“In the meantime, I need more cardssss,” the voice continued. “You’ve only sssupplied usss with hun-dredsss, while we need millionsss. Bring what you have to headquartersss in two hoursss. Perhapsss a new devissse will be ready for you then. Don’t messs up again.”
I could tell that the mysterious figure had departed by the expression of relief that spread across the Multiplier’s face. What I had overheard the stranger say to the Multiplier, however, was astounding.
Millions of cards?! What had we stumbled upon? There weren’t enough kids in all Superopolis to possibly justify making millions of Professor Brain-Drain cards. And who was this mysterious stranger? It had to be the same person who had stolen the card from right beneath our noses at Aunty Penny’s Arcade and sold duplicate cards to all our unsuspecting classmates. But the money he had made off them couldn’t have added up to more than a thousand dollars (and Lobster Boy’s bike). There had to be something more at stake. Unfortunately, I wasn’t going to find out what just yet, because at exactly that moment a loud noise pierced the silence of the warehouse. It was a noise that I knew could have come from only one person.
“Stench!” I muttered softly to myself in irritation.
I risked peeking around the cones, only to see the Multiplier darting off in the direction from which the unpleasant noise had come. I followed right behind, screeching to a halt along with him as he spotted my four teammates huddled in front of a crate. I could tell from their teary eyes that they had all gotten a powerful whiff of Stench’s mistake. It had left them all a bit disoriented. When they caught sight of the Multiplier, they all panicked.
Tadpole turned and ran smack into a tall stack of crates filled with traffic cones. High above, the top crate shuddered and moved. Then Halogen Boy smashed into the same stack and the top crate was jarred from its perch. All four of the confused heroes looked up at the crate as it tumbled toward them, its open side facing down. Right in front of the Multiplier, the crate landed like a cage on top of the trespassers.
“I don’t know who you kids are, but you’ll regret having tangled with the Multiplier,” he said, with a halfhearted evil laugh. “This will calm you down until I can figure out what to do about you.”
Once again I was helpless—a kid with no power who could do nothing but watch as the Multiplier dug a capsule out of his pocket and forced it through a hole in the crate. A minute later I saw whiffs of a cloudy gas leaking from cracks all over the box and I knew my friends had been knocked unconscious.
Having no power left me with two options. I could wallow in my helplessness and run away. Or I could stop feeling sorry for myself and do what a hero should do. The choice was obvious; there was no way I was going to abandon my friends. I launched myself right at the Multiplier.
“AIIIEEE!!” he shrieked, as I tackled him.
For a moment, I actually believed that, even with no power, I might be able to take someone as incompetent as the Multiplier. But he quickly turned on me, which wasn’t difficult considering he was twice my size. I struggled to get away, but he grabbed hold of my belt with one hand and hauled me back. He wrapped his arm around my torso, trapped my arms, and held me motionless. Within a few minutes, a duplicate of my belt appeared in his other hand and he soon had it strapped around my chest and arms.
My feelings of powerlessness once again overwhelmed me. It was bad enough that we had all been captured, but it was positively humiliating that we had been caught by someone the Li’l Hero’s Handbook classified as “a minuscule threat.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
At the Mercy of The Multiplier
I watched in frustration as the Multiplier dragged each of my unconscious teammates out from under the crate and tied them up tightly. He then disappeared into the warehouse while I helplessly looked on. All of a sudden Stench opened one eye and winked at me. I was relieved to see that he at least had already recovered.
“I’ve sort of developed a natural immunity to powerful gasses,” he whispered. “Should I break these ropes and bring this creep down?”
“Keep playing like you’re knocked out,” I whispered back. “I want to get as much information out of him as possible. Tell the others, too, when they wake up. And don’t let them do anything yet to reveal their powers.”
“You got it, O Boy,” Stench whispered back.
The Multiplier returned shortly, pushing an enormous machine on wheels.
“What’s that?” I asked him, genuinely curious.
“It’s a device that was left behind here by an old supervillain named the Red Menace,” the Multiplier explained. “He rented this space before me. He left behind cases and cases of stuff he’d collected. I had it all hauled away to the dump except for this thing.”
I suddenly remembered that the Red Menace was the villain that the Inkblot had just been rambling on about. Now I wished I’d paid a little more attention.
“What does it do?” I asked. The machine was big and nasty looking. Not only was there a long conveyor belt that led through a series of presses and stompers and mashers and crushers, but there were huge copper kettles linked by coiled hoses situated right in the middle of the monstrosity.
“According to the instruction booklet left with it, it was supposed to be used to make something the Red Menace called ‘the fuel of the revolution,’” the Multiplier announced importantly. He clearly had no better idea than I did what the thing was for. “It says to dump potatoes onto the conveyor belt and then turn the machine on. It does all the rest.”
“Why would anyone use potatoes for anything other than making potato chips?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” the Multiplier snapped back. “My plan is to strap you kids to the belt and turn the thing on.”
“And why would you do that?” I asked as calmly as possible.
“Because that’s what a villain is supposed to do,” he shrieked. “It says so in my handbook!”
To my complete and utter surprise, the Multiplier held up a handbook almost identical to my Li’l Hero’s Handbook. As he brought the book closer to me, I saw that someone had had the audacity to publish something called the Li’l Villain’s Handbook.
“Who would publish something like that!” I said, outraged.
The Multiplier attempted an evil leer as he stepped up to me and showed me the name on the back of the book: The Gibraltar Press, a division of Indestructo Industries. I should have known.
“This book is great!” the Multiplier enthused. “I just picked it up last week and it’s given me all sorts of good advice.”
“Excuse me?” I said in disgust. “Didn’t that advice get you sent to jail? I would hardly call that a success.”
“But look at all this great press I’m getting for the first time in my life,” he insisted, holding up a batch of newspapers with his name on the front pages.
“An obituary is great press, too,” I added. “And who was that guy that you’re making the fakes for?” I demanded despite being in no position to demand anything.
“How much did you overhear?” the Multiplier asked nervously. “You’re better off not knowing anything about it.”
“It’s too late for that,” I answered. “I know where that card you’re duplicating came from, because my friends and I have the only other genuine one in existence. Your copies have made this our business.”
“Actually, the problem is that I can’t make copies of the card fast enough,” he informed me.
“What about your little show at the Mighty Mart?” I accused. “I was there when you created all those toilet paper rolls at lightning speed. In fact it was my dad who stopped you.”
“You’re the Amazing Indestructo’s kid?!” the Multiplier shrieked with a look of complete terror on his face.
“No!” I said in disgust. Even the Multiplier had forgotten who really captured him. “Never mind. The point is that you suddenly had an awful lot of power then that you don’t have now.”
“Well there’s no reason not
to tell you,” he admitted, “since you’ll all be turned into the ‘fuel of the revolution’ soon.
“You may find this hard to believe,” he said, “but people have often underestimated me.”
“Do tell?” I said, pretending shock.
“It’s true.” He nodded in confirmation. “Yet I’ve always considered myself a major villain.”
“People’s perceptions of themselves are often at odds with reality,” I pointed out helpfully.
“Exactly,” the Multiplier agreed, completely missing my insult. “So I decided it was time for me to make the world tremble before my power. The problem, however, was that my master plan wasn’t yet ready.”
The Multiplier vaguely indicated the enormous stacks piled throughout the warehouse.
“The traffic cones?” I asked.
“Exactly,” he replied as if that should explain everything. “I still need even more. Luckily, I was offered a device that could speed up my powers dramatically. All I had to do in exchange for it was to create millions of copies of that card. The problem was that the person who gave me the device didn’t yet have the card he wanted copied. So I had a chance to try the device out first on my own.”
“And that’s when you went to the Mighty Mart,” I concluded.
“I had gone there to buy up packs of cards—and some toilet paper. I was all out. I had just gotten to the paper goods,” he started to fume, “when some little kid suddenly pointed at me and began laughing.”
“So you had to show off your new power.”
He nodded. “No one will be laughing once I execute my master plan, though.” He raised his hands in the air triumphantly, indicating the traffic cones all around him.
“What exactly is your plan?” I asked, genuinely fascinated.
“It’s pure genius!” The Multiplier cackled. “I’ve been planning this for over ten years. Each duplicate cone takes me five minutes to create. I can make twelve of them each hour, and I spend twelve hours a day making them. I’ve done it every day for ten years. The only days I’ve taken off are Christmas and Groundhog Day, and I now have over half a million cones. I figure I only need a couple hundred thousand more.”
He looked at me as if the rest of his plan should be obvious.
“And . . . ?” I said.
“I should have known it was too brilliant to be apparent to a mere child.” He sighed. “The cones are to redirect traffic.”
I still had no idea what he was talking about.
“And . . . ?”
“And with enough of them, I can redirect all traffic away from Superopolis. The city will be empty and I can rob every place in town and steal everything I want.” His voice became higher and more excited as he spoke. He followed up with that same evil laugh that he still needed to work on.
My mouth dropped open at the stupidity of his plan. In fact it was so moronic it almost took idiocy to the level of an art form. As I glanced around at all the traffic cones, I couldn’t help but think they were
suddenly looking like an enormous collection of dunce caps.
“What if superheroes just ignore the cones and go right past them into the city?” I asked.
The Multiplier paused for a moment, looking like he was pondering that possibility for the very first time—which I’m sure he was. His face became purple with rage. “You’re just like the rest,” he shrieked louder than ever. “You refuse to see the brilliance of my plan! Well, soon it won’t matter.”
With that he picked up the still-unconscious Halogen Boy and hauled him over to the conveyor belt where he strapped him on top of it. As he did the same with Plasma Girl and Tadpole, Stench once again whispered to me.
“Is it time for me to act?”
“Not yet.” I shook my head. “I’m still not completely certain who’s behind this, although I have a pretty good idea.”
Stench once again closed his eyes as the Multiplier struggled to lift him onto the conveyor belt. I heard an audible crack, and the Multiplier let out a groan as he strapped Stench down. Finally, he shuffled over to me, obviously in some pain.
“I regret that you won’t be able to see the glorious success of my master plan,” he said. The fact that he made me walk over to the machine myself and hop up on the conveyor belt told me that he wouldn’t be doing any more heavy lifting anytime soon. “But as brilliant as the plan is,” he continued as he strapped me down,
“I have to admit, it wasn’t my idea alone.”
How could such a dumb plan have had two minds working on it—unless, of course, the other individual had his own plan in mind.
“In fact,” he continued, “the original idea belonged to the same person I’m creating all these cards for. He suggested it to me the first time I met him, over ten years ago. Of course, I perfected the plan,” he added.
At this point I had had enough.
“Did you ever stop to think,” I asked the Multiplier, “that if you had spent the last ten years making duplicates of a single diamond, or a single gold bar, that you would now be the richest person in all Superopolis?”
The look of triumph on the Multiplier’s face froze in place for a moment and then his expression went blank. How could anyone be so stupid? And then it hit me. Nobody could be born that big of an idiot. Someone had turned the Multiplier into a moron. Once I realized that, I knew exactly who he had gotten the idea from and who was behind this whole collector card crisis.
That’s when the Multiplier, fuming with rage, turned on the machine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Heroes to the End?
As the conveyor belt began to move, the Multiplier just stood there snickering at us.
“Umm, shouldn’t you be going now?” I asked from where I lay strapped to the belt.
“Why?” he asked, a look of confusion on his face.
“Everyone knows that an evil genius never waits around to make sure his traps work,” I informed him.
He looked at me suspiciously for a moment, but then the fact that I had actually referred to him as a genius sank in.
“I was just getting ready to go,” he said, picking up the small stack of cards he had duplicated and retrieving the original card from the clamp. “Besides, it’s time for me to deliver these cards and get my increased powers back. Today the cards, tomorrow the cones!” He stabbed his finger into the air and let out a maniacal laugh. “And the day after that—all Superopolis!”
As he turned to leave, he tripped over one of the traffic cones and fell flat on his face. When he got back up he was muttering, which he kept doing as he wandered away into the dark. There was no sound of a slamming door, but then again, Stench had ripped it off its hinges. Which reminded me . . .
“Stench, it’s all clear.”
It took Stench two seconds to burst the straps that were wrapped around him.
As he hopped off the conveyor belt I thought he would begin rescuing the others, but then it became
clear there was no need. The rest of my team members had been faking unconsciousness as well. Plasma Girl simply liquefied herself and slithered off the belt. At the same time, Tadpole’s tongue snaked over to the front of the machine and with no effort at all snapped the machine’s switch into the off position.
“That guy’th an idiot,” said Tadpole before his tongue was fully back in his mouth.
“You’re right,” I agreed. “Which is the final clue I needed to figure out who’s really behind this.”
“Is it that strange person the Multiplier was talking to?” asked Halogen Boy.
“That’s what I thought at first,” I said, “but then I realized that he’s only working for someone as well.”
“But if it’s not him,” insisted Plasma Girl, “then who is it?”
“Who is smart enough to hire others to do his dirty work?” I asked. “Who has the intelligence to create a device that can amplify the Multiplier’s power? Who has the ability to sap the intelligence of someone to the extent that he would spend t
en years of his life plotting a crime involving traffic cones? Even the Multiplier couldn’t have been that naturally stupid. And finally . . .”
They all leaned in toward me.
“Who has every reason to be mad that only three cards were made with his picture on them?”
“Professor Brain-Drain!” they all said in unison.
“Precisely,” I said. “And now it’s time we confronted him directly.”
“Are you kidding?” said Stench.
“We can’t take on Professor Brain-Drain,” agreed Tadpole.
“O Boy, even the Amazing Indestructo barely triumphs over the Professor,” Plasma Girl fretted. “What could we be expected to accomplish? We couldn’t even take on the Multiplier!”
“That’s just because we played dead,” Hal responded, sticking up for us all. “We could have taken him in a second, if O Boy hadn’t thought it was more important to get information out of him.”
“That’s true,” Plasma Girl agreed. “But Professor Brain-Drain is different. How do we stop him from draining our intelligence? You saw what happened to the Multiplier.”
Plasma Girl didn’t have to direct our attention to the hundreds of thousands of traffic cones stacked throughout the warehouse. We all got her scary point.
“I may not have a power like you guys,” I said, “but I know that a hero doesn’t run away from danger. Professor Brain-Drain is up to something and we’re the only ones who know about it. Would the Amazing Indestructo give up? Of course not. So are we going to fight or not?”
My four teammates looked guiltily at each other. Sure, they were afraid of going after the most dangerous supervillain of all (heck, so was I!), but they were superheroes first and foremost. As they looked to each other for silent encouragement, I knew they would come to the right . . .
The Extraordinary Adventures of Ordinary Boy, Book 1: The Hero Revealed Page 11