by Lucas Flint
Soon, I saw the campaign headquarters for the Plutarch campaign in Texas, which was a large mansion that looked really expensive. It was located outside of Fallsville, with tall fenced gates and a beautiful green lawn and even a large pond to go with it. I was told that the campaign headquarters was in one of Plutarch's mansions because Plutarch preferred having his campaign staff nearby at all times. It seemed like an odd quirk to me, but I didn't care, because its relative isolation meant that I was unlikely to be seen by a lot of people.
Landing in the driveway, I walked up to the front gates, where two large men carrying heavy-looking guns stood. They looked like mansion security, but as far as I could tell, neither of them were superhumans. They were just regular old humans with big guns, though I knew how hard it could be to identify a superhuman if you didn't know that they had powers.
The two men stiffened when they saw me approaching. They didn't point their guns at me, but I saw their fingers itching to pull the triggers. I could dodge the bullets if I had to—super speed and all—but I still wished I had my old suit, because it was bullet-proof and would have provided me with more defense against their weapons.
“Who are you, kid?” said one of the security guards, looking down at me with a sneer. “Lost? Or do you need us to call your parents to drive you home?”
I was actually kind of amazed that the guard didn't seem shocked to see me fly in, but I rolled with it. “I'm Bolt. I have a meeting with your boss tonight. He invited me, so you need to let me inside so I'm not late.”
“Bolt?” said the security guard. “Like the superhero? You don't look like him. Where's your suit?”
“Not available at the moment,” I said. “But why don't you call up your boss and confirm that I have a meeting scheduled with him for this evening?”
“Why should we listen to you?” said the second guard. “You're just a stupid kid claiming to be a superhero. Mr. Plutarch doesn't have time for—”
I didn't even let him finish his sentence. I zipped over to him, ripped his gun out of his hand, and then snapped it over my knee, tossing aside the two halves before zipping back over to where I was standing moments before. Both guards stared at me in shock.
“There,” I said. “Is that proof enough for you or would you prefer more personal proof?”
The two guards exchanged looks before the first guard grabbed the walkie talkie on his shoulder and, speaking into it, said, “We've got a kid here saying he's the superhero Bolt and he's got a meeting with Mr. Plutarch. Can you confirm that?”
Static crackled as a voice on the other end said, “Confirmed. Mr. Plutarch has a meeting with someone named Bolt for six o'clock this evening. You may let him in.”
The guard didn't look happy that I was right, but he must have still remembered how I broke his friend's gun, because he just said, “Affirmative,” and stepped aside as the gates opened. I walked past both of the guards, feeling their glares at me, but I didn't look at either of them as I entered the mansion's courtyard.
Upon reaching the front door, I almost knocked on it when the door suddenly opened and I found myself face-to-face with an elderly British gentleman I had never seen before. He was tall and thin, very much like the stereotypical British butler. He had a severe look to him, which made me not want to anger him, even though I could probably break him in half without even thinking about it.
“Hi,” I said, putting on a friendly smile. “I'm Bolt. I'm here for my meeting with Plutarch.”
The butler didn't say anything at first, which made me wonder if I had accidentally said something wrong or if the butler thought there was something suspicious about me. For some reason I expected him to attack me, maybe because I was still remembering what Triplet had told me about his suspicions about Plutarch's real plans.
Then he nodded and said, in a Southern drawl, “Well, Mr. Bolt, why don't you come in and get a seat? Master Plutarch is already waiting for ya in the living room.”
I blinked. I hadn't expected him to have a Southern accent. He looked incredibly British, but he spoke like a good old boy of the South.
But I just said, “He is?”
“Certainly,” said the butler. He stepped aside. “Come on in, now, and let me show you to the living room, where the master is.”
Sensing nothing wrong, I walked through the doorway and into the fanciest entryway I had ever seen. It was wide-open and almost sparkling clean, with a golden statue of a man who looked very much like Plutarch (excerpt wearing colonial clothing) posed in the center, which I assumed was a statue of some famous ancestor of Plutarch or something. Two wide staircases led from the floor up to the second floor, but the butler didn't lead me up those.
Instead, he took me to the room behind the statue, which seemed to be the living room. It was enormous, about the size of my entire house. The walls and ceiling had shiny white tiles, while the floor was covered in a shag carpet that felt like a fluffy pillow. It even smelled fancy, like caviar or something. A gigantic flat screen TV—three times as big as the one in the House—stood on one end of the room, with a huge sound system hooked up to it and a large set of fancy-looking sofas situated in front of it. A large window, with a nook for reading, revealed the fantastic garden on the other side behind the house.
Reclining in an armchair that looked more expensive than Dad's car was Plutarch himself. He was dressed in fancy red robes, reading a huge book that I didn't recognize. He looked up when we entered and smiled that same grin he had shown me when we first met back in Fallsville.
“Master Plutarch,” said the butler as we stopped a few feet from Plutarch. He gestured at me. “This is Mr. Bolt, the young man you wanted to meet. He's here for your six o'clock meeting.”
“That's him?” said Plutarch. He looked at me with skepticism. “What happened to your suit, kid?”
“It just … isn't available right now,” I said, hoping to steer the conversation away from my costume. “This is the best I could do with what I had.”
Plutarch chuckled. “Resourceful! That's good. Too many kids nowadays just don't know how to use what they have. You're smart. That's what I like about you.”
I felt a little embarrassed at Plutarch's praise, while the butler said, “Don't worry, sir. This young man is the same Bolt who saved you from that metal-skinned fella a couple of weeks ago. I confirmed it.”
“Good to know,” said Plutarch. He gestured in the other direction. “You can leave now, Jack. If we need anything, I'll let you know.”
The butler—whose name was apparently Jack—nodded, turned around, and left the living room, leaving me all alone with Plutarch, who shut his book closed and put it on the stand next to his seat. That was when I noticed the book's cover, which had a big picture of Plutarch's face, with a serious expression, on it, with the title The Science of Negotiation written above it and Plutarch's own name at the bottom.
“Um,” I said. “Jack said he confirmed my identity. But how? It's not like I have an ID to confirm my superhero identity or anything.”
“Oh, Jack is a superhuman,” said Plutarch as he steepled his fingers together. “He's basically a living lie detector. He probably used his power on you to find out if you were lying about your identity or not. He's a great guy, been my butler for years.”
I nodded, remembering what Triplet had told me about the superhumans that Plutarch hired. I hoped that Jack was the only one at this mansion, because if I had to fight, I figured I'd rather fight a living lie detector than someone with steel skin or capable of throwing fireballs.
“Take a seat, kid,” said Plutarch, gesturing at the other recliner opposite him. “No need to stand.”
Feeling a little awkward at Plutarch's generosity, I nonetheless sat down on the recliner, which I practically sank into. It was the softest and most comfortable chair I had ever sat in in my whole life. I reclined into it, becoming so comfortable that I almost forgot the whole reason I was even here.
“Like it?” said Plutarch. “It's a
Plutarch brand chair. Made out of only the finest and softest materials in the world. Very expensive.”
“Yeah,” I said, feeling a little sleepy. “I feel like I could just fall asleep …”
“But you won't,” said Plutarch. He leaned forward, a serious look on his face. “We're going to talk, remember?”
I shook my head to get rid of the sleepiness and then sat up, but it was hard because I kept sinking into the seat. I did my best to focus, however.
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I remember. Though I'm surprised that you wanted to speak with me, considering how unimportant I am.”
Plutarch chuckled. “Unimportant? Kid, I'm a huge fan of yours. You're pretty well-known for defeating Master Chaos, after all. Old bastard got what was coming to him.”
“Did you know Master Chaos?” I said.
“Back when I was, ah, less honest, we crossed paths a couple of times,” said Plutarch. He shook his head. “Always seemed too crazy to me. Didn't really have any business sense. Liked big, dramatic plans. Not like mine, though. Mine were more subtle and practical.”
'Plutarch' and 'subtle' didn't seem to go together to me, but maybe I was overlooking something. Maybe that was a clue that Plutarch was up to something, but I did not say that aloud. “Did you two ever work together?”
“Nope,” said Plutarch, shaking his head. “We never got along and actually fought a few times whenever our plans crossed. But anyway, what's past is past. I built Plutarch Industries by looking at the future, not by obsessing over the past.”
I nodded, although it didn't surprise me that Plutarch hadn't worked with Master Chaos. Chaos had not seemed like the kind of villain to work with anyone except his family. Still, I made a mental note to check Neo Ranks later anyway, just to make sure Plutarch wasn't lying to me.
“So what did you want to talk about?” said Plutarch. He glanced at his watch. “Let's be quick about this, because I have a flight to catch in about an hour to do some campaigning in New Mexico tomorrow.”
I almost asked outright, 'Sir, are you running for President on an anti-neohero platform in order to become America's first dictator?' but I caught myself before I asked that question, mostly because I knew that there was no way that Plutarch would give me an honest answer.
Instead, I said, “I wanted to talk with you about the Vile Four.”
Plutarch's friendly smile suddenly vanished, replaced by an angry scowl that made me feel afraid. “What about those idiots? And I include myself in that, by the way, because I regret ever working with those morons.”
“It's just that I noticed that the former members of the team have been active again,” I said. “I fought both Steel Skin and Firespirit, who tried to kill you and Sagan. I just—”
“If you're going to accuse me of working with them, think again,” said Plutarch. He looked at the burning fire in the fireplace between us. “I haven't spoken with any of those idiots since I helped put them in jail years ago. Well, okay, I 'spoke' to Steel Skin when he attacked me, but beyond that, I don't know anything about what they're doing or planning.”
“I didn't say you did,” I said. “I just wanted your thoughts on them.”
Plutarch chuckled. “I know the rumors, kid. I have a dozen staffers on the Internet all day just following the rumors about me. I know that a lot of people don't think I've really reformed, that I'm just a liar. I've had to deal with those rumors for years, but I guess they haven't stopped me from winning the nomination of my party, have they?”
Plutarch sounded satisfied with that, like he had had the last laugh against his opponents and critics. He even chuckled, though I didn't find it amusing myself.
“So you don't know anything about Steel Skin or Firespirit or even Nail Gun?” I said.
“Nothing,” said Plutarch. He looked at me again. “I might be one of the richest men in the world, but that doesn't mean I keep track of every person I've ever associated with. Especially those three idiots, who weren't even good minions when they worked for me.”
“I see,” I said. It was hard to tell if Plutarch was lying or not, but it seemed to me like he wasn't. “Then why did you bail them out of Ultimate Max?”
Plutarch suddenly looked worried for a moment before his usual confident grin returned. “Where did you hear that?”
“From Neo Ranks,” I said. “It's a website about neoheroes and stuff. It also has news and information about supervillains, both current and retired.”
“It's a lie,” Plutarch said. “I would never bail them out for any reason. I have much better things to spend my money on, like attack ads against crazy Barney.”
“But if you didn't bail them out, then who did?” I said. “And why was it reported on Neo Ranks that you did it?”
“I don't know who did it, but I imagine it was someone who is trying to sabotage my campaign,” said Plutarch. “Bet it was one of the NHA guys. They hate me and would do anything to make sure that I don't win the election and 'destroy' America.”
“So it was just a coincidence, then, that Firespirit tried to take out Sagan, who is your primary rival for the presidency?” I said.
“Complete and utter coincidence,” said Plutarch. “In fact, as soon as I heard about the assassination, I sent out a press release condemning it. Because see, I play fair, unlike some people, and I'd never hire an assassin to kill anyone, even someone I'm running against in a major election like this.”
I hadn't heard about the press release, but I decide to keep pressing forward. “Do you have any idea who might have done it?”
“None,” said Plutarch. “But good work stopping Firespirit, by the way. He always annoyed me more than Steel Skin or Nail Gun because he thought he was some kind of 'Spirit of Flame' or whatever. Kept trying to overthrow me whenever I wasn't looking. Now that I think about, I'm not sure why I didn't just have someone kill him whenever he failed to overthrow me.” Plutarch shrugged. “Guess I was a good guy even in my old villain days.”
“Oh, I didn't beat Firespirit on my own,” I said, scratching the back of my head in embarrassment. “Incantation and the other Young Neos helped, too.”
“Incantation, huh?” said Plutarch. He sounded even less jovial than before. “She's Thaumaturge's apprentice, right? The girl who helped you defeat and capture Steel Skin?”
“Yeah,” I said. “You've met her before.”
“I remember,” said Plutarch. He shook his head. “Though I wish I hadn't. She's every bit as stuck up as her master, if not worse.”
“You've met Thaumaturge?” I said in curiosity.
“Oh, yeah,” said Plutarch. “Back when I was the Billionaire, I met lots of neoheroes who got in the way of my master plans. I always clashed with Thaumaturge more than the others, though, which is why I don't care much for his apprentice.”
Plutarch shook his head. He pulled a cigar out of his robes, lit it, and started puffing on it. “But I don't need their support or approval. All I need to do is convince the American people to vote for me and I'm gold. Those two can just go and pull rabbits out of hats at children's magic shows for all I care.”
“I guess you have a similar relationship with other heroes,” I said. “Like Genius.”
“You mean your dad?” said Plutarch. He scowled. “Oh, yeah. He was always too smart for his own good. He was so smart that I tried to hire him to work at Plutarch Industries as a weapons developer after he thwarted one of my plans, but he just told to take that six-figure salary and shove it up my you-know-where.”
“Dad never told me that,” I said.
“Of course he wouldn't,” said Plutarch. “But I always respected Genius anyway. Always independent and resourceful, two traits I can respect in anyone regardless of whether they're friend or foe.”
“Is that why you like me?” I said. “Is it because I'm Genius's son?”
“That plays into it,” said Plutarch. “Even though you're a neohero, I can tell you're a good kid at heart. I don't know if you can vote yet or no
t, but it doesn't matter. I trust good kids and that's what you are.”
Plutarch seemed sincere. In fact, he was so sincere that I was starting to feel ashamed of ever suspecting him of being up to no good in the first place.
So I said, “Thanks, Mr. Plutarch. But I'm still a neohero. Doesn't that affect your opinion of me at all?”
“It would if you were one of my haters,” said Plutarch. He removed his cigar from his mouth and blew some smoke. “But really, I don't care. One of the promises I've made to the American people is that I will pass laws forcing neoheroes to pay for whatever collateral damage their battles cause.”
“I know,” I said. “I've heard people complaining about it.”
“It's always neoheroes who complain about it,” Plutarch pointed out. “But they never realized just how much money we lose every year just to their fights with the various supervillains. I'm talking about losses in the billions here, often paid for by the taxpayer. So I'm going to change that, no matter what your fellow neoheroes say.”
“That doesn't sound too bad,” I said. “It seems almost like common sense to me.”
“Exactly, but common sense ain't so common nowadays,” said Plutarch. He lowered his cigar and sighed, “Sad.”
I could tell that this conversation was coming to a close. I didn't really care much for whatever Plutarch's policies were. He didn't seem to be planning to do anything evil, but maybe he was just hiding it. In any case, I decided to let Triplet keep investigating him, because I needed to get home quickly before it got too late and my parents wondered why I was late.
So I stood up and said, “Thanks for the talk, Mr. Plutarch. You answered my questions, so I'm going to leave and go back home now.”
“Sure,” said Plutarch. “But I have a quick question that I hope you can answer for me.”
I tilted my head to the side. “What is that?”
“Can you endorse me at my next rally?” said Plutarch, without missing a beat.
“Endorse you?” I said. “Why?”
“Because I need a young, well-known neohero like you to endorse me and help me win the youth vote,” said Plutarch. “An endorsement from a neohero like you wouldn't give me a huge boost, but it would probably be enough to help me beat crazy Barney in the election, especially since it is so close.”