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Chapter 3: On the Survival Skills of a Dimensional Traveler
🕑 Added 2025-04-15 08:53:16 +0000 UTCEarly in the morning, Max sat in his tiny rented apartment, eating breakfast while watching TV.
He was gnawing on a rock-hard alkali bun he'd bought on discount a few days ago. Now it was basically brick material.
"Crunch, crunch…"
The chewing sounds were intense. Honestly, the bun was so tough, he could probably hammer nails with it.
But he had no choice. Max had burned a lot of energy the night before, and when he woke up, he was starving and weak.
Eating this kind of bread was the cheapest way to recover right now. (Sure, he wanted to bite into a juicy burger, but his wallet was crying.)
"Man is made of iron, and food is steel—skip a meal, and you'll feel it."
Especially after just waking up. Hunger hits different.
So yeah, Max looked a little desperate. That stale, rock-solid bun? He didn't even soak it in water. Just went in dry.
"Crunch, crunch…"
He told himself it was like teething—if you were teething with bricks.
The Omnitrix had already enhanced his genetics. He wasn't bulletproof or immune to all illness, but come on—it's just bread. He trusted his stomach could handle it.
On TV, some survival show was teaching viewers how to defend against wild animals. Max watched it for laughs.
Lately, the news had been hyping up this bold-faced, over-the-top headline:
"BEWARE THE GIANT WOLF."
Max just scoffed.
That "giant wolf"? That was him—after transforming into Garurumon using the Omnitrix. He was the wolf. Like he didn't know whether it was dangerous?
And arson?!
Pure slander. Straight-up garbage reporting.
That transformation happened two days ago. It was a random roll of the Omnitrix. And he wasn't out there causing chaos—he was literally saving people. Not just the two trapped in a fire, but even a bunch of women being attacked at night. (Okay, maybe a couple were into the thrill, but Max didn't ask—if it was on the street and sketchy, he dealt with it.)
If the Omnitrix weren't so unpredictable, Max would've already "had a chat" with those newspaper guys.
"Forget it. This dump of a place—Gotham—I shouldn't have expected anything better. Back to my own stuff… Ugh, rent's due again."
Max had ended up in this world after getting hit in the chest with shrapnel from a phone explosion. Just his luck. Now he was twelve years old, 5'0" tall, and average-looking—nothing special among his peers.
After all, he started out in Gotham Orphanage.
His build was skinny, cheeks a little sunken—years of not eating enough left him clearly malnourished.
But his spiky black hair, cold expression, and sharp eyes gave off serious "don't mess with me" energy. One glance, and people instinctively kept their distance.
Those who knew him, though, would say:
"Max just looks tough—he's actually a good guy!"
At ten years old, Max fought his way through the orphanage—without seriously hurting anyone. That made it clear to the staff and director: this kid was clever, strong, and had control.
Caregiver's review:
"This little guy's got a future. He won't starve, that's for sure."
Starting out in an orphanage didn't bother Max much. He had already crossed dimensions—starting as an orphan was basically tradition.
After leaving the orphanage, Max didn't join a gang (he was too small, and the gangs weren't interested). These days, aside from working random jobs to barely get by, he spent his time studying his cheat code—his "little busted watch," the Omnitrix.
Everyone knew Gotham was full of orphans. Even the city's top billionaires were orphans (it was basically a running Gotham joke). So the ones coming out of Gotham Orphanage? Totally normal.
Kids usually left the orphanage in their early teens to scrape by on their own. And in Gotham, job prospects were bleak. For minors? Safe jobs barely existed.
This cursed city was brutal for anyone with average skills, money, or luck. Just surviving was already a win. (Who even knows how "normal people" die in Gotham—probably in the wildest ways.)
And the gangs? Oh, they were way too competitive.
Even a basic gang grunt needed to know:
Makeup (for disguise),
Shooting (pro-level),
How to tank hits,
Speak in code,
Evade surveillance,
Defuse bombs,
Drive like a stuntman,
Deliver messages,
AND have insane luck.
And that was just the entry-level checklist.
To level up to actual villain status? Minimum requirements: multiple PhDs and at least one beatdown from Batman himself.
Max sighed. This city's grind level was cracked. There was no space for a low-level Gotham noob like him.
When Max first crossed over, he was about ten. He had to pester the orphanage caregivers with nonstop questions just to figure out where—and who—he was.
The staff were so confused, they thought he had a memory-loss condition or something.
Born in Gotham Orphanage, no cheat code on day one—what a brutal start. Max had no choice but to quietly blend in and survive among the other kids. In time, he worked his way up and became the "Kid Boss."
(He knew how to fight, and he wasn't afraid to swing. Soul of an adult, even in a kid's body—he had sharper instincts and knew how to strike where it hurt.)
Then on Christmas morning, when he was eleven, Max woke up and found something strange on his wrist.
A sleek, futuristic wristwatch had appeared—fused to his skin like it had always been there.
As he shook off the last of his sleep and clarity returned, memories from his past life surged back.
And he realized what was on his arm: the legendary first-generation Omnitrix.
His first reaction? Rolling his eyes and muttering:
"Late-ass cheat code. Worth less than a weed."
But under his blanket, he was grinning like crazy. That smile? Harder to hold back than an AK's recoil.
"Damn… Ben 10 had his Omnitrix at ten. I had to wait 'til eleven! What kind of budget protagonist am I?"
"Whatever, I'm here now—that's what matters!"
Max grinned like a man who just hit the cosmic jackpot.
Just thinking about all the alien DNA packed into this wild wristwatch? Hah! Screw it—he wasn't afraid of this cursed DC Universe anymore!
"Calm down. Calm down! Stay calm!"
He kept telling himself that…
But the moment his brain jumped to aliens like Four Arms, XLR8, Cannonbolt, and Upgrade, Max could hardly contain himself.
Still, he wasn't stupid. With so many people around the orphanage, he needed a quiet, empty place to test the superwatch in peace.
So, Max did what any strategic little schemer would do—he boldly requested permission from the orphanage director to "go earn some money."
To his surprise, they agreed.
The director's take was basically: "If Max can support himself, great. If not, he can always come back. We've got Wayne Foundation backing—getting him a food-and-shelter gig won't be a problem."
Max respected that. In a scumbag city like Gotham, the orphanage director was actually one of the rare decent people.
In this place where gangs ran wild, a non-lethal job that keeps you fed and safe? That's gold.
But Max had his own plans.
He was going all-in on Gotham's most lucrative profession—becoming a street thug.
Yeah, seriously. That was the career path with the most "growth potential" here.
Only… there was a snag.
As he tried to get used to the Omnitrix, he realized something was off.
The green core screen—the watch face—wouldn't let him pick anything!
It just sat there, glowing with that green hourglass symbol.
There were no icons. No list of aliens. Max had no choice but to use it in random mode.
He figured, "Eh, Ben 10 aliens are all cracked anyway—random's fine."
But then things got… weird.
Like, real weird.
The aliens he turned into were NOT from any Ben 10 universe.
So far, he'd transformed into:
Mickey Mouse,
A blue tabby cat,
A golden retriever,
A flaming tiger,
A freakin' Magikarp,
Lucario,
An Asian elephant,
Agumon,
Kabuterimon,
Togemon,
Garurumon…
"WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL IS THIS?!"
Where was XLR8? Where was Four Arms? Where was Upgrade?!
Was this a prank? A cursed bootleg version of the Omnitrix?
None of these DNAs were from the same world!
Max had originally hoped he could transform into Upgrade to fix this glitchy watch.
But the Omnitrix straight-up refused to let him.
And now, with all these random DNA samples from god-knows-where, Max was beginning to doubt this thing even came from the Ben 10 universe at all.
Honestly, it felt more like some shady, black-market multiversal fusion DNA database.
Back in the OG show, the first-gen Omnitrix only had ten alien species to start with.
But Max's version? Bro. No words.
And the wildest part?
He hadn't repeated a single transformation. Not once.
The biological diversity in this thing was off the charts. The "little busted watch" was basically showing him the entire life catalog of the multiverse.
At this point, Max had every reason to believe:
This ain't no Ben 10 Omnitrix.
This was some cracked, random-luck loot box from a chaotic multiverse.
So Max had to kiss his dream of turning into his favorite aliens goodbye.
This was like trying to pull a legendary card from a gacha game—and never getting anything above three stars.
No Upgrade. No Four Arms. No hope.
Now, Max's whole strategy with the busted Omnitrix boiled down to:
Transform randomly.
If he lucks out and gets something strong—go rob some gangs.
If he turns into a weak noodle—stay indoors and wait it out.
