[32] Infested Alliances

Chapter 32: Infested Alliances

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Despite my closed nostrils, the smell hit me before we even crossed the city limits.

Philadelphia's skyline rose in the distance, but instead of the usual urban haze, the air shimmered with movement. Dark clouds that weren't clouds at all, but living, writhing masses of insects that turned the afternoon sun into a sickly twilight.

"Holy crap, crazy," I wheezed through my stuffed nose, pressing my face against the Rust Bucket's window. The glass fogged with my breath, but I could still see the nightmare unfolding outside. "Dat's... dat's a lot of bugs."

Cars sat abandoned on the highway, their drivers having fled for their lives when the swarms descended. A news van lay overturned in a ditch, its satellite dish bent at an unnatural angle. Through gaps in the insect clouds, I caught glimpses of people running, hands over their faces, desperate to escape the biblical plague that had descended on their city.

"Benjamin Tennyson, sit down this instant!"

Grandpa Max's voice cut through my observations as he burst through the RV door, arms laden with paper bags that reeked of things I didn't want to identify. He panted for breath, and I noticed his Hawaiian shirt was soaked with sweat, with several dead flies stuck to his head.

"I got everything!" He announced triumphantly, setting the bags on the counter. "Fresh ginger, fermented black beans, potikadon root, dried seahorse, and—"

"Dried what?" Gwen looked up from her spellbook, nose wrinkling. "Grandpa, that's not food, that's maritime grave robbing."

"It's medicine!" He insisted, already pulling out ingredients that looked like they belonged in a witch's cauldron rather than a kitchen. "My famous san juan yi pian remedy! Guaranteed to cure any cold, flu, or alien virus you might pick up."

I watched in growing horror as he combined the ingredients in a pot, the mixture bubbling and releasing vapors that made my already-suffering sinuses want to commit suicide. The color was a disturbing shade of green-brown that reminded me of Stinkfly's digestive fluids, and that should have been warning enough.

"Drink up!" Grandpa thrust a steaming mug at me.

"I'd rather transform into Wildmutt again," I protested, but his stern expression left no room for argument.

The first sip was like drinking liquid despair. It tasted of seaweed, gym socks, and regret, with an aftertaste that suggested the seahorse had died of natural causes sometime during the Cretaceous period. I forced it down, eyes watering, while Gwen laughed so hard she nearly dropped her book.

"Not funny!" I gasped between gulps.

"Oh, it's very funny," she countered, wiping tears from her eyes. "Your face! You look like someone's forcing you to drink Vilgax's bath water!"

I ignored the stupid girl, finished the concoction, and waited. One minute. Two. My sinuses remained as clogged as ever, and now my stomach was staging its own revolt.

Grandpa frowned, stroking his chin. "Hmm. Usually it’d take ten doses for full effect, but even one glass should show some results. I must have forgotten something. Let me check my notes..." He rummaged through his bags before snapping his fingers. "Ah! Tiger balm! I knew I was missing something. Stay here, I'll be right back."

He rushed out again, leaving me to suffer in peace. Or so I thought.

Through the windshield, I watched another wave of insects descend on a group of fleeing civilians. A mother stumbled, her child crying as wasps circled overhead. Their lives weren’t in danger, but still a familiar itch started in my chest. The need to help, to do something other than sit here feeling sorry for myself.

"No," Gwen said without looking up from her book.

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't have to. I know that look." She turned a page, fingers tracing arcane symbols. "You're thinking about playing hero while you can barely stand without swaying, doofus."

"People need help, dweeb." I stood, ignoring the way the world tilted slightly. "I can't just sit here."

"You can and you will." She finally looked at me, concern mixing with exasperation in her green eyes. "You're sick, Ben. Let someone else handle it for once."

But I was already at the door, hand on the Omnitrix. This was Clancy the Bug Man's episode, I remembered it clearly from my past life. The homeless bug lover, driven mad by his mutation, lashing out at a world that feared him. In the show, it had been resolved with minimal casualties. But this wasn't a cartoon anymore.

"Ben, I'm serious—"

I stepped outside, the door closing on her protests.

The air hit me hard, thick with the drone of millions of wings. Up close, the swarms were even more terrifying. Roaches carpeted the sidewalks, flies formed dense clouds that blocked out streetlights, and I could see wasps building massive nests on traffic signals.

My fingers found the Omnitrix dial, scrolling through options. Originally, Heatblast solved this problem. Coincidentally, the Ben in the show also caught a cold in this episode, which made Heatblast’s flames turn into ice. I could just follow that if I wanted, or… I could fix this differently.

I needed something that could communicate with insects, maybe calm them down. Stinkfly was the obvious choice. Bug to bug diplomacy.

"What are you doing?!" Gwen's voice behind me, sharp with annoyance and worry.

I turned to answer just as the sneeze hit. The violent expulsion rocked my whole body, and my finger slammed down on the watch face mid-convulsion.

Green light engulfed me, but something felt wrong immediately. Instead of Stinkfly's compound eyes and wings, I felt myself drop to all fours. My vision vanished, replaced by a world of scent and sound that should have been incredibly detailed.

Should have been.

"EWWW, not again!!" Gwen's disgusted cry barely penetrated the cotton-filled haze of my senses.

I'd become Wildmutt for the second time today, but this was worse. So much worse. My cold had completely clogged the gill-slits that served as my primary sensory organs. I couldn't smell anything beyond my own fluorescent mucus, couldn't echolocate through the congestion. I was a blind, deaf predator stumbling through a city under siege.

I tried to call out, to tell Gwen I was fine, but only managed a pathetic whine that sent more snot flying. My powerful muscles were useless when I couldn't tell where I was going. I crashed into something metal—a car?—and heard the alarm start blaring.

Then, sudden heat near my feet. Not burning heat, but pressure, force that scorched the concrete where I'd been about to step. I reared back, confused and alarmed.

Was that some kind of beam? What…

'Easy... easy... you're frightened. We're not here to hurt you.'

The voice came from inside my head, gentle but intrusive. Female, young, trying to project calm like she was dealing with a rabid animal. Which, from her perspective, I probably looked like.

But all I could think was—Shit, telepath. Someone's in my head.

My mind raced despite the cold-fog. If she could speak to me, could she read my memories? See my past life? Learn about the Omnitrix? Every instinct screamed danger, and a growl rumbled from my chest before I could stop it.

"Stand down!" A male voice, authoritative and rigid. "Jean, is it hostile?"

"I... I can't tell. Its mind is chaotic, fragmented. The congestion is affecting its thought patterns."

More movement around me. I caught vibrations through the ground—multiple people, spreading out in what felt like tactical positions. My hackles rose.

A flash of energy in my limited peripheral vision, then Gwen's voice, fierce and protective. "Get away from him! That's not a monster, that’s my cousin, you idiots!"

Silence.

The kind that suggested weapons being lowered and confused glances being exchanged.

"Your cousin?" A younger female voice, nervous. "Is he a mutant?"

"Wait." The authoritative male again. "You. I recognize you. You were at the Walmart incident with that creature."

The Walmart incident. Of course. Since the name Jean was said, I understand the situation now. My stint as Ghostfreak possessing Rogue had made more waves than I'd thought. Just another complication in an already complicated life.

"We can explain," Gwen said, and I could hear the forced calm in her voice. "But first, stop pointing those... whatever those are at him! He's sick and confused, not dangerous."

"A creature that size is always dangerous," the man countered. "Jean, can you—"

"I'll try to establish better communication," the telepath, Jean Grey, interrupted.

I felt the mental pressure increase, fingers of thought trying to pry deeper into my congested brain. Every instinct screamed to fight, to run, to do something other than stand here and let a stranger rifle through my mind.

The Omnitrix symbol on my shoulder pulsed, and suddenly the watch timed out. Red light washed over me as I shrank back to human form, landing on my hands and knees on the rough concrete. The sudden return of vision—even blurry, watery vision—was disorienting.

"A transformation ability," someone observed. Male, wearing some kind of visor that covered his eyes. Cyclops, my memory supplied. "Are you really a mutant?"

"No," I said, wiping snot from my face with as much dignity as I could muster.

Cyclops glanced at the redhead beside him. Jean Grey, one of the most powerful telepaths on Earth. She placed fingers to her temple, and I felt that invasive pressure again.

"That's incredibly rude!" I snapped, anger cutting through my illness. "Do you just probe everyone's mind without permission? What happened to consent? Basic courtesy?"

Cyclops scoffed. "It's for safety, you won’t understand. Besides, what could you be hiding anyway that shouldn’t be seen? That itself is suspicious. Your reaction is suspicious. Jean, let’s not waste time, probe into his head and see if there’s anything suspicious about him."

My heart dropped, anger boiling within me. I opened my mouth to shout at him, but it was too late. Jean Grey placed two fingers on her temple and fired her mind at me. I expected the worst, but she began to blink rapidly. "That's... how?"

"What is it?" Cyclops asked, turning to her. His body language hardened; he was ready to jump into a fight. “Is he a criminal?”

"No, no. Scott, relax. His mind is just weird. It was accessible in that creature form, chaotic but readable. But now..." She shook her head. "It's like hitting a wall. Complete mental shielding that wasn't there before."

What? Even I was surprised. Is she telling the truth?

[The Omnitrix has detected an anomaly. Telepathic intrusion attempted on the host's base form. Defensive measures activated. Initiating faster recharge mode for emergency response.]

The voice echoed in my head, mechanical and matter-of-fact but also sounding like my own voice. I was stunned, my eyes flickering around. But judging by the others' lack of reaction, only I could hear it. The Omnitrix’s Voice.

Relief flooded through me. So the watch protected my human mind, but not all alien forms. Some aliens like Ghostfreak are naturally resilient, of course. Good to know, terrifying to learn.

I felt myself relax greatly. So I glared at them. Indeed, it was Jean Grey and Scott Summers. There was a third person too, who looked nervous and hesitant, unsure about this whole fiasco. I think that was Kitty Pryde, the phasing girl?

“That’s weird,” Scott said, turning to Gwen, who froze in nervousness. “Just focus on her, then. It can’t be that both of them are—”

“You stupid blind bastard, you try anything on Gw`en and I’ll punch your head in.” I pushed myself to my feet, swaying slightly but holding Cyclops' visor-covered gaze. This cocky retard made my blood boil, making me shake in anger which made Kitty step back. “You guys are pathetic. So this is the so-called hero team of the Mutants?"

“You, watch that mouth.”

"Or else what?” My jaws clenched. Who did this fucker think he was? “Yeah, what's the difference between you fools and the criminal Magneto if this is how you behave? He tries to force his will on humans, you try to force your way into their minds. Same violation, different methods."

Jean flinched like I'd slapped her. Good. Maybe she'd think twice before playing mind-reader with strangers.

"...We don't have time for this, arguing with children," Cyclops said after a second, his jaw tightening. "There's a mutant in distress causing citywide panic. Since you're not here to help, stay out of our way."

"Who said I’m not here to help? Oh, yes, I'm sorry," I shot back, my temper flaring despite Grandpa's gentle hand on my shoulder. "I didn't realize saving people was an exclusive club. Do I need a leather uniform and a stick up my ass to qualify?"

"Ben," Gwen hissed, gently pulling me by the arm.

"Listen here, you—" Cyclops started, but Jean placed a hand on his arm.

"Scott, please. We're wasting time." She looked at me, and I saw genuine regret in her eyes. "I apologize for the intrusion. It won't happen again."

"Jean, we don't need to—"

"Yes, we do." Her voice was firm. "As professors, we’re supposed to behave better than this. We should go. The epicenter is close."

They moved past us, a unit of three in matching black leather. Cyclops took point, with Jean beside him and Kitty bringing up the rear. Professional, organized, everything we weren't.

"Leave it, Ben," Gwen said softly, surprising me by wrapping an arm around my shoulders. "Our goal is to see the day saved. Doesn't matter if we're the ones saving it or someone else."

But I couldn't just take it quietly, not when I knew what was waiting in that building. Clancy, panicked and alone, lashing out at a world that made him feel like a monster. The X-Men would try their recruitment speech, and given Scott’s fuckass personality, Clancy would panic, and things would escalate.

And damn, I hoped they got their ass beat.

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