Chapter 5: Call Me XLR8

"Tony Stark!" Bennett's voice carried pure venom through XLR8's transformed vocal cords, the harmonics making his fury sound like the growl of some primordial predator.

This was the absolute last complication he'd wanted to deal with tonight. What should have been a simple preemptive strike—eliminate a future threat, prevent Uncle Ben's death, return home before anyone noticed he was gone—had just become infinitely more dangerous and unpredictable.

"Well, well. The lizard knows my name," came Tony's trademark cocky drawl from inside the red and gold armor, the voice modulation doing nothing to hide his characteristic arrogance. "Tell me, do they broadcast the evening news in whatever terrarium you crawled out of? Or maybe your handler's a big fan of my work. I could sign an autograph if you've got opposable thumbs under those claws."

"Sir," JARVIS interrupted with characteristic British politeness, "preliminary scans suggest this entity did not originate from any known terrestrial zoo or research facility. Genetic markers are completely unknown to current scientific databases."

"Thank you for that brilliant deduction, JARVIS," Tony replied with exaggerated patience. "Sometimes I wonder if I programmed too much literal thinking into your humor circuits."

Even Tony could tell this wasn't any known Earth species. The creature's biomechanical appearance, the seamless integration of what looked like organic wheels into its leg structure, the way it moved with predatory grace—everything about it screamed advanced alien technology or genetic engineering far beyond current human capabilities.

But JARVIS had a tendency to state the obvious while missing the nuances of human sarcasm, treating every observation with the same clinical precision regardless of context.

"So, mysterious visitor," Tony continued, his tone shifting subtly as his suit's targeting systems quietly locked onto Bennett's position, "want to tell me exactly what you are and why you're trying to turn that man into street pizza?"

Tony had been conducting what was supposed to be a routine test flight of his newly upgraded Mark IV propulsion systems when JARVIS detected anomalous high-speed movement patterns across Manhattan. The AI had tracked the disturbance to this abandoned factory, where thermal imaging had revealed two human-shaped heat signatures—one suspended above the ground, the other moving with physically impossible speed and agility.

The problem was that Bennett hadn't bothered concealing his alien form while hunting for Dennis. Speed had been his primary advantage, and stealth had seemed unnecessary when you could move faster than human eyes could track or security cameras could focus.

Now Tony found himself facing something that was clearly extraterrestrial in origin, demonstrably hostile, and definitely capable of murder. He was genuinely curious about Bennett's species and motivations, but scientific interest couldn't override his responsibility to protect innocent civilians.

"Let me take a wild guess here," Tony said, gesturing dramatically while his suit's weapons systems charged to full power, "Escaped genetic experiment? Time-traveling velociraptor? Oh wait—please tell me you're not here because some lunatic billionaire actually built Jurassic Park in his basement and this is what crawled out of the lab."

"My God, that's it, isn't it?" Tony's voice carried genuine excitement mixed with horror. "There's some mad scientist out there playing with dinosaur DNA, and you're what happens when they get careless with the cage locks. This is either the coolest thing I've seen all year or the beginning of a very bad monster movie."

Bennett remained silent throughout Tony's theatrical monologue, his triangular eyes fixed on the armored figure with predatory intensity. He kept Dennis in his peripheral vision—the man was still conscious but too shocked to move, which simplified the tactical situation considerably.

"Walk away, Stark," Bennett finally spoke, his transformed voice carrying harmonics that made it sound like multiple people speaking in perfect but slightly discordant unison. "This has nothing to do with you."

Bennett had zero interest in tangling with Tony Stark unless absolutely necessary. He wasn't trying to become a superhero, didn't want the attention that came with fighting famous billionaires, and definitely couldn't afford to have Stark Industries' vast resources turned against his family.

A few months ago, he'd briefly considered investing in Stark stock during its post-Iron Man revelation crash, figuring he might as well profit from Tony's dramatic personality quirks and the inevitable market volatility. But even the reduced share prices had been laughably beyond the Parker family's modest budget.

"Nothing to do with me?" Tony's voice hardened noticeably, the playful banter completely disappearing. "See, that's where you're wrong, Godzilla junior."

"When alien monsters start executing people in my city, that makes it very much my business," he continued, his repulsors beginning to emit their characteristic high-pitched whine. "I didn't become Iron Man to stand around and watch while something that crawled out of a science fiction movie turns civilians into paste."

From Tony's perspective, Bennett was obviously non-human and therefore potentially dangerous to Earth's entire population. The creature had demonstrated advanced capabilities, showed complete disregard for human life, and was apparently intelligent enough to plan complex operations. Every instinct Tony had developed since becoming Iron Man was screaming that this entity represented a significant threat that needed to be neutralized immediately.

The Mark IV's targeting system painted Bennett with multiple laser designators as weapon systems came online throughout the armor. Tony's voice dropped to the tone he used for final warnings—the same voice that had convinced terrorists to surrender rather than face the full fury of his technology.

"Here's how this works, prehistoric boy. You release the civilian, surrender peacefully, and we have a nice chat about where you came from and what you want on my planet. Or I turn you into very expensive scrap metal and ask your corpse the same questions. Your choice."

"Those are my only options?" Bennett asked, and Tony could hear something like amusement in the alien harmonics—the sound a predator might make when it realized its prey thought it was the hunter.

"Just you? Against me?" Bennett's laugh was genuinely incredulous, a sound that made the hair on the back of Tony's neck stand up despite the armor's environmental protection. "Stark, you have absolutely no idea what you're dealing with."

Bennett dropped into a sprinter's starting stance, his wheeled feet automatically adjusting for optimal acceleration with mechanical precision. Simultaneously, a sleek black faceplate descended from his skull like liquid metal, sealing over his features with an audible click. The mask bore a distinctive blue "X" symbol that seemed to pulse with its own internal energy, giving him the appearance of some high-tech executioner.

Bennett quickly ran the tactical calculations in his enhanced mind. XLR8's top speed was well beyond anything Tony's current armor could track or intercept. Even if Stark's targeting systems could theoretically lock onto something moving at several hundred miles per hour, human reflexes—even enhanced by advanced technology—would never be quick enough to compensate for the processing delay between detection and response.

Five minutes left on the transformation. More than enough time to finish this and still make it home before anyone notices I'm gone.

The extended transformation time was one unexpected benefit of his spider-enhanced genetics. Where young Ben Tennyson had been limited to ten-minute transformations in the animated series, Bennett could maintain alien form for nearly half an hour before the Omnitrix's safety protocols forced him back to human shape.

He'd theorized that the radioactive spider's genetic modifications had made his DNA more compatible with alien templates, reducing the risk of permanent contamination that the timeout was designed to prevent. It was a significant tactical advantage, though Bennett had no intention of trying to disable the safety systems entirely. Azmuth had built those protections for very good reasons.

"Last chance, kid!" Tony called out, though his finger was already hovering over the firing controls. "Stand down now, or I'll make you stand down!"

"Try to keep up," Bennett replied, his voice carrying a note of genuine pity.

The Mark IV's palm repulsors discharged simultaneously, sending twin beams of concentrated energy exactly where Bennett had been standing a microsecond earlier. The blasts struck the metal platform with devastating force, instantly vaporizing the corrugated steel and sending superheated fragments flying in all directions like shrapnel from an artillery shell.

The structural damage propagated rapidly through the interconnected walkways. Support beams twisted and snapped under the thermal stress, entire sections of scaffolding collapsed into twisted wreckage, and the thunderous crash echoed through the factory like the sound of a building demolishing itself.

"Target neutralized," Tony announced with satisfaction, already planning how he'd extract and analyze whatever remained of the alien creature for later study.

"Negative, sir," JARVIS responded immediately, his calm tone cutting through Tony's premature celebration like a scalpel. "The entity was not struck by your weapons discharge."

"Come on, JARVIS. I was maybe fifteen feet away from him," Tony protested, already scanning the area for signs of movement while his confidence evaporated like morning mist. "What do you think he did, teleport?"

"Perhaps you should examine the ground level, sir," JARVIS suggested with what almost sounded like amusement.

Tony's head snapped downward, and his blood went cold when he saw what awaited him.

Bennett was standing calmly next to Dennis's prone form, one clawed hand resting almost gently on the terrified man's chest. He'd moved from the platform to the factory floor so quickly that Tony's eyes—and more importantly, his armor's sensors—had never registered the transition. One moment he was there, the next he was somewhere else entirely, as if he'd simply stepped through a door that existed outside normal space-time.

"You're faster than my targeting computer," Tony said, genuine respect creeping into his voice despite the circumstances. "That's... actually pretty impressive."

"Release him immediately!" Tony shouted, bringing both repulsors to bear on Bennett's position while trying to calculate firing solutions that wouldn't also incinerate the civilian.

"I told you my name once already, Stark," Bennett said, his voice carrying no emotion whatsoever—the flat, mechanical tone of someone stating an obvious fact. "But since you weren't listening..."

Without hesitation, without drama, without any of the monologuing that villains in movies seemed to love, Bennett drove his razor-sharp claws directly through Dennis Carradine's sternum and into his heart.

Blood erupted from the wound in bright arterial spurts, painting Bennett's black faceplate in crimson droplets that traced the angular lines of his blue "X" symbol. The metallic smell of fresh blood mixed with the industrial odors of rust and concrete, creating a nauseating cocktail that seemed to hang in the air like fog.

Dennis's eyes went wide with shock and pain, his mouth opening in a soundless scream as his body went into traumatic shock. But he was already dying too quickly to make any noise beyond a wet, gurgling sound as blood filled his lungs.

"My name," Bennett said, pulling his claws free with a wet, tearing sound that would haunt Tony's nightmares for years to come, "is XLR8."

The body hit the factory floor with a dull thud that seemed to echo forever in the sudden silence.

Tony stared at the scene in horror, his mind struggling to process what he'd just witnessed. He'd seen death before—had caused plenty of it himself during his early days as Iron Man—but there was something uniquely chilling about the casual, almost mechanical way this creature had just committed murder.

"You son of a bitch," Tony whispered, his voice barely audible over the hum of his armor's power systems.

Then, louder: "You're going to pay for that."