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"I never wanted the watch," Leo whispered. "I just wanted to watch the show."

In the corner of his actual, real-life living room, the air shimmered. A figure materialized—not Ben Tennyson, but a gaunt, gray-skinned version of him. His jacket was torn. The Ultimatrix on his wrist was cracked, glowing a sickly amber. He wasn't a hero. He looked like a survivor.

Seven… six…

"Leo… you spent six years trying to be like him. The watch. The watch you bought off eBay. You wore it to your junior prom."

Leo finally managed to turn his head. The gray Ben was real. He was sitting on the arm of the couch, smelling of ozone and regret. He reached out and tapped Leo's bare wrist.

The countdown hit one.

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