Three's a Crowd
Author's Notes: I said I wasn't going to write any more fanfiction for fear that I may fail to finish it. Unfortunately, I still wrote anyway. The severe lack of Ben/Julie fics, however, forced my hand. XD Take this in good humor and hope that my hardworking streak stays long enough to finish it. This was derived from the pictures I drew: http:// kapaychan . deviantart . com/art/Three-s-a-Crowd-151802906, http:// kapaychan . deviantart . com/art/Fate-will-Twist-151675987. Just remove all the spaces. :D There's a preview of the next chapter for anyone who cares to look in the Three's a Crowd art.
Pairing: Ben/Julie/Albedo and Gwen/Kevin
Summary: Upon escaping from Plumber prison, Albedo sets course to seek revenge and retrieve the Omnitrix from the Hero of Heroes, Ben Tennyson. On the way, an unexpected encounter occurs. One that makes the procedure of revenge all the more difficult.
Chapter 1: First on the Agenda
Anger. Relentless and constant, like the pulse that beat underneath the disgusting hairy bag of flesh that contained him, built upon him during the endless time spent within the dark box that was supposed to enclosed him.
One desire fueled the starving figure in the dark cell, his teeth gritting in sheer unadulterated frustration when a green stick that was supposedly sustenance rolled down the floor in front of him. Enough time had taught the figure not to underestimate the ability of the human tongue to eventually adapt to something out of gnawing hunger.
Having spent enough time in his prison, he had already acknowledged that not having the strength to pursue his only desire would be disadvantagious.
The disgusting stench of onions and the memory of grease spreading on his tongue was starting to sound incredibly pleasurable in the face of the tasteless stick he placed in his hand. Craving that particular food had become torturous, now that his sleep had become plagued with the appalling wishes of his body.
He knew for certain that the true prison was not the box that surrounded him but the putrid, sweaty body he was stuck in.
All the while, constantly reminding the figure of his one desire. The only idea that allowed him to tolerate any more of his situation: the delicious prospect of vengeance.
He was innovative. There was enough technology in the prison to incorporate into his escape strategy.
This was what Azmuth had failed to consider, for all his seeming intelligence. Perhaps this error-riddled section of his brain was also the one that decided to integrate such an important weapon to the genetic information of a lowly human.
His hand hovered over the Plumber prison's building plan, navigating through the map with relative ease. His finger pointed at a shorter direction than the others he had considered. Every now and again, he stared at the clock to check whether or not the Plumbers would instigate another roll call.
It was utterly humiliating how much they had underestimated him. It was partially understandable, what with humans being incapable of greater feats of strength in comparison to the other creatures in the jail. Those were placed in the high security section, far enough away from where he was currently standing. He was placed much closer to the observation room, littered with screens that monitored every step of the criminals. It was easy enough to hack into the camera placed in his cell so that it showed that he was still there.
Unplugging the device, a small blinking image told the figure that the entire building plan had already been stored into it. Smiling darkly to himself, he slinked back a few steps to return to his cell before the closest Plumber would notice that anyone had even stepped foot into the corridors.
The unfortunate issue with his body was that he had once attempted to use it to escape. The vulnerability of it could not withstand the pummeling of the Plumbers once they had realized he had attempted escape.
He realized that subtlety was the only way he could get out. Attempting to weather his impatience only built up the anger more, however.
The breathe of the cool night air on the dark planet was invigorating but he could only indulge in this sensation for a few seconds before he immediately went back to hacking the ship. It was giving him greater difficulty than he imagined it would.
Blaring alarms constantly badgered him to speed up the process. In anger, he almost slammed his fist against the clunky piece of machinery before stopping himself midway through the punch. He could only guess that the irrational fury was coming from his impatient teenage body. After recapturing a normal breathing pattern, a look of concentration settled on his face. He tried to recalibrate the device so that it went through another batch of possible passwords.
From outside, there was shouting in what he was certain was Kineceleran language, telling him to surrender.
The large metal doors behind him caved in. Once. Twice.
Beads of sweat rolled down his forehead, while the energetic beeping sound told him that a password match was found. Carefully punching the codes into the machine, he was welcomed by the doors sliding open in welcome.
Unable to help himself, Albedo laughed rambunctiously in victory.
One step into the low level technology mechanism and he was one step closer to killing Ben Tennyson.
He imperiously went inside and the door closed behind him.
Evading the Plumbers was an extremely arduous process, requiring maneuvering tactics that made his body's intestines leap into directions it was not supposed to. A few minutes into it and he could already feel the tasteless prison food tickling the back of his throat.
He would not gratify his filthy human body the satisfaction of seeing him undignified, so he steeled his stomach until he could shoot the annoying pursuers into nonexistence. At least, for the time being. He was certain they would send reinforcements once the others had not returned to their headquarters with his poor excuse for a body in tow.
In the meantime, however...
Smirking deviously, he pressed the button after the targetting system locked on to the enemy ship and fired two missiles. Lasers required a bit more concentration than he really wanted to dedicate, considering the labyrinthine numbers of space rocks would not allow him to place the machine on autopilot. Speeding past the scattered celestial bodies, he pivoted to watch the missiles come in contact with their target.
The explosion that followed was unbelievably rewarding.
Returning his attention towards the console, he typed the coordinates to Galvan Prime. After all, he still needed to retrieve certain raw materials that only his infintely superior planet could provide.
Being inconspicuous took some talent, his stature being a prominent signal that he was currently not a Galvan. His first port of call was purchasing an ID mask from a trader of questionable nature. Having to sink to such pettiness simply added to the pile of reasons why killing Ben Tennyson would be an enjoyable experience.
After such dealings, he was able to get past through the planet generally unnoticed and was trusted with more confidential information to access higher levels of technology on the planet. He had to be particularly careful as some would have the technology to see through the disguise. Thankfully, his dealings had not made him come across that certain group.
The blueprints of the Omnitrix was still in the old database of his laboratory. Since he had already created one previously, it was far easier to recreate than when he had simply started. Of course, part of the confusion could be chalked up to his anger at Azmuth for having decomissioned him from the process of creating the Omnitrix that the Ben Tennyson possessed. Anger easily clouded more important processes of thinking and obstructed him from a quicker progress.
Fiddling with the Omnitrix again to check for any signs of malfunction, a sharp exhale of confidence indicated that the user was content with its efficiency.
The irritating part was that the genetic information from Ben Tennyson remained incomplete, containing him within the damaged version that stared back at him from the reflection. It seemed as though enough of the information allowed the Omnitrix to accept him as its owner that it no longer registered the impairment.
Red eyes sharpening, he replaced the ID mask until the image of a teenage boy with white hair disappeared. In its place, a normal Galvan stood. This Galvan scampered outside, and left the laboratory as empty as it was the day it was left behind.
Earth was as revolting as he remembered. The smells of pollution, grime and body odor barged assaultingly into his nose.
It should not have been first on his agenda, since Ben Tennyson was still alive somewhere on the planet. The rumble of his stomach told him otherwise. Nonetheless, the welcome sight of the building in front of him was enough to make up for the barrage on his sensations.
Finally he could silence the irritating bleating of his body's cravings by purchasing that putrid miasma referred to as chilli fries.