"Tony Stark!"
Ben's voice carried a snarl of frustration as he glared at the armored figure hovering before him. This was the last complication he'd wanted to deal with.
"Guilty as charged," came the sardonic reply from within the red and gold suit. "I take it you're a fan? Though I have to say, this is the first time I've had a velociraptor recognize me. What's next—autograph requests from pterodactyls?"
"Sir," Jarvis's measured voice carried clearly through the armor's external speakers, "I believe this creature did not escape from a zoo."
"Thanks for the clarification, Jarvis," Tony replied with exaggerated patience. "Sometimes I wonder if your humor protocols need a complete overhaul."
The creature before him was clearly not terrestrial in origin—that much was obvious even without a detailed scan. Tony had encountered plenty of exotic technology since becoming Iron Man, but nothing quite like this sleek, predatory form that seemed to radiate barely contained energy.
"So," Tony said, shifting into a more serious tone, "mind telling me who—or what—you are?"
Tony's appearance here was purely coincidental. He'd been testing the flight performance of his newly upgraded Mark III armor when Jarvis had detected unusual activity in the city below. Apparently, several thugs had contacted the NYPD with wild stories about being attacked by a "blue dinosaur with roller skates." The police had dismissed the reports as drug-induced hallucinations, but Jarvis's threat assessment protocols had flagged the pattern as worth investigating.
Tony genuinely wanted answers, but his natural tendency toward sarcasm proved stronger than his curiosity. He held up one armored hand in a theatrical "stop" gesture.
"Wait, let me guess. Speed Gecko? Dino Guy? Raptor on Ice?" His voice took on a mock-excited tone. "Oh! Are you Blue? Please tell me there's some insane geneticist somewhere trying to resurrect Jurassic Park! Because that would make my week!"
The armored figure gestured dramatically, and even through the metal shell, Ben could practically see Tony's smirk.
Ben didn't respond to the taunts. His triangular eyes remained fixed on Iron Man while his peripheral vision confirmed that Dennis was still sprawled on the factory floor, too stunned by his near-death experience to attempt escape. When Ben finally spoke, his voice carried the cold precision of a surgical instrument.
"This has nothing to do with you. Stay out of it, Stark."
Ben had no interest in becoming a superhero, which meant he had even less interest in tangling with established heroes unless absolutely necessary. The only scenario where he'd willingly work with Stark Industries would involve a substantial paycheck—something that seemed unlikely given current circumstances.
He'd actually considered investing in Stark stock a few months ago when the company's value had plummeted following Tony's kidnapping. Unfortunately, even at rock bottom prices, Ben's meager savings couldn't cover a single share.
"Nothing to do with me?" Tony's tone shifted from playful to dangerous. "When something that looks like it crawled out of a paleontology textbook is about to commit murder, that becomes my business pretty quickly."
From Tony's perspective, Ben's alien appearance automatically placed him in the "potential threat" category. He was obviously non-human, possibly extraterrestrial, and currently engaged in what appeared to be premeditated murder. The math wasn't complicated.
The repulsors in Tony's palms began to glow as targeting systems locked onto Ben's position. "Here's how this works, Zoom Lizard—you surrender peacefully, or I make you surrender less peacefully. Your choice."
"Don't even think about hurting anyone while I'm here!"
"Just you?" Ben's laugh was sharp and humorless.
Tony Stark might be a genius inventor and a formidable opponent in the right circumstances, but he was facing XLR8—an alien capable of moving faster than most humans could perceive. Speed was the great equalizer, and Ben intended to use every advantage it provided.
"Feel free to try," Ben said, dropping into a runner's starting stance.
A sleek black visor descended over his face with mechanical precision, the distinctive blue "X" marking glowing softly in the dim light. He calculated the time remaining on his transformation—roughly twenty-five minutes, more than enough to complete his mission and deal with this interruption.
The extended transformation time was an unexpected benefit of his spider-enhanced genetics. Normally, the Omnitrix's safety protocols limited transformations to approximately ten minutes to prevent genetic contamination. But Ben's DNA had been fundamentally altered by the mutant spider's he ate, creating a more stable foundation that could accommodate alien genetic templates for longer periods.
His current limit seemed to be around thirty minutes before the watch would force a transformation timeout. It was a useful upgrade, though Ben had no intention of trying to permanently disable the safety features. Azmuth's genius far exceeded his own, and those protocols existed for good reasons.
"That's it, kid—you just made this personal!" Tony snarled, raising both palms toward Ben's position.
The Mark III's repulsors charged to full power, bathing the factory in harsh white light. Two concentrated energy beams lanced through the air, converging on the spot where Ben had been standing.
BOOM!
The industrial platform exploded in a shower of twisted metal and sparks. The direct hit punched a hole clean through the steel grating, while the surrounding structure collapsed under the assault. Debris rained down like metallic hail, the sound echoing through the cavernous space like thunder.
"Bullseye!" Tony pumped his fist in satisfaction. "Hope that wasn't too easy, Raptor Boy. I was looking forward to a decent workout."
He was already planning his next moves—secure the area, search the wreckage for remains, maybe salvage some tissue samples for analysis. The scientific implications of encountering an actual extraterrestrial were staggering.
"Sir," Jarvis's voice cut through Tony's celebration with characteristic British understatement, "I'm afraid you're being premature in your victory assessment."
"What?" Tony's voice cracked slightly. "Jarvis, the target was maybe ten feet away when I fired. Are you seriously suggesting someone could dodge a repulsor blast at that range?"
"Perhaps when we return to the workshop, we should focus on upgrading your humor recognition algorithms," Tony muttered, scanning the destruction below. "Clearly you need work on comedic timing."
"I assure you, sir, this is not an attempt at humor. I suggest you look down."
Tony's helmet sensors refocused on the factory floor, and his blood ran cold. Ben was already at Dennis's side, one razor-sharp claw pressed against the terrified man's chest. The movement had been so fast that Tony's sensors had barely registered it—one moment Ben had been on the platform, the next he was twenty feet away beside his intended victim.
"Put him down, Dino Boy!" Tony shouted, repulsors already charging for another shot.
"My name," Ben said with deadly calm, "is XLR8."
His claw punched through Dennis Carradine's chest with surgical precision, piercing the heart in a single, fluid motion. Blood sprayed across Ben's black visor, the droplets stark against the blue "X" marking.
The crimson stain seemed to glow in the factory's dim lighting, a brutal signature written in the language of absolute finality.