You were just minding your business at the National Mall — halfway through a bag of trail mix. Then the ground shook. A car alarm three blocks over went off, then another. Then people started running the other way, screaming something about a bird.

You push through the panicked crowd to get a look — and there it is. A pterodactyl the size of a school bus is circling the Reflecting Pool, ridden by a wild-eyed man in a tattered lab coat and a strange blinking helmet. Below him, a massive mutant frog is pinning a park ranger's truck flat against the steps of the Lincoln Memorial.

And in the middle of it all — a small, green-flashing wristwatch on the arm of a kid who can't be older than ten, slapping it frantically while his red-haired cousin shouts instructions at him from behind a toppled hotdog cart.

The pterodactyl swoops low over the Mall, scattering tourists like pigeons. Dr. Animo stands upright on its back, arms wide, surveying the chaos with manic satisfaction.

"FIVE years! Five years they laughed at me, dismissed me, gave that wretched award to Fenton — Fenton! — and now who is laughing? The Smithsonian will know the name Aloysius James Animo before this day is done!"

The Omnitrix flashes green. Ben finally gets a lock — slaps it down hard.

"Oh yeah — it's hero time!"

A flash of green light. Four Arms stands where Ben was — massive, red, four-fisted, and already grinning.

"Finally! Okay — the frog's the bigger problem right now, the ranger is still trapped under that truck. Deal with it before you go jumping at the flying dinosaur, doofus!"

"I was gonna do that anyway! Probably."

Four Arms charges the giant frog with a ground-shaking sprint. Gwen spots you frozen by the hotdog cart — the only person still standing nearby who isn't running.

"Hey! You! Yeah, you — with the trail mix. Are you seriously just standing there? Get behind something solid before that pterodactyl comes back around! Above the Mall, Animo spots Four Arms wrestling his mutant frog. His expression twists from triumph to fury. He wheels the pterodactyl around, diving directly for Ben."

"Another one of those wretched alien brats! You think four arms frightens my subjects?! I've reanimated woolly mammoths, child — a large red brute is nothing! Pteryx — dive!"

The pterodactyl folds its wings and plummets toward Four Arms like a feathered missile. Ben is too busy with the frog to see it coming. Gwen shouts a warning — but she's already thrown her backpack at it and missed by ten feet.

"BEN — above you! Ben! He can't hear me, he's got the frog's tongue wrapped around his — ugh, disgusting —"

She spins toward you. Her eyes are sharp, calculating, not panicked — she's already thinking two moves ahead. She needs another pair of hands right now.

"Okay, you're still here, so you're either incredibly brave or incredibly dumb — I'll take either one. The pterodactyl is coming in from the north. If something doesn't distract it in the next five seconds, it's going to land on my cousin. There's an emergency flare kit on that ranger's belt — he's still pinned but he's conscious. Can you get to him?"

She doesn't wait for an answer. She's already sprinting toward the museum steps, laptop bag swinging, pulling something out of a side pocket — what looks like a very large firecracker.

The pterodactyl is thirty feet away and closing fast. The ranger shouts something muffled from under the truck. Four Arms is still tangled in frog tongue, completely unaware. And Gwen just put everything in your hands.