"Ugh—it hurts."
A nerve-searing pain shot through the back of Mark's head as he tried to sit up, only to realize he couldn't move.
He attempted to lift his hand, but it felt pinned beneath something heavy. Worse, he couldn't even feel it properly. Turning his head proved impossible too—it was stuck, wedged in place. The only thing he could perceive was a faint shaft of light bleeding through a tiny gap above him.
"This... What is going on?!"
He muttered, voice shaky with confusion. From the dim sliver of light, it looked like he was buried—trapped beneath rubble. But why? What happened?
"Was there an earthquake? Did the building I lived in collapse? Am I buried under the debris?"
He kept asking himself, grasping for any logic to explain his current state. None of the answers were comforting, but they were the only ones that made sense. His body was pinned, his limbs trapped under layers of debris, and he couldn't even sit up.
"I... What should I do?"
As the realization settled, panic surged through his chest. The suffocating weight of fear began to consume him, a primal dread creeping into his bones.
"Help! Someone!"
He shouted, voice cracking with desperation. The fear of death clawed at his mind—he felt like he was going to die here, not just from the pain, but from the dread itself. A dread that only grew heavier with each passing second.
" Someone! Please!"
But just as the dread threatened to overwhelm his mind, a voice echoed from deep within—a voice that felt like his own consciousness, yet not entirely human.
'Don't panic. Calm down. Don't shout. Transform into Grey Matter.'
It wasn't a voice in the traditional sense, more like a thought—sharp, precise, and mechanical. It carried no emotion, only pure logic. It didn't sound human at all.
Yet the suggestion it made lingered in his mind.
'Transform into Grey Matter?'
The name alone sent a jolt through him. He knew what it meant. Somehow, instinctively, he understood exactly what it referred to—even though the only place he'd ever heard that name was in a fictional cartoon he used to watch during his childhood: Ben 10.
"Grey Matter!"
Mark willed himself to transform—and then, something strange happened.
His limbs, once pinned under the rubble, began to shrink and stretch, thinning out unnaturally. His entire body shrank, becoming smaller and more flexible. Within seconds, he slipped free from the debris that had imprisoned him. His torso followed suit, compressing and contorting until he was no longer wedged beneath the wreckage.
He had gone from a six-foot-tall man... to a six-inch-tall alien.
His form was unfamiliar yet instinctively understood: a small creature with gray skin, a massive head, large black eyes, and a frail, almost harmless build.
He had become Grey Matter, a Galvan.
Mark—now Grey Matter—looked down at his tiny hands. He clenched and opened them, hopped once, tested a few quick jabs and kicks, and then muttered:
"Body condition is fully restored. All injuries have vanished upon transformation. Conclusion: the transformation process heals all damage."
He tapped a finger against his oversized forehead and continued:
"Mental faculties operating at peak capacity. Logical thought patterns optimized. Assessing current situation."
Then, all at once, a flood of foreign memories poured into his mind—memories not his own, yet now inseparable from him.
"Transmigration confirmed," he said calmly. "Into the body of Mark Cain. Same first name, different surname. Inherited his memories. Lived with his late grandfather. Abandoned by both parents. Currently orphaned. Subject has full emotional and factual knowledge of parental rejection."
Grey Matter glanced down at his hands again and murmured:
"A cheat ability was granted upon transmigration: access to the original ten Ben 10 alien transformations. No cooldown. No limitations. Each transformation is complete and authentic."
He listed them out like a machine reading off system files:
"Available transformations: Heatblast, Grey Matter, Wildmutt, Diamondhead, Ghostfreak, Stinkfly, XLR8, Ripjaws, Four Arms, and Upgrade."
Nodding in silent affirmation, he pressed a finger to his temple again and continued:
"Analyzing world setting… Confirmed: this is a parallel reality where fictional franchises are real. Avengers exist. Memory confirms Chitauri Invasion occurred fourteen months ago—classified by civilians as the 'Alien Invasion'."
He scanned further.
"X-Men: existence confirmed. Brotherhood of Mutants designated a terrorist organization by global authorities. Public record shows several world leaders assassinated by Brotherhood members."
His gaze shifted to the cracked, dusty ground.
"Current location: San Francisco. Golden Gate Bridge was suddenly attacked by an enormous, unidentified entity. Mark was flung from a taxi while attempting to leave the city following his grandfather's funeral. Details of the attacker remain unclear—memory terminated before full visual identification."
Grey Matter paused, reviewing the last fragments of Mark Cain's consciousness.
The small alien stood still for a moment, absorbing the weight of the world he had entered—a chaotic, dangerous new reality where fiction had become truth.
"Information concluded. Current situation: trapped beneath debris from the Golden Gate Bridge. Escape route: a small opening above, where light is filtering through. Current form—Grey Matter—can fit through it."
He began climbing the jagged rocks and twisted metal, moving nimbly despite the chaos. His light body and stretchy limbs made it easy. Step by step, he scaled the unstable terrain until he finally slipped through the narrow gap and emerged on the surface.
The world outside was in ruins.
He looked around, eyes wide. The destruction was total. Fires raged. Cars were overturned. Chunks of the bridge hung precariously. Bodies lay strewn across the pavement, and the screams of the injured echoed all around.
People were crying for help.
He made his way toward the edge of the ruined bridge and looked down. Ferries and rescue boats were already deployed, buzzing below in coordinated chaos. He wasn't sure how long the original Mark Cain had been dead, but judging from the current state of the response—rescue teams already fully mobilized—it couldn't have been just an hour or two. More like five or six.
The giant silhouette that Mark had seen before his death… was gone.
The massive entity—whatever it had been—had vanished.
He cautiously walked a bit farther from the crowd, eyes scanning for any visible cameras or drones. Once he was sure no one was watching, he activated the transformation again.
In an instant, his tiny six-inch alien body expanded, twisting and growing until he returned to his full six-foot human form. Black hair. Blue eyes. A strikingly handsome man stood where the small alien had once been.
"Hooh… that was kind of cool. And a little tiring," Mark muttered to himself. Grey Matter had felt strange—like he'd become someone else entirely—but also not. It was hard to describe. Still, thanks to that form, he'd gained much-needed clarity about his situation.
"So... MCU and X-Men, huh?"
He glanced out over the bay where the rescue boats were still loading people. Thanks to his restored height, he didn't need to lean over the edge anymore to see what was going on.
"Well, first things first—get to a safe spot. I can think about the rest later.
As for why I'm here? Well... I guess I died."
He said it plainly, matter-of-fact. Grey Matter's enhanced cognition had helped him work through the shock faster. Transmigration by death—there was a high chance that's exactly what happened.
"Not like it matters anymore," he added in a hollow tone. "Honestly, dying in that shitty office would've been fitting. At least they'd have to deal with the hassle of dragging out my rotting corpse. Good revenge, I guess."
He let out a small, bitter laugh. That job had worked him to the bone with endless overtime, then docked his bonuses come payday. It was a pointless existence. If anything, he felt... relieved.
"Let's see what this world has in store for me—now that I've got these powers."
With that, Mark began making his way down from the wreckage of the bridge toward the nearest rescue boat. First, safety. Then, he'd decide what came next.
***
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