Just as Aunt May pushed open the door to enter the room, a brilliant green light erupted from Bennett's wrist like a miniature supernova, forcing her to instinctively squeeze her eyes shut and raise one hand to shield her face from the unexpected glare.
The light came and went in mere seconds, but its intensity left dancing spots across her vision. When May finally managed to blink away the aftereffects and focus on the room again, she found herself staring at a completely bizarre scene that made no logical sense whatsoever.
Bennett was lying peacefully in his bed, tucked under his blanket like he'd been taking an afternoon nap. But the blanket itself was bulging upward in impossible ways, as if someone had inflated a circus tent underneath the fabric. The lumpy, uneven shape suggested he might have stuffed a refrigerator under there, or possibly a small elephant. Only his head was visible above the covers, resting on his pillow with an expression of carefully manufactured innocence.
"Hey, Aunt May," Bennett said, his voice carrying just the right note of casual surprise, as if finding her standing in his doorway was completely unexpected. "What's up?"
"Are you... feeling alright?" May had dozens of questions burning on the tip of her tongue, each one more pressing than the last.
Like what exactly had caused that blinding flash of light that had lit up the entire hallway? What were those terrible crashing sounds she'd been hearing from his room for the past several minutes? And most importantly, why did it look like he was hiding a small carnival ride under his bedding?
But she ultimately decided against voicing any of these concerns directly. Teenagers needed their privacy, even when they were clearly up to something unusual. Both Ben and May had learned through experience that sometimes the best parenting approach was to offer support without demanding immediate explanations for every strange behavior.
May simply walked to Bennett's bedside with the practiced concern of someone who had been caring for teenagers for over a decade. She placed her weathered but gentle hand against his forehead, checking for fever with the kind of automatic gesture that came naturally to surrogate mothers everywhere.
"Your temperature feels normal, but you've been acting so strange lately," she said, her voice carrying genuine worry. "Maybe I should make an appointment with Dr. Martinez just to be safe. A quick check-up couldn't hurt, especially after you missed so much school this week."
"Wait, Aunt May, I'm totally fine. Really. No need for any doctor visits," Bennett replied quickly, his hands tightening their grip on the blanket like his life depended on keeping it in place.
The thought of going to a hospital right now filled him with dread for multiple reasons. In this land of the free, medical care came with price tags that could bankrupt working-class families like theirs. The Parkers were already struggling to make ends meet on Uncle Ben's modest income, and Bennett refused to saddle them with unnecessary medical expenses, especially when he knew exactly what was wrong with him and that it wasn't something any Earth doctor could possibly treat.
More importantly, he had no idea what kind of readings his mutated biology might produce on medical equipment. The last thing he needed was some concerned physician discovering that his blood chemistry had fundamentally changed or that he was registering as genetically non-human.
"You've already missed four days of school this week, Bennett," May continued, her tone becoming more serious as she settled into what he recognized as her responsible guardian voice. "Ever since you and Peter came back from that field trip to Oscorp Industries, both of you boys have been acting completely different. At least Peter seems to have bounced back to his normal self, but you..."
She paused, clearly searching for the right words to express her growing concern.
"Your Uncle Ben and I have both noticed how withdrawn you've become. You barely come out of your room except for meals, you haven't been doing your homework, and now you're making excuses to avoid school entirely. We're starting to worry that something serious happened during that trip."
"I just... haven't been feeling very social lately," Bennett said lamely, pulling the blanket up higher around his chin. "You know how it is. Sometimes teenagers need space to figure things out."
It was a terrible excuse and they both knew it, but he couldn't exactly explain that he'd been spending the past few days researching radioactive spiders and planning to consume one in a desperate attempt to activate alien technology.
"Need space to figure what out, exactly?" May's voice carried a note of sharpness that meant she wasn't buying his deflection. She was about to launch into a more serious conversation about responsibility and communication when the distinctive sound of Uncle Ben's ancient car rumbled to life in the driveway below.
That particular vehicle was a mechanical marvel in the worst possible sense—a decades-old sedan that had somehow continued functioning despite the fact that every component should have given up years ago. Whenever Ben started or shut off the engine, the car produced a symphony of grinding, clanking, and wheezing sounds that belonged in a scrapyard rather than a residential neighborhood.
"Uncle Ben's home early," Bennett observed, grateful for any opportunity to change the subject. "Didn't he have to work a full shift at the warehouse today?"
"Peter got into a fight at school," May explained, her expression immediately shifting from concerned-but-patient to deeply troubled. "The principal called Ben at work and asked him to come pick Peter up immediately. Apparently it was serious enough that they're considering suspension."
She sighed heavily, the sound carrying all the weight of a woman who was trying to raise two teenage boys during increasingly difficult circumstances.
"I need to go downstairs and see how Peter is doing, find out exactly what happened and why," May continued, walking toward the door but pausing at the threshold to look back at Bennett with an expression that conveyed both love and firm determination. "But don't think this conversation is over, young man. Tonight after dinner, your uncle and I are going to sit down with you for a serious talk about what's been going on lately. No more deflecting, no more excuses. We're family, and family members don't keep secrets when something is obviously wrong."
Bennett nodded obediently, putting on his most sincere expression of agreement. "Of course, Aunt May. We'll talk tonight."
May studied his face for a moment longer, clearly debating whether to press the issue now or wait for a more appropriate time when Ben could be part of the conversation. Eventually, she decided to trust that Bennett would honor his promise and closed the door behind her as she left.
Bennett remained perfectly still until he could no longer hear her footsteps echoing down the hallway. Only then did he allow himself to breathe a sigh of relief and carefully peel back the blanket to examine his body.
The transformation hadn't been completely reversed. His skin still showed patches of unusual coloration and texture where the spider mutation had taken hold, and he could feel that his internal biology remained significantly altered from baseline human normal. The Omnitrix had clearly activated its emergency protocols and prevented him from becoming a complete monster, but the genetic repair process was apparently still ongoing.
A soft chime from the device on his wrist drew his attention to its display screen.
[Omnitrix energy reserves critically low. Recharging from ambient sources... Genetic restoration therapy estimated completion time: 1 minute 37 seconds.]
"This is absolutely incredible," Bennett muttered, staring at the watch in amazement. "A device that supposedly has enough power in its self-destruct sequence to obliterate entire solar systems is running low on energy? How does that even make sense from an engineering perspective?"
The irony wasn't lost on him. Here was a piece of technology that could theoretically destroy galaxies if its safety systems failed, but it needed to recharge like a cell phone after performing one genetic repair operation.
Still, he could feel the mutations gradually receding as the Omnitrix worked its technological magic. The extra eyes that had erupted from his face were slowly sinking back beneath his skin, and the terrible hunger for raw flesh was fading to a manageable level.
Bennett knew that once the genetic restoration was complete, he probably wouldn't retain any of Spider-Man's abilities. The watch was designed to return its user to their baseline biological state, which meant any beneficial mutations would be eliminated along with the harmful ones.
But that didn't particularly bother him anymore. "As long as the broken watch is finally operational, Spider-Man's powers are small potatoes compared to what I'll have access to."
Among the Omnitrix's database of over a million alien genetic templates, countless extraterrestrial species possessed abilities that made Spider-Man look like a street-level amateur. The most obvious example was the Arachnichimp transformation—also known as Spidermonkey—which combined enhanced agility and web-spinning capabilities with genuine superhuman strength and intelligence.
Then there were the truly powerful options: Heatblast could manipulate stellar-level temperatures, Four Arms possessed strength that could move mountains, and Diamondhead was virtually indestructible while being capable of generating and controlling crystalline structures on a massive scale.
The ninety-seven seconds passed with agonizing slowness, but eventually Bennett could no longer detect any physical abnormalities in his body. His skin had returned to its normal color and texture, his eyes had reverted to their usual brown color, and the terrible hunger had completely disappeared.
Before he could conduct a thorough self-examination, however, the Omnitrix automatically shifted from its previous green color scheme to a brilliant blue, and countless strange silhouettes began rapidly cycling across its display surface like some kind of alien slot machine.
[Emergency activation complete. Entering calibration mode. Establishing connection to Primus genetic database...]
"Calibration mode?" Bennett's heart rate immediately spiked with excitement. "Does this mean the broken watch has successfully reestablished its connection to Primus?"
This was potentially huge news. The original Omnitrix design didn't store alien genetic information locally—it functioned more like a sophisticated biological internet, downloading transformation data from Primus as needed. During the calibration process, the watch would randomly select and permanently download ten alien genetic templates for immediate use.
"I wonder which aliens I'll end up with," Bennett mused, watching the cycling silhouettes with fascination.
Among the million-plus available genetic templates, some were obviously more useful than others. The most powerful option would be the Celestialsapien template that granted access to Alien X's reality-warping abilities, but that particular transformation came with serious drawbacks that made it almost unusable in practice.
Bennett definitely didn't want to deal with Alien X's multiple personality disorder. The idea of being trapped in an internal debate between two cosmic entities while the real world continued around him was genuinely terrifying.
The calibration process completed itself within moments, apparently not requiring any input from Bennett himself. The watch's external appearance didn't change dramatically, but he could see that its internal database now contained multiple new icons representing different alien species.
Bennett pressed the two activation buttons on the watch's exterior. The central core protruded upward, forming the familiar hourglass shape with two triangular sections that could be rotated to cycle through available transformations. The default display showed a humanoid silhouette surrounded by a square frame.
"That's definitely Heatblast," Bennett said, immediately recognizing the distinctive shape of the Pyronite species.
He rotated the core experimentally, watching as other familiar silhouettes appeared in sequence. Four Arms with his distinctive four-armed build, Diamondhead with his angular crystalline structure, Stinkfly with his insectoid wings—all the classic transformations he remembered from the animated series.
"It's the original ten," he realized with growing excitement.
The initial set of alien heroes was incredibly well-balanced in terms of capabilities. Individually, each transformation was powerful enough to handle most threats, but together they could adapt to virtually any situation. Physical powerhouses like Four Arms for direct confrontation, energy manipulators like Heatblast for ranged combat, stealth specialists like Ghostfreak for infiltration, and technical experts like Grey Matter for complex problem-solving.
And speaking of Grey Matter, that particular transformation was going to be invaluable for Bennett's long-term plans. The Galvan species was the same race as Azmuth, creator of the Omnitrix and widely considered one of the five most intelligent beings in the known galaxy.
Theoretically, transforming into Grey Matter would grant Bennett access to scientific knowledge and problem-solving capabilities that could revolutionize human technology. Of course, intelligence without proper foundational knowledge had significant limitations—in the animated series, young Ben had initially struggled with concepts that should have been elementary for a Galvan.
Bennett decided against testing any transformations immediately. The sounds of someone climbing the stairs had reached his enhanced hearing, and he wanted to keep the Omnitrix secret until he had a better understanding of its current capabilities.
"Those footsteps sound like Peter," he thought, automatically visualizing his cousin's distinctive gait and the way he tended to take the stairs two at a time when he was excited or agitated about something.
Then Bennett paused, struck by a sudden realization. "Wait a minute. When did my hearing become this acute?"
Before he could explore that thought further, his bedroom door swung open without any warning knock.
"Hey Bennett, are you feeling any—" Peter began as he entered the room, but his greeting died mid-sentence the moment their eyes met.
Both teenagers froze in place as a strange, almost electric sensation washed over them. It was like a tingling awareness at the very edges of consciousness, similar to the feeling of being watched but much more intense and specific. The sensation seemed to be coming from some primal part of their brains, an instinctive recognition that operated below the level of rational thought.
Lines of force seemed to radiate outward from both of their heads, invisible but somehow perceptible, like the raised hair that preceded a lightning strike.
"Wait a second... you have them too!" Peter exclaimed, his eyes widening with a mixture of shock and excitement.
"Please don't tell me you were also bitten by that spider!" Bennett replied, though he already knew the answer from Peter's expression.
A few days earlier, during their field trip to Oscorp Industries, Peter had been bitten by one of the experimental spiders in Dr. Connors' laboratory. Within hours of returning home, he had discovered that his body had been fundamentally changed—enhanced strength, improved reflexes, the ability to stick to walls, and a strange sixth sense that warned him of incoming danger.
Now, some instinct was telling Peter that his adopted cousin had undergone a similar transformation. The spider-sense that connected all arachnid-powered individuals was clearly recognizing Bennett as someone with related abilities.
Bennett was genuinely surprised by this development. He had assumed that the Omnitrix's genetic restoration would have completely eliminated any traces of spider DNA from his system, but apparently some residual changes had been preserved. This meant that even without accessing the watch's alien transformations, he now possessed some degree of enhanced capabilities for self-defense.
Regarding Peter's question, Bennett considered his options carefully before responding. Technical accuracy seemed like the safest approach.
"To be precise," he said with a slight grin, "I bit the spider."
Peter stared at him for several long seconds, his expression cycling through confusion, disbelief, and dawning comprehension.
"I'm sorry, what?"