Nathan sat on a park bench just outside the cordoned-off wreckage, the air still faintly buzzing with residual energy. Gwen (his Gwen) was chatting with Torchwood's Gwen in the distance. Something about Plumbers. Which—if he had the timeline right—meant he didn't have time to sit and look mysterious for long.
He opened the Shop tab with a flick of his finger.
{The Shop
Everything can be bought here, as long as you can pay for it—and are lucky enough to see it on display.
Display reset in: 23:46:07
Aphrodite's Spicy Picture Collection
Ring of Necromancy
Traveller's Bag
Deck of Gambler's Cards
Anti-Life Equation
Aleha – The Last of Darkest Void Phoenix }
"…That's not ominous at all," Nathan muttered. "Feels like the multiverse just dumped its weird drawer contents into one list."
[An apt metaphor. Would you like a breakdown by viability, strategic value, or sheer existential hazard?]
"Let's go bottom-up. Aleha?"
[Rejected.]
"Not even going to explain?"
[It is labeled 'Free.' Free implies strings. Cosmic-grade strings. The kind that wrap around your life and quietly strangle it in your sleep.]
"…That's dark."
[Accurate.]
He tilted his head, rereading the description. "Says she's the last phoenix of some kind."
[She is also marked 'Obligated.' You would not be purchasing a companion—you would be entering into an undefined contract with a volatile, semi-extinct war entity.]
"Cool bird, though."
[Unquantified threat level. Recommend immediate dismissal.]
"Yeah, alright. Not interested in hatching a loyalty quest with a side of murder-suicide."
[Wise.]
Nathan swiped up to the next item. "Anti-Life Equation. Definitely the kind of thing I could use to impress interdimensional sociopaths."
[Also definitely the kind of thing that would remove your free will, rewrite your moral compass, and render you into a smiling husk.]
"Hard pass."
[Correct.]
He raised a brow. "Wasn't even tempted?"
[No. You irritate me, but I prefer your current level of self-direction.]
Nathan cracked a grin. "That was dangerously close to affection."
[It was not.]
"Just saying, if I ever go full Anti-Life zombie, I expect you to wipe me clean."
[Contingency protocols prepared for such situations. Some are even painless.]
He moved on. "Deck of Gambler's Cards. This looks like fun."
[And statistically lethal. Each draw alters reality. Effects vary from trivial to catastrophic. It could be used indirectly. Assign it to a proxy. Perhaps someone who is already prone to poor decision-making.]
"Not naming names, but I have options."
[You collect them.]
Nathan studied the card art briefly before flicking past. "Alright. Necromancy Ring."
[A tool. Viable for trade. Can also be used as a delayed sabotage item. If worn too long, initiates slow transformation into undead caster. Timeframe: inconsistent.]
"Not something I'd wear."
[Correct. You would complain about the side effects before it activated.]
"But I could plant it on someone if things got desperate."
[With moderate success rate. It is a probability that it also emits traceable necrotic aura—do not carry it in polite society.]
"Good note. I'll save it for impolite situations."
He paused at the spicy option on the list. "Aphrodite's pictures. Gods above and below…"
[Aesthetic value only. Potential blackmail material. But we lack Drachma, and your current leverage network does not include Greek entities. The pictures are not strategically viable.]
"So you're saying I'm not allowed to buy spicy god nudes?"
[Correct.]
"Killjoy."
[Accurate.]
He flicked to the last item.
"Traveller's Bag. This was the one you were talking about, no?"
[Affirmative. It solves your immediate identification issue, provides high-utility travel gear, and the cost—temporary random teleportation—is survivable. You also do not own a laundry system.]
"I have hands. I can wash—"
[You also did not bring spare underwear. Data confirms this.]
Nathan sighed. "I was gonna buy it anyway."
Once Gwen finished her conversation with the other Gwen and the Torchwood team, she returned to find Nathan still lounging on the bench, looking relaxed for once. After a brief exchange, they decided it was time for lunch—or technically, early dinner. Neither of them had eaten all day.
Though the district they were in had a slightly run-down, half-abandoned air, a ten-minute walk brought them to a livelier road, where they flagged down a taxi and headed toward the heart of the city.
"You know," Nathan said as they stepped out of the cab and into the amber glow of early evening, "walking together in the city, sharing a meal… this definitely feels like a date. Especially with a beautiful girl like you."
Gwen shot him a sideways glance, smirking. "Is that so? Shouldn't you ask the beautiful girl before declaring it a date?"
"Too late. Already updating my mental calendar. This one's going down as Date No. 1."
She chuckled. "Then you better make sure Date No. 2 isn't just casual lunch after alien drama."
"No promises."
They found a quiet rooftop restaurant with a view of the skyline—just high enough to be scenic, just empty enough to be peaceful. Nathan ordered grilled chicken and roasted vegetables, Gwen went with pasta, and for a moment, things felt… normal.
Unseen by either of them, Raphael had already finished constructing a perfectly forged identity in the background.
Utilizing the ID Creator from the Traveler's Bag, the Acquire skill, and her own hyper-intelligent infiltration of global government records, banking systems, and media registries, she pieced together something that not only passed scrutiny—it would resist it.
Nathan Winterson. Son of Argus Winterson, a reclusive billionaire magnate in the hotel and luxury service industry. Known for owning properties in 165 countries and an empire boasting over 12,000 assets, Argus had made headlines more for his eccentricity than his public appearances.
After Argus's death—staged as occurring just days ago—his secretive heir had stepped forward: Nathan. The man no one knew existed but no one could dispute. Family photos (digitally doctored), birth certificates, trust fund trails, shell companies—all present, all airtight.
Nathan, for his part, had only given Raphael one instruction: Make it work. And so she had.
By the time dinner ended and they walked down the stairs into the cooling dusk, Nathan's digital footprint was already deep enough to pass SHIELD-level background checks without so much as a flagged ping.
Just as they stepped back onto the sidewalk, Gwen's phone buzzed. It was Ben.
"We're in town," Ben said, "Where are you guys?"
Ten minutes later, they met up near the edge of the city, where Kevin's signature beat-up car waited for them. As Nathan and Gwen climbed in, the familiar buzz of reunited friends settled over them.
"So, Nathan," Ben said as they pulled onto the road, "where exactly is your home now? I mean, did you reach out to your family after the whole desert teleport thing?"
Nathan didn't miss a beat. "I never really had a home," he said with a practiced sadness. "My mom passed when I was young, and Dad—he was always traveling for the hotel business. We moved constantly. I guess... I never learned what staying in one place meant. Now that he's gone, I don't really know where 'home' even is."
His voice was calm, but the quiet weight behind it hung in the air like fog.
Kevin glanced at him through the rearview mirror. "Well, maybe now's your shot to figure that out," he offered gently. "Make your own home, yeah? Or go full adventurer mode like your dad."
Nathan smiled faintly. "That sounds like something he'd say."
The moment lingered—warm, almost comforting—until it shattered.
Nathan vanished.
One second he was there, sitting in the backseat next to Gwen. The next, the seat was empty.
Kevin slammed on the brakes, swerving the car to the shoulder.
"What the hell?!" he barked, scanning the horizon. "Was that an attack?"
"No blast, no spell signature…" Gwen muttered. Her fingers flicked, summoning a soft glow of magic into her palm. She traced a quick rune in the air and muttered, "Locatoris."
A thin pink thread tried to stretch out—then flickered violently and vanished.
"He's gone. Like... gone gone. At least a few hundred miles away."
Ben didn't waste time. "I'm going after him," he said, slamming the Omnitrix dial. With a flash of green light, he transformed into Jetray and launched into the sky with a sonic boom.
But Nathan was already far from their reach.
The price of the Traveler's Bag had just come due.
POV change
SHIELD Operations Hub, Classified Location — 23:47 Local Time
The lights were dim, but the room pulsed with quiet urgency—holographic world maps glowed with active alerts, and a dozen screens streamed satellite feeds, surveillance footage, and sensor data. At the center of it all stood Director Nick Fury, his single eye scanning a rolling report of unusual energy activity over the past 72 hours.
"So, Daisy," Fury said, not looking up, "you wanted to meet. Did it turn out Mr. Fract was actually selling alien tech?"
"Not just that, sir. I'll forward you the full report later. He's in Torchwood custody now—it involved Cybermen. Only they have the tech to contain that mess," Daisy replied.
Fury finally glanced her way. "And yet you're here about something else?"
"Yes, sir. Something potentially bigger."
Fury raised an eyebrow. "Bigger than a Cyberman arms dealer?"
"At the site, I ran into Gwen Tennyson. She had a cyborg with her. Later, I found out—he's an Omnitrix user. And not Ben. Ben's fine, he still has his device. They met up later, actually."
Fury frowned. "You're telling me we've got a second Omnitrix user? That wasn't part of the Plumber hand-me-down package."
"I've cross-checked all available data. No record of him in Plumber files—not in anything we've got access to, anyway."
Fury groaned. "Most of what we have comes from Max Tennyson's era. And Max wasn't the type to lose track of his own recruits."
Daisy handed him a still image. Fury's gaze narrowed.
"Wait a minute... this cyborg matches the Aqaba incident. If he's an Omnitrix user, that explains a lot."
He tapped the table and brought up the Aqaba report. "Yesterday we had two anomalies: one, a silver-armed cyborg seen entering the power plant just before a total blackout. The other, a flying man in a red cape spotted leaving the desert. Neither showed up on satellite after that. Then, within sixty seconds, a dozen phones in the area swapped their network IDs and pinged... in Michigan."
Daisy crossed her arms, leaning on the edge of the desk. "So that was him teleporting?"
"Looks like it. And there's more. A monster attack in a Michigan suburb—no ID on the creature. But ground scans show it tore through reinforced concrete like it was paper. The forest nearby's wrecked—burnt trees, shattered ground, large-scale damage. Something powerful fought there. And guess who was seen flying over the area? Same cape. Then he shows up again at the Fract site—back in cyborg form, walking next to Gwen."
Fury's voice dropped flat. "And now he's teamed up with Ben Tennyson?"
Daisy nodded. "Just got the confirmation. They're together in town."
"Fantastic," Fury muttered. "Two of our no-touch Plumber brats, plus a shapeshifter with a doomsday wristwatch and a habit of draining city power grids. Just what I needed."
He turned back to the monitor. "Run a full image search. I want to know who this kid is, where he came from, and what he had for breakfast."
"No need, sir," Daisy said. "His face is all over the business news right now. He just inherited Winterson Hospitality Group."
Fury froze for a beat.
"Son of a... So not only does the kid have alien tech the Plumbers classified as Level 20, but he's also a billionaire?"
And thus a new file was created in SHIELD database:
SUBJECT ID: OMNITRIX-2
REAL NAME: NATHAN WINTERSON
STATUS: UNKNOWN LOYALTIES. HIGH RISK, HIGH MOBILITY.
KNOWN ASSOCIATES: GWEN TENNYSON, BEN TENNYSON
CAPABILITIES: SHAPESHIFTING, FLIGHT, SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH, ENERGY DRAIN, TECHNOLOGICAL INTERFACING
ADDITIONAL NOTES: DO NOT ENGAGE WITHOUT AUTHORIZATION. MAINTAIN SURVEILLANCE. PREPARE COUNTERMEASURES.