Team Up

by Lucas Flint

  Bolt nodded and went over to the pictures. He flew over to them, hovering slightly above the floor so he wouldn’t have to strain to reach the higher up pictures. He was surprised at how many pictures hung on the wall, depicting not just Sasha Munroe from various stages in her life, but also various members of her own family. She even had what looked like a photo of a man who must have been her grandfather, a dignified-looking black man with a serious look on his face and the name Frederick Munroe, 1890-1945 written in the corner of the picture. All of the photos had nice frames, too, so Bolt was careful about removing and looking behind them.

  It wasn’t until Bolt looked behind the largest photo—the family photo he had noticed earlier—that he found it: A small, locked vault door set into the wall. The vault appeared to have a digital lock of a kind Bolt had never seen before, with a number pad that seemed to be where you entered the passcode.

  “You found it,” said Shade behind Bolt, almost making him jump in surprise.

  “Whoa,” said Bolt, looking at Shade. “Didn’t hear you sneak up on me.”

  Shade smiled. “You know how stealthy I am. Anyway, let’s open it.”

  “But we don’t have the passcode,” said Bolt, looking at the vault with a frown. “It’s obviously locked.”

  “Oh, come on,” said Shade. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about your super strength already. Just rip it straight off its hinges. You do this kind of thing all the time, don’t you?”

  Bolt bit his lower lip. “Yeah, but it would be noisy and might attract unnecessary attention.”

  “So what?” said Shade. She gestured at the open balcony. “We can make a quick escape if necessary. All we need to do, really, is snatch the laptop and get out of here. Even if Sasha’s guards see us, they won’t be able to catch us.”

  “True,” said Bolt, nodding. “Okay. Stand back, because I’m going to need room to pull.”

  Shade took several steps away as Bolt grabbed the vault door and twisted the knob. Even with his super strength, it took a fair bit of effort before the vault’s lock snapped and the knob became loose enough for him to twist and open the door itself. The interior of the vault was pitch black and it was positioned in such a way that the lights from outside could not illuminate it.

  But that wasn’t a problem for Bolt. He just channeled some red electricity through his hand, which provided enough illumination for him to see by. He held his hand up to the vault and peered inside, trying to spot the laptop they had come here to get.

  But the vault was completely empty.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Beams found himself floating through an empty gray miasma like he was lying on his back on a big lake. He wasn’t sure where he was or what happened. All he could remember was being shot by one of the guards back in Times Square and falling to the ground. He even remembered the pain he had experienced when the bullet tore through his chest. He wasn’t sure if the bullet pierced his heart or not, however.

  Even if it hasn’t, I’m probably dead, Beams thought. Is this what death is? It doesn’t look like heaven or hell. It’s just … kind of boring.

  As soon as that thought passed through his head, however, the gray miasma vanished and Beams found himself standing in a room he had not expected to see again: The room in which he had stayed while in the Temple of Dread what seemed like a lifetime ago now. He stood in the open window, looking down upon the Third Layer of Jinkopa, which was as empty and dead as it always was. He sensed no life in the streets below, not even plant life. It was like a gigantic graveyard.

  “There is no life down here anymore, Beams,” said a voice behind him. “Not anymore. But one day there will be. One day, the streets of the Third Layer will be full of people, worshipers of the Dread God and his great majesty.”

  Beams whirled around to see someone he never wanted to see again: The Dread God’s Avatar. The Dread God’s Avatar looked like a typical Darzen, armored head-to-toe in thick armor that was very difficult to pierce. But he had a more human face in comparison to the alien features of your typical Darzen and wielded a sword at his side in stark contrast to the usual laser blasters that the rank and file soldiers carried.

  Beams’ eyes charged with laser energy, ready to unleash an eye blast at the Avatar, but then he had a realization and cut off his energy blast before he could fire it. “I can’t hurt you, can I?”

  “No, you can’t,” said the Avatar, shaking his head. “Nor can I hurt you, for that matter. At least, not physically, anyway. Spiritually is a different matter altogether, though the Dread Priest has always been better at spiritual combat than me.”

  Beams eyed the Avatar carefully. “Where am I? Am I back in Jinkopa? If so, how did I get back here?”

  “Physically, no,” said the Avatar, shaking his head. “You are still in that universe to which the Dread God banished you, where you must stay out of the Dread God’s path. Trust me, you don’t want to leave that universe. You are much safer there than you are anywhere else in the multiverse.”

  “Safer, maybe, but safety is overrated,” said Beams. He put a hand on his chest. “I got shot. Am I dead?”

  “No,” said the Avatar. “Not yet, anyway. Your body is critically injured, but it should survive. Your spirit, on the other hand … that’s a more complicated matter.”

  “Explain,” said Beams. “Now.”

  The Avatar smirked. “Now, I am not a spiritual expert like the Dread Priest, but I do understand that your connection to the Dread God has given your soul certain qualities that human souls typically lack. Among these qualities is access to the Dread Realm, a place which exists only in the mind and spirit.”

  Beams tilted his head to the side. “You mean like heaven and hell, right?”

  “Similar, but not the same,” said the Avatar. “The Dread Realm was created by the Dread God. It is where he banishes the souls of those who he most hates. Once a soul is banished here, it can no longer return to the physical realm even if its body is kept alive. It lives forever, unable to go back to its home or see its friends and family again.”

  Beams clutched his chest. “Are you saying that I—”

  “You, on the other hand, are different,” the Avatar continued. “The Dread God did not banish your soul here. Your soul came here of its own free will, perhaps as a side effect of you drawing upon the Dread God’s power to smash your foes. But again, I am not an expert, so I don’t quite understand it myself.”

  “So I can go back to my body if I want to?” said Beams.

  “Presumably,” said the Avatar. “But I think you are here for a reason. Don’t you agree?”

  Beams bit his lower lip. “Yeah, I do, actually. It’s because of the Dread God.”

  The Avatar nodded. “’Everything revolves around the Dread God. Life, death, light, darkness … not a thing on heaven or earth is outside of his orbit.’ A quotation from an ancient Darzen prayer. Do you agree with it?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Beams, “but I get the point. The Dread God is trying to get me on his side, isn’t he?”

  “Correct,” said the Avatar. “He would speak to you himself, but he’s a little busy at the moment with more important matters. For now, I speak in his stead, which is right, because I was chosen as his Avatar for these types of tasks.”

  “Meaning you’re not here either,” said Beams. “Right?”

  “Right,” said the Avatar. “Like you, I can project my soul into the Dread Realm. So you can attack me as much as you like, but it won’t do you any good.”

  Beams glanced over his shoulder at the Third Layer again. “Why does the Dread Realm look like the Third Layer of Jinkopa? That doesn’t make sense to me.”

  “The Dread Realm changes form to meet the perceptions of its inhabitants,” said the Avatar. “Everyone sees something a little bit different. Or a lot different, in some cases. Two people can be standing side by side in the Dread Realm and see two completely different realities. It’s how the Dread Realm crushes your soul. B
y making individual souls unable to agree on reality, they are forced to be isolated from one another, which leads to further madness and depression if they stay here too long.”

  Beams gulped. “What about you? What do you see?”

  The Avatar’s smile became softer. “Home. I come from a small village on the west side of Jinkopa. That village is gone now, having been destroyed by a burning fire centuries ago, but I will always remember it. I wonder what the people living there would think of me now after I was chosen to be the Dread God’s mortal representative.”

  “Seeing your hometown isn’t so bad,” said Beams.

  “It is if you see it as a graveyard,” said the Avatar. His eyes darted from left to right. “The mason, burned alive in his stone hut … the woodworker, crushed underneath one of his wooden creations, his energy form destroyed by the fire consuming the village … and, of course, the little boy lying in the bottom of the village well, desperately hoping to avoid the doom that has overtaken everyone else in his village. Everyone, that is, except for me.”

  Beams, of course, could not see any of that stuff which the Avatar just described. But he was disturbed by the cool, almost indifferent way in which the Avatar described the ways that people he had surely known in his life had died.

  “Ever since I was chosen by the Dread God, I have forgotten a lot of things about my old life, including my old name,” said the Avatar. He felt a scar on his left cheek. “But one thing I will never forget is the day my village died. It’s one of those memories which imprints itself deeply upon your consciousness. And, though this is heretical to say, I don’t think even the Dread God himself could uproot the memory from my mind.”

  “I’m … sorry to hear that,” said Beams. “Losing everyone you know … that must have been tough.”

  “It was,” said the Avatar, nodding. “At least at first. But then the Dread God chose me and I understood why it had to happen. To become the Dread God’s Avatar, I needed to lose everything that held me down. That meant losing my friends, my family, my neighbors, and even … even the woman I loved.”

  Beams raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Darzens can love?”

  “Your sloppy language can’t describe with any reasonable precision what I meant when I said that,” said the Avatar, “but in a way, yes, we can. I no longer mourn them as much as I used to because now I have something greater: The Dread God himself. And it’s all thanks to you.”

  “Seems like a terrible deal,” said Beams. “Your entire village in exchange for serving a being as horrible as the Dread God?”

  “Horrible?” the Avatar repeated. He laughed. “The Dread God gave me meaning and purpose. Have you ever lived without it? It is worse than hell. I would have killed myself if not for his grace. Now I can live a truly beautiful life, one full of meaning and purpose. Can you say the same about yourself?”

  Beams hesitated. He never gave meaning and purpose much thought. Sure, like anyone else, he would have moments of self-doubt and moral struggles, but he had never thought very deeply about it, so he didn’t quite know how to answer the Avatar’s question.

  “It doesn’t matter,” said the Avatar. “What does matter, however, is giving you a chance to join us.”

  “I thought the Dread God wanted me dead.”

  “You would already be dead if that was the case,” said the Avatar. “But instead, the Dread God sent you to another universe. Have you ever wondered why he would do that if he was truly intending to kill you? The Dread God still has plans for you, Beams, plans you can evade for a short while, but not for very long. Sooner or later, you destiny catches up to you … whether you want it to or not.”

  Beams’ hands shook. “Give it up already. I will never serve the Dread God, no matter what.”

  The Avatar folded his arms in front of his chest. “Even if the Dread God can offer you the woman you love?”

  “Woman I love …?” Beams repeated. “Do you mean Greta?”

  “Greta Hammond, yes,” said the Avatar.

  As soon as the Avatar said her name, Greta suddenly appeared in the chamber with them. She was as beautiful as ever with her blonde hair and pink t-shirt, smiling that same sweet smile of hers.

  “Greta,” said Beams. “How did you get her?”

  “I didn’t,” said the Avatar. “Like so much else in the Dread Realm, she isn’t even real.”

  The Avatar snapped his fingers and the Greta hologram vanished, leaving Beams to stare at empty air pointlessly.

  “She may not exist within the Dread Realm, but she is still out there in your universe somewhere,” said the Avatar. “The Dread God can find her, Beams. Find her, and give her back to you. Neither she nor you will need to worry about the ‘law’ anymore because the Dread God will not throw her into prison for the petty crimes she has committed. You can be together forever under the Dread God’s most gracious rule.”

  For the first time since he had gotten here, Beams felt tempted to say yes. He and Greta had only broken up due to external circumstances outside of their control. And, though Greta had had to cut off communication with Beams for her own safety, Beams had never truly gotten over her. He hadn’t asked a girl out since his break up with Greta, despite his brother James constantly pointing out cute girls for him whenever they were in public. Beams always said it was just because he wanted to focus on college, but deep down he knew it was just that he had a deep longing for Greta and that he hoped they could get back together again, regardless of how unlikely that seemed.

  Beams had no doubt in his mind that the Dread God could bring Greta back. The Dread God may have been evil, but it was also powerful beyond measure. He could easily imagine the Dread God bringing Greta back to him because that was just the sort of thing the Dread God would do to win him over as a loyal follower. And it was incredibly tempting, far more so than it had any right to be.

  “What is your answer, Beams?” said the Avatar softly. “All you have to do is say yes and the Dread God will take you from that universe and give you your heart’s deepest desire. You don’t even have to do anything. The Dread God will do everything for you.”

  And Beams hesitated.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Bolt stuck his hand into the vault and felt along its interior, hoping that his eyes might be playing tricks on him or that there might be a secret compartment he was unaware of. But the walls, floor, and ceiling of the vault were completely smooth. They were even slightly dusty as if this vault had not been opened or used in quite some time.

  “Oh, come on,” said Shade. “It can’t be that empty, can it?”

  “Looks like it can,” said Bolt, pulling his hand out of the vault and staring into it glumly. “We went through all of this for nothing.”

  “Do you think that Sasha could possibly have it with her downstairs?” said Shade, glancing at the floor. “Maybe she got too lazy to put it away and it’s still in her work suitcase downstairs.”

  Bolt slapped his face. “We don’t have time for that. We’ll just have to abort the mission and go back to Monsoon. Tell him we couldn’t get it and that we should try again some other time.”

  Abruptly, the open windows on the balcony slammed shut and the lights flashed on, leaving both Bolt and Shade temporarily blinded by the sudden change in lighting. Shade even covered her eyes, as if to protect them, but Bolt just looked around, bewildered, until someone fell from the ceiling above and landed on the floor before them with a slight bounce.

  It was Rubberman. He was rising to his feet, dusting off his costume, a grim expression on his face. He looked no worse the wear for having been smashed against a cave wall by Bolt earlier, aside from his hair, which was slightly messed up.

  “Rubberman,” said Bolt as he and Shade turned to face him. “Didn’t expect to see you, of all people, here.”

  “That makes two of us,” said Rubberman. “When Sasha told me to wait here for you two in case you tried to break in, I was dubious, but it looks like her concern was correct. You t
wo were trying to steal her private laptop, weren’t you?”

  “Yeah, we were,” said Shade. “You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

  “It’s with Sasha,” said Rubberman. His hands balled into fists. “But I’m not going to let you go get it.”

  Shade smirked. “Cute. Acting like you can stop us … you know, if I didn’t already have my eyes on a guy, I’d think about you, because you’re just my type even if a bit older than I like.”

  “Rubberman may not be able to stop you on his own,” said a voice above them. “But he is not on his own.”

  Bolt and Shade looked up just in time to see Takeshi drop from a hidden compartment in the ceiling. He lashed out with a kick, striking Shade in the head and knocking her out. Bolt, who had faster reflexes than Shade, just barely managed to avoid Takeshi. He jumped away as Takeshi landed on the floor where he had been standing previously, skittering across the floor until he came to a stop near the lamp in the corner.

  Takeshi was now bent over Shade, holding a knife to her throat. His blue eyes flashed dangerously from his mask. They were both impossible to read and yet unmistakably sending the message that Bolt should not move if he didn’t want her to die.

  “Thanks, Takeshi,” said Rubberman, though he eyed Takeshi warily. “I was worried that the girl was going to escape through her shadow again.”

  “Shadows are a ninja’s best friend,” said Takeshi softly. He nodded at Bolt. “Now there is one. Get him, before he escapes.”

  Rubberman nodded and launched a rubber fist at Bolt. But Bolt dodged the punch and fired a lightning bolt at Takeshi. The ninja’s eyes widened in surprise, but Rubberman jumped in the way of the lightning bolt. The bolt struck Rubberman directly in the chest, making him gasp, but he didn’t fall down. Instead, Rubberman rushed toward Bolt and, jumping into the air, landed behind him and wrapped his long, rubbery arms around Bolt tightly. Bolt gasped before Rubberman slammed him onto the floor, dazing him from the impact.