by Lucas Flint
Before he could ask, the Silent Shadow came to an abrupt stop and said, “Here we are. Mr. Monsoon’s office and room.”
They had stopped in front of a set of golden double doors set in the very center of the hallway. Written on the doors in silver lettering were the words ‘ALBERT MONSOON’ and below those words was a camera peering down at the three of them.
The Silent Shadow waved up at the camera. “Hi, Mr. Monsoon, sir! It’s me, the Silent Shadow. I’m here with the guests you wanted me to bring. Can you let us in?”
There was no response except for a soft click sound from behind the doors, which Bolt assumed meant that the doors were unlocked because the Silent Shadow pushed the doors open and entered. Shade went in next and Bolt followed last, closing the doors behind him on his way in.
Now Bolt understood why the Silent Shadow had described Monsoon’s living quarters as an office/room combo. The room was neatly divided into two, with a beautiful wooden archway separating both rooms. They had emerged into the office part of Monsoon’s room, while Monsoon’s actual bedroom could be glimpsed underneath the custom hand-carved archway to their left. Beyond the archway, Bolt saw a fancy blue four poster bed, but his attention was mostly focused on the office area.
Like the hallways outside, the office had beautiful tile flooring and a wooden ceiling that practically sparkled due to how clean it was. A half-circle window stood at the other end of the room, though it was currently covered with a huge black curtain. Bolt guessed it offered an excellent view of the sunrise in the morning when the curtain was drawn. The shelves were full of books on business, finance, and even spirituality, of all things, and a large oak desk stood in the center of it all, covered with a laptop and piles of papers that looked like they must relate to the McCoy Robotics business somehow.
But Monsoon himself was nowhere to be seen. Indeed, it seemed like Bolt, Shade, and the Silent Shadow were the only three people in the room at all.
“Where is he?” said Shade, looking this way and that. “Are you sure he’s here, Shadow? Because I don’t see him.”
“Just because you cannot see me, young lady, doesn’t mean I am not here,” said a voice with a slight Ukrainian accent from under the archway.
From out of the room came a tall, muscular middle-aged man wearing black athletic pants and a red tank top. Even though he had to be in his fifties, the man had huge muscles, like the kind of muscles you would see on a much younger man. He was also sweating heavily, with a towel tossed over his shoulder like he had just gotten done working out.
Shade’s eyes widened with interest when the man entered. “Hello there, Grandpa. Where have you been?”
“Shade,” said the Silent Shadow in a warning voice, “don’t call Mr. Monsoon ‘Grandpa.’ It’s disrespectful.”
The man, apparently Albert Monsoon himself, stopped before them and held up ah and. “No need to come to my defense, Greta. I don’t mind female attention, even though I am happily married and my wife likely wouldn’t approve of it.”
“Marriage isn’t an issue,” said Shade, her eyes fixed firmly on Monsoon’s muscles. “So do you work out or—”
“Shade,” said Bolt sharply. “You can admire his muscles later. Right now, we have more important things to talk about.”
Shade shot Bolt a quick smirk. “What, are you jealous or something? Actually, now that I think about it, you sounded a lot like Cadmus just now. Kind of funny, given how much you hate him.”
“I’m nothing like Cadmus,” Bolt insisted. “And I’m not jealous, either, because I already have a girlfriend.”
“The boy doth protest too much, I think,” said Shade, her smirk never leaving her lips.
The Silent Shadow looked at Monsoon desperately. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Monsoon, but I didn’t know they would be so disrespectful. If you want me to take them away—”
Monsoon laughed. “No, no, Greta, it will be fine. Their antics amuse me. I’ve needed a good laugh recently, anyway, what with all of the bad news on TV nowadays. That’s why I was working out tonight. Needed some way to get the stress out of my system.”
“You were working out?” said Bolt, looking at Monsoon questioningly.
“I can tell,” said Shade, causing Bolt to punch her in the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Yes, I was,” said Monsoon, flexing the bicep of his right arm briefly. “I have a personal gym here in my house that I like to use whenever I need to exercise. I’ve been into weightlifting my whole life and I attribute much of my success to it. Weightlifting trains the mind as much as the body and even feeds the soul. In a sense, it is my spiritual discipline, much in the same way Christians pray or Jews study the Torah.”
“And you’re religious, too,” said Shade. “Not a big fan of religion myself, but I can work with—”
Bolt punched her in the shoulder again, but this time Shade dodged and said, “Ha! Missed!”
Bolt just glared at her, but then shook his head and looked at Monsoon again. “That’s interesting and all, but we’re not here to talk about the spiritual benefits of weightlifting, are we?”
“No, of course not,” said Monsoon. “Please, take a seat. It is much more comfortable to speak while seated.”
Bolt and Shade took seats in two very comfortable straight-backed chairs in front of Monsoon’s desk. Monsoon himself sat in the ornate chair on the other side of his desk, wiping sweat off his forehead, while the Silent Shadow stood behind him to his right. She looked a little uncomfortable, but also ready to defend her boss if necessary.
“So,” said Bolt, adjusting the height of his seat slightly to fit his height better. “You ordered the Silent Shadow here—”
“Please,” said Monsoon, “just call her Greta. There’s no need to use code names in private here. You don’t mind, do you, Greta?”
“No, sir, I don’t,” said Greta, “though the Silent Shadow is a lot cooler than Greta.”
“Uh, sure,” said Bolt. “Maybe we should introduce ourselves first, then. I’m Bolt, but my real name is Kevin Jason.”
“I’m Shade,” said Shade. She leaned forward deeply, an eager look on her face. “If you want to guess my real name, I’ll tell you if you get it right.”
Bolt grabbed Shade’s shoulder and forced her back upright. “Shade, I am seriously going to have to tie you down if you can’t behave yourself.”
“Sorry,” said Shade, though she didn’t sound very sorry. “Anyway, my real name is Sarah Bradford. Nice to meet you.”
Monsoon nodded. “And nice to meet you two as well. I take it you are both superheroes?”
“Yeah,” said Bolt. “I mean, we’re not licensed superheroes like you guys have here, but—”
“Because you’re from a universe where superhero licenses don’t exist,” Monsoon interrupted. “Correct?”
Bolt’s eyes widened. “How did you know that? We didn’t say anything about that.”
Monsoon leaned back in his chair again, an amused smile on his face. “It was just a guess, but an accurate one. It seems. You see, I have a deep interest in multiverse theory. I’ve read so many books about it by scientists who’ve studied it, but unfortunately, it’s one of those theories which can’t really be empirically proved. Which makes me wonder how it is considered science in that case, but that’s an issue for another time.”
“Yeah, but how did you guess that we’re from another universe?” said Bolt.
Monsoon stroked his chin. “There’s something off about the both of you as if you don’t belong here. It’s not that you’re foreigners. It’s that your very nature contrasts with the foundations of the universe itself. Or the foundations of our universe, at any rate.”
Bolt frowned. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s hard to explain,” said Monsoon. “Since a young age, I’ve always been more spiritually-attuned than my peers. There is something about the two of you that sets off those same sensations I’ve picked up from others before. I wouldn’t exactly call it a supe
rpower in the same way you two have powers, but it’s an unusual ability for sure.”
It all sounded like a bunch of hocus pocus to Bolt, but when he glanced at Greta, he noticed that she seemed to believe every word. Perhaps Monsoon was being honest about his ability to sense that they weren’t from this universe. Bolt was not exactly sure how that was supposed to work anyway, though he knew better than to argue with Monsoon about it.
“Is that why you saved us?” said Bolt. “Because of some vague spiritual feelings you’ve experienced or something?”
Monsoon chuckled. “No, that doesn’t have much to do with the reason I summoned you here. Meeting people from other universes is interesting and could potentially be very informative, but frankly, I have more practical reasons for why I brought you two here.”
“Oh?” said Shade. “’Practical,’ you say? I’d certainly love to get practical with you if you catch my drift.”
Bolt didn’t even try to stop her this time. He just sighed and rested his face in his hand, wondering if this was how Cadmus felt and how much worse it had to be for Cadmus, who had to deal with Shade’s big mouth every day.
Maybe that’s why he’s such a jerk, Bolt thought. His eyes widened. Am I empathizing with Cadmus? I’m not going crazy, am I?
“That isn’t what I was talking about,” said Monsoon, though he looked amused by Shade’s comment nonetheless. “I have something more important for you to do. Would you like to hear it?”
“I guess it wouldn’t hurt,” said Bolt. “Especially since you saved us from getting killed back there.”
“Very well,” said Monsoon. He picked up a cup of steaming hot coffee from his desk and sipped it. “I need you two to steal something for me. Something valuable, something important.”
“Like what?” said Shade. “Money? Some kind of ancient artifact to add to your collection?”
“It’s a bit more important than that,” said Monsoon. He met Bolt’s eyes. “I need you two to steal Sasha Munroe’s personal files from her work computer … files that will help us prove her crimes and put her behind bars once and for all.”
CHAPTER TEN
Though Beams had never seen Bolt without his mask on, there was no mistaking the young man kneeling on the stage for anyone else. He had the same brown hair, even done in the same style, and his body’s build was practically an exact replica of Bolt’s. His eyes—which were green rather than brown—were different, but other than that, he looked just like Bolt.
Surprised and horrified gasps came from the assembled crowd. Lauren’s grip on Beams’ arm became as tight as a vice grip, which Beams would have complained about, but he was so taken aback by this revelation that all he could do was stare uncomprehendingly up at the stage.
“Is that Bolt?” said Beams. He looked at Lauren. “But I thought he was dead in this universe.”
“He is,” said Lauren, her voice barely more than a whisper, “but that’s not him.”
“It’s not?” said Beams. “Then who the heck is it?”
Lauren didn’t get a chance to answer, because Hopper continued speaking, his voice magnified intensely by the microphone into which he spoke.
“See this man?” said Hopper, gesturing wildly at the man who looked like Bolt kneeling on the stage by his side. “This man looks exactly like the infamous Kevin Jason, or, as he is better known, Bolt, who attempted to assassinate our glorious leader over a decade ago, motivated by his bigotry and hatred of equality and justice. Bolt was also the son of the even more infamous Genius, that bigoted terrorist who leads the Dissidents along with the vile Triplet to this very day.”
The assembled crowd was still whispering and muttering in surprise among themselves, but there was now a hint of anger in their whispering as if they were starting to remember who Bolt was and what he had done. Beams was still trying to convince his brain that his eyes were not lying to him, though that became harder and harder to do the longer he stared at the man on the stage.
“But this man, I can report to you today, is not Kevin Jason,” said Hopper, shaking his head. “He is instead Kevin Jason’s long-lost but equally dangerous twin brother, Ronald Theodore Jason, or, as he is likely better known to you, White Lightning, the infamous Dissident terrorist who has caused so much pain and misery in this country.”
More surprised gasps and mutterings, though they were angrier than before, which told Beams that White Lightning was not very popular among this crowd.
“It’s him,” said Lauren. “Crap.”
“Do you know him?” Beams muttered to Lauren.
“Yeah,” said Lauren quickly. “Hopper’s right. White Lightning is Bolt’s twin brother and, ever since we freed him from the government facility where he was kept prisoner about a year ago, he’s been a useful Dissident member. His powers are pretty much exactly the same as Bolt’s, but I don’t know how he could have been captured.”
“Does Genius know this?” said Beams, looking up at the stage again. “White Lightning is his son, too, so—”
A ringing noise came from Lauren’s pocket. She pulled a phone out of it and, holding it up to her ear, said, “Genius? Are you seeing this? Yeah, I know, it’s White, but—”
Lauren was interrupted by Genius’ soft but sharp tone.
“Yeah, sure, boss,” said Lauren, nodding. “Abort mission. I’ll let Beams know.”
“Abort mission?” Beams repeated as Lauren ended the call and slipped her phone back into her pocket. “What are you talking about?”
“Genius says we need to leave,” said Lauren. She was shaking visibly now and even sweating slightly. “Says that White’s presence here means we won’t be able to get to Sagan. Too risky.”
“But what about White?” said Beams, gesturing up at the stage. “Shouldn’t we save him? If he’s as strong as Bolt, then wouldn’t having him on our side make sense?”
Lauren opened her mouth to reply, but then Hopper suddenly spoke again, his voice booming over the crowd like an explosion.
“I am pleased to see so many of you happy to see White Lightning where he deserves to be,” said Hopper. “While I cannot go into all of the details about how we captured him, rest assured that he currently poses no threat to any of you. The cuffs on his hands have a pod of powerless gas built into them that will explode and render White Lightning completely powerless, should he attempt to use his super strength to escape. But he won’t, because even this vile bigot is smart enough to know when he can’t win.”
White Lightning said nothing. Based on the glassy look in his eyes, Beams assumed they must have done a lot more than just handcuff him.
“So why did we bring out this famous prisoner of ours onto this stage?” said Hopper. “It’s simple. We will execute him live today on all of the TV networks and websites which are livestreaming this event. Every person in the nation is watching this event from the comfort of their own homes and soon everyone will see just what happens to bigots who attempt to spread their hatred and bigotry through the country.”
Hopper held out a hand toward one of the guards. The guard put a handgun in Hopper’s hand, who raised the gun above his head for everyone to see.
“See this gun?” said Hopper, waving it above his head. “With this gun, I will put a bullet through this bigot’s head. It will kill him instantly. He probably won’t feel a thing, which is far more than he deserves, but President Sagan is our gracious Leader who believes in mercy even for his worst enemies.”
President Sagan himself smiled when Hopper said that, though he then coughed loudly as if he had accidentally swallowed down the wrong tube. Vice President O’Brian, of course, hadn’t stopped smiling since she stepped out of that portal, but there was something vicious about her smile now as if she was looking forward to the execution.
Beams looked at Lauren again. “We need to save him. They’re going to kill him now if we don’t.”
“But Genius said we needed to retreat,” said Lauren with a gulp. “If we ran on stage now, we’
d just get overwhelmed by the guards. We should follow Genius’ orders. He knows better than us.”
“But that’s his own son,” said Beams, gesturing up at White Lightning. “I doubt Genius wants to lose his second son. And he’s Bolt’s brother. Bolt would never forgive me if I let him die.”
“What are you talking about?” said Lauren, looking at Beams. “Bolt would never forgive you? He’s dead.”
“Never mind,” said Beams. “You can stay here if you want. I’m going to find a way up there and save White even if I have to do it myself.”
Lauren reached out to grab his arm, but Beams just pushed past her into the crowd. He didn’t bother to see if Lauren was going to follow him or not. He just pushed his way past the various bystanders, not even bothering to apologize or pay attention to what they were saying to him. He was making his way to the steps off to the side of the stage, which were guarded by a couple of armed guards who looked quite bored. Beams could hear Hopper continue to brag about how he was going to kill White, which meant that Beams didn’t have much time before he could save him.
“Hey!” said Beams as he ran up to the guards protecting the seats. “I need to get onto the stage now.”
One of the guards raised a questioning eyebrow. “ID?”
“I don’t have one,” said Beams, “but—”
“Then you can’t go up,” said the guard curtly. He pointed over Beams’ head. “Go back to the crowd, kid. No one is allowed up on stage without an ID. It’s for the President’s safety.”
Beams’ hands balled into fists, but a spontaneous bout of applause suddenly made him look back to the stage. Hopper seemed to have finished speaking now. He was pointing the gun at White Lightning’s head, a triumphant grin crossing Hopper’s lips. White, as usual, looked completely out of it, while people in the crowd began chanting for Hopper to shoot him and get it over with.
I don’t have any time, Beams thought. Looks like I’ll need to take a shortcut.
Stepping away from the guards, Beams closed his eyes and fired his lasers. The eye beams bounced off of his eyelids and back into his brain. Suddenly, adrenaline rushed through his body and he snapped his eyes open again.