the counter-swing, and–
Pressure, pain, stinging, burning– Ben blinked. Slowly. Everything was a little– slowly.
He looked down.
Smart, he thought. You brought a friend.
The blade was… long. Broad. Stabbed through his back and sticking out of his stomach, still there and sealing the wound. Bleeding slowly, spreading a dark red stain across his hoodie. Not lethal — at least not anytime soon.
His breath hitched. The movement pulled at his stomach, and the red seeped out faster, only for a moment. The robot in front of him reached forward, and the world slowed down.
That's why they didn't land a hit. They were being careful. They want me alive.
Ben didn't let himself think. He just moved.
He dove to the side, rolling over his shoulder. The knife moved, and the pain spiked, and his vision tunneled. He staggered to his feet and did not look at the blood coming out of him. He tried to think. His head felt– weird. Floaty.
Probably shock, he thought, oddly detached. He was feeling pretty cold, after all.
If he pulled the knife out, he'd bleed more. If he didn't, it would keep spreading the damage. If he transformed, he might become a species that couldn't survive this wound. If he didn't, he couldn't fight.
The robots started after him. No more time to think. He ran.
–
Ben hid behind a dumpster. Sanitary? No. But he'd worry about infection later.
He'd made his decision on the way, but that didn't make it easy.
He closed his eyes and reached back with his left hand. That shoulder was more flexible — one of the delightful benefits of how many times it had been dislocated when someone tried to take the Omnitrix by force.
Stop thinking. Just do it.
His hand found the handle. Heh. Hand, handle. He'd never noticed that before.
And there goes the shock, he thought mildly. There were two voices in his head, not unlike Serena and Bellicus. One was spacy, drifting, giggling at the whole ordeal. The great Ben Ten, hiding behind a dumpster, pulling a knife out of his back. The other was serious.
Don't think, it said. Just do it.
He pulled.
It felt like fire. Like acid. Like electricity shooting through his body, lighting it up with pain. He didn't hear his own scream, but the way his voice trailed into a whimper was familiar. The ragged breaths that followed, the reflex tears brimming in his eyes, the strain on his voice and his lungs… he knew what screaming felt like.
He wondered if anyone had heard him this time.
(Probably not, he thought. They never do.)
(Don't think. Move.)
The dumpster split in half. He yelped and scrambled away.
Darkness framed his vision again. He fought it off, panting. The robots were silent. They didn't move because they didn't need to. He was fading fast, losing blood, moving from adrenaline to shock to shutdown. He shed his jacket, backing away from them slowly.
Don't think. It's gonna hurt. Don't think. I don't want to. Don't think. Do it.
He wound his jacket around his abdomen, tied it, and pulled.
His vision went white. He felt himself scream again, and his whimper turned into a sob.
It hurts. I wanna go home. It hurts.
Don't think.
The robots walked after him. Two against one.
The Omnitrix was in the green. But any species with organs…
Any species with organs, he thought. That's it.
They were tracking his vitals. There must be a consistent frequency across transformations. But if he became one that wasn't alive…
He dialed in Ghostfreak. If that didn't work, he'd go Upgrade. Any species without vital signs. Any species they couldn't hurt.
He didn't think. He just moved.