12 Years Ago - Hours After the Silent Scream

  Boli knocked on a screen one last time and finally smashed his fist into the desk. The blinking NO SIGNAL taunted him, flashing on all of his five monitors.

  Boli groaned, rolling his head on the desk. “NIS? Did we get any good footage?”

  “All of it was scrambled!” NIS reported spritely. “Not a single iota of data or bot made it through that! But, there’s always a brightside!”

  “And what’s that?”

  “All those bots who stopped listening to your commands are gone! Crazy the casualties they were causing. Not your style.”

  Boli buried his relief so as to not show NIS just how worried he had been. His own creations had gone rogue and stopped listening to him. But, another pressing question came to mind. “Is Lightcrown gloating?”

  “He doesn’t seem the type.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Lightcrown blew up in a massive explosion in the south of Indus, taking out the immediate area and leaving the rest of the district in disarray. But! He might have been doing a victory dance in the center of the mushroom cloud, it was hard to tell. Or maybe he died a horrible death,” NIS offered.

  Boli buried his face in his hands, trembling. All of his money was put into that attack. Drones, technology, and resources from all his investments and payments. He had nothing to show for it. What was he supposed to do with a massive crater in Indus?

  “All right. Well, report in when we get footage of the surrounding area. Maybe we can capture some—”

  “No can do! All of it was scrambled!”

  Boli snapped his head up to the ceiling, addressing his ethereal partner. “Not the drones! I’m talking about the cameras we planted around Hammerton! Miles away!”

  “Yep. The mushroom cloud sent out some sort of EMP and deleted everything and shut it all down. Anything outside this bunker is dead.”

  Boli’s jaw hung loosely as he stared at the NO SIGNAL messages once again. Everything? The Cause would be set back years without any footage! A decade! Maybe even twelve years, if his quick calculations were accurate! How was he supposed to take any credit for the work without any proof?!

  Pulling out his phone, he powered it on and opened the camera app. That still worked.

  “Any news reports or social media reporting about the incident? Or is everything still dead?”

  “Mostly just people panicking. But the whole city is back online, Indus included. The AssistMeLightcrown hashtag is trending.”

  Boli looked over the image on his camera. “So, no body?”

  “What? Did you listen? Everybody.”

  “I mean Lightcrown’s body! No one has posted anything about it!”

  “Oh…” A whirring sound went off overhead as NIS ran a number of searches. “Not that I can find.”

  “Great,” Boli stood and put on his coat before hesitating. “Do you think there’s radiation at the explosion site?”

  “Well, it came from a single individual. So it’s either totally harmless or will kill you the second you breathe its air!” NIS said helpfully.

  Boli pursed his lips, knocking on his head lightly. “Worth it. Plus, I got nothing better to do. Keep an eye on the bunker, NIS. I’ll be back with some proof. Or if we’re lucky, a body bag!”

  * * *

  Frozen, Rockwell sat on the couch, staring forward. Serena paced behind him, screaming in frustration at her dead phone, but it all came as a monotonous din in his ears.

  For only a moment, he saw the massive mushroom cloud rising above Indus through the living room window. It was soon after he clearly heard the pained scream from his son: “Stop.” Then he turned and sat on the couch, his mind leaving his body.

  Pinn was dead. A blinding, quiet explosion made sure of it. His only son. Had he ever taken the time to tell his own son he loved him? How proud he was?

  Not once.

  Gripping tightly to an arm of the couch, Rockwell was taken entirely by images of his son.

  White flames engulfing his head. Saving men from a fallen construction site. Summoning lightning on a whim. Even saving Serena from a bullet aimed right for her. Pinn was so brave. An incredible young man. Putting his life before others and responding to the thousands of messages sent to him in the final hour.

  Eyes lowering, Rockwell felt Serena tugging on his shoulder, but he could barely register it. What was he supposed to do without his son? The possibility never occurred to him before. It should have, with all the times that he went out to fight robots and resolve crimes, but Pinn always returned unharmed. In all his engagements with the city, Rockwell never imagined the possibility he would be at the epicenter of an explosion that large.

  Another tug at his arm. Unfocused eyes rose to the teary look on his wife’s face. In hysterics, she was shaking him and presenting her dead phone to him over and over. Empathizing, Rockwell willed himself to focus.

  “...gonna do Rocky? He won’t pick up! I can’t get through to him! What if he’s lost, or hurt? Why didn’t we go with him?”

  Rockwell had a hard time registering whether she was in denial or truly believed that Pinn might still be alive.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Rockwell said flatly.

  “Not by sitting down!” Serena pulled him again. “We have to do something!”

  “What? What can we do?”

  “I don’t know!” Serena yelled. “But I can’t stand to do nothing! Let’s go out there! We have to make sure there’s a body!”

  Rockwell stood immediately. “Right.” His son would have a proper burial.

  Rushing to grab his car keys, Rockwell stopped and Serena screamed when something bashed into the roof and smashed into the pool in the backyard. Exchanging a quick glance, they scrambled to the backyard.

  Steam radiated from the pool and Pinn was floating face down in the water. His clothes had been all but torn away, burned remains scattered across his body like he’d walked through a flamethrower.

  “Son!” Rockwell threw the door open so hard the glass cracked as he raced outside.

  Jumping into the water, he flipped Pinn around and held his head above the water, searching for signs of life. Blood marked closed wounds on his face and chest, but nothing spilled out. His body was hot, like he was running the worst fever imaginable. Face wincing in anguish, Pinn breathed erratically in his father’s arms.

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  “Pinn, are you alright? Pinn?” Rockwell held him close.

  “You were right Pa. I got overconfident. I really thought I could save them all. But I made things so much worse,” Pinn gripped tightly to Rockwell’s sopping shirt. Trembling, his body convulsed. “I failed everyone.”

  “You didn’t fail me, Pinn,” Rockwell said urgently. “You came back.”

  “So many people are dead because of me! I killed so many! I couldn’t stop it!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Rockwell said, and he meant it. Pinn didn’t ask to be blessed with powers, but seized the responsibility as well as any teenager would. Better, in fact. He listened to his parents, but paid the consequences for going out to help others at their insistence.

  This was Rockwell’s fault for not better understanding or protecting his boy.

  “What do I do, Pa?” Pinn asked as Rockwell carried him from the pool.

  Serena watched with both hands over her heart. Tears streamed down her face.

  “What do I do?” he repeated, voice quivering.

  “We’ll figure it out,” Rockwell assured him, carrying him inside.

  “Nobody blames you for this, Pinny,” Serena followed.

  “But it’s my fault.” Pinn’s groan was so excruciating that Rockwell double checked to make sure he wasn’t bleeding.

  Placing him gingerly on the couch, Rockwell ran to grab a towel and dried off his son. Every movement was focused and gentle, watching his son as he trembled uncontrollably and silently wishing he could assist further. Serena approached and placed a single hand on the teen’s forehead. That brought him an immense wave of relief and the shaking reduced to a light quiver.

  “I wish I was never born,” Pinn whispered.

  “Pinn, don’t speak like that. You’re a blessing,” Serena said maternally.

  “These blessings hurt people!”

  “And helped so many others. It’s not about the act, but the intention behind the act. You chose to use your powers for good despite all the selfish things you could have done with them! The effort is in our hands, but the results were never ours to control.

  “So, yes, Pinny. You’re a blessing. Our blessing. You’re our special little prince with powers. Even after everything, we wouldn’t want it any different.”

  Pinn’s eyes moved slowly toward her. “Really?”

  “Really,” Rockwell said firmly.

  Pinn’s shaking stopped. His eyes drooped, all the energy seeping out of him at once. His head laying back into the couch, he uttered one last thing before falling asleep.

  “I can never use these powers again.”

  Serena and Rockwell exchanged a glance. Whatever happened in Indus had broken their son. But at least he was alive. They could help him.

  Serena gingerly pulled off what little remained of Pinn’s burned clothes, and went to dispose of it. When she returned, a robe was quickly applied to Pinn’s bare body.

  Scooping his son up in his arms, Rockwell carried him to his room, pausing to glance at the scorched front door. The first manifestation of his powers. In the window next to it, he could still see the faint outline of the dissipating mushroom cloud. Such immense power in such a young man. He wanted to know what happened, if only to prevent it from happening again. But he also couldn’t imagine asking Pinn to relive this day so soon.

  Placing him down in his bed, Rockwell tucked him in and watched him breathe. Pinn’s face was stuck in a mild grimace, eyebrows occasionally twitching. Grabbing the chair at Pinn’s desk, he pulled up next to him to watch him. He would remain by him all night just to make sure he was safe.

  And while Rockwell knew Serena would eventually try to get him to help others again, Rockwell was perfectly content allowing Pinn to rest. No more powers. Let him live a normal life and be left alone.

  At least then he would finally have the time to spend with his son.

  * * *

  Pinn’s father held a plate of crepes under his nose as he stared at the TV screen. Images played of a vigil for Lightcrown, lamenting the loss of the fallen hero. Alleged hero, as far as Pinn was concerned. Taking the plate without breaking away from the screen, Pinn hummed his thanks.

  “What channel is this?” Rockwell asked, seating himself next to Pinn and shifting the cushion by his size.

  “I’m streaming a video from ViewCube.” Pinn held up his mother’s phone while still staring at the screen.

  People cried at the memorial placed at the edge of the crater he left behind. One of the clearer pictures of him, taken from a frame of footage from Channel 34 news, was posted on a stake, surrounded by flowers. Men, women, and children alike arrived to pin notes on the paper.

  Thank you for saving us

  You will not be forgotten

  Always in our hearts for what you did to protect us

  And Pinn’s least favorite, spotted all over screen in different handwritings: Lightcrown Lives!

  Pinn’s lips twitched ambivalently. He felt uncomfortable with the way they shed tears at the image of his flaming head. No. Not just uncomfortable, he hated it. Like they were all conned into believing he did what he could to save them when he was actually the reason so many of them were injured and their loved ones gone. And he got to live. Where was the justice in that?

  Some people held lit candles sprinkled with magnesium, allowing the fires to glow white. That scene brought a small smile to Pinn. Like he’d made a community from his efforts. One that didn’t need its founder around to keep going.

  “They think you’re dead?” Rockwell asked.

  “Yeah, I think the idea is that the bots stacked onto me and blew up all at once. That’s one theory spreading online, anyway.”

  “What are the other theories?”

  Scrolling through his phone, Pinn tapped on another video and the TV flashed black and showed a loading spinner. Leaning back, Pinn took a bite of the crepe and chewed slowly. Without meaning to, he made a face. Crepes were kinda gross. Too thin and none of the fluff needed for a nice, sweet treat.

  His father looked over. “Something wrong?”

  “Nothing Pa. Just a lot on my mind,” Pinn said, not wanting his father to feel bad for his cooking.

  The TV loaded. The same picture of Lightcrown and all the notes were being covered in spray paint, masked people on screen screaming and booing at the image.

  “Lightcrown almost killed us all! Why are we celebrating him!?” A masked man directly addressed the camera. “The first time he failed, and he tried to take us all down with him! The bots were much better! They were asking for money, not shutting us down and destroying our homes!”

  The speaker held up a flame in front of his spray can and burned the upper half of the makeshift memorial. Jeering, the masked individuals kicked at the stake and tore away the flowers at the base. Together they stomped and kicked at anything resembling Lightcrown.

  Pinn felt his father’s gaze on him. Pursing his lips, he tried to think of a way to phrase a question so that his father might not realize his intent. Weighing it on his mind as people danced and stomped on the broken memorial, Pinn went with his gut.

  “Do you think it’s okay if Lightcrown stays dead?”

  He was somewhat hopeful that the question had a double meaning. It could either mean “do you think society will be okay without Lightcrown’s presence?” or “am I allowed to no longer act as Lightcrown?” Either way, he wouldn’t have to take a “no” at face value.

  “Yes,” Rockwell said, his eyes inscrutable as a masked man ground his foot into Lightcrown’s face, spitting on it.

  Blinking, Pinn was startled by his father’s immediate, almost instantaneous response. And he eased himself deeper into the couch, relieved. Maybe people would forget him. Whether they revered or hated him, Pinn just wanted to go the rest of his life without being remembered.

  “Pinny, did you want to go out to a park today or just stay in?” Serena walked in from the kitchen, offering her son and husband a smoothie.

  “Inside, please.” Pinn took the drink gratefully.

  “Of course.” Taking a step back, she looked between the two on the couch with a thin smile then turned to the screen. It took only a moment for her expression to sour. “What is this? Why would you put this on? Change the channel!”

  Pinn felt heat run through his cheeks.

  “It’s ViewCube, not a channel,” Rockwell said.

  “I don’t care!” Pinn’s mother poked at buttons on the screen until it jumped from streaming to live TV. Sighing in relief, she took a step away.

  Only to be accosted by a man screaming at a crying chef on screen.

  “This is pathetic! How could you let things get this bad?”

  “It’s not that bad,” she pleaded.

  “Not that bad!? Look at this! There’s a dead rat in your frozens! Half your bread is molding over, and no one around here has a clue what’s going on!” The angry man threw his hands up, his forehead a deck of angry wrinkles. “You’re a mule that doesn’t understand anything about cooking, much less running a restaurant! Nothing but a sad, miserable, wretched pretender!”

  “Oh, dear. This is much worse than I was expecting.” Serena moved to switch the channel.

  “No! Wait!” Pinn sat up. “I kinda like it.”

  “This?” Serena pointed in bafflement.

  “He has a way with words,” Rockwell agreed. “Leave it on. Pinn wants to stay at home. Let him watch what he wants, too.”

  “Well, whoever he is, I hope I don’t see him again in this house.” Serena went back to the kitchen.

  “We’ll be back with more of Jordan Bambsi’s ‘Kitchen Horrors’ right after the break,” the narrator said.

  Leaning back into the couch, Pinn looked over to his father. Rockwell looked back and gave him a rare, tiny smile. The small upturn of one side of his lips. Grinning back, Pinn took a sip of the delicious smoothie, letting it increase his mood.

  He could get used to hanging out with his parents. At least for a little while, until all the Lightcrown business blew over.