Berry pressed the button, yes, but ... nothing happened. “Eh?” she went, with a disconcerted expression. “Eh?” Serverboy echoed. Doublestash snored. The people outside also went, “Eh?” (They were let it on what was happening inside as per Jonas’s doings.) “Sis?” went the brother, whose actual name was Plum (her mother liked plums). She watched on as well, the mother, dead plants in her hands.
Then Jonas’s voice eliminated the silence. “You thought it would be so easy ... that’s your problem.” “What’s the meaning of this?!” yelled Berry, no longer a shadow. (Plum had also felt the transformation.) “All along,” Jonas continued, “there was a timer at the very top of the dome...” Everyone looked up. Jonas showed an angle for the crowd—which gave a clear view of the screen with the timer on it. It was a red button also, with white text on it. 0:00, it read. Berry gasped. Serverboy mumbled something like, “What?!”
“But you didn’t see, did you? Because you were too distracted.” Berry, on remembering the order of events, thought that if she had just looked up, she would’ve seen it. The timer, going down to zero. “But it’s no use, thinking about it,” broke in Jonas. Because that timer had gone to zero long before the shadow siblings were ever here... “What?!” yelled Serverboy. “Then what—” “The point,” broke in Jonas again, “was never to press that button...” Everyone glared in anticipation. “Think about it ... it if was as easy as the pressing of a button, would not everybody do it?” He paused. “But they don’t! All this information—you put it there, not me!” He flashed the sea of images on the screens again. “Because the truth is ... I did not steal your data—you gave it to me, willingly! You have only yourselves to blame!” He paused. “But if you want to break free, you have to make your own freedom... I think a slave who refuses to break his own fetters, and the fetters of his brethren ... deserves his fate, but the others don’t deserve theirs.” He seemed to have been satisfied with that line as a final wisdom, for he didn’t say anything after that, and the blaring noises—which accompanied the images—came back in full force, like so many cherry blossoms on schoolyards or riverbanks.
Serverboy had run back to the base-van. He shut the doors to insulate himself against the noise, and tapped several times on his long earpiece to notify the others of Squad Doublestash. There were still 9 of them left. “Strong and Stronger!” He waited, nothing. He waited some more, still nothing. He grew a little upset. What if the dome was soon going to crush them do death? “HEY MEATHEADS! PICK UP THE DAMN PHONE!”
Strong and Stronger were two bodybuilders, as well as brothers. Some might say they were Doublestash’s most prized charges, for they were known for their ungodly strength. They happened to be working out in a gym called Tifflefluffs, downtown from Second Best. “What’s up, bro?” picked up a sweaty dude in a gray muscle shirt, with a dumbbell on it. He had spiky yellow hair, and wore sunglasses—indoors. “You pumped up yet? We need you!”
“Working on it,” he said. He glanced over to his brother, Strong. Strong was doing push-ups. Serverboy remembered their training days, when Doublestash explained what the brothers’ powers were. “These brothers, like the shadow siblings, possess a peculiar power of interdependence, or mutual aid, in which one sibling fuels the power of the other.” Strong, who also wore sunglasses indoors, but had short, gray hair, and wore a yellow tank top and red shorts (instead of blue, like Stronger), was doing push-ups, while Stronger was perched on top of his back. Everyone was hyping him up. “COME ON! ONE MORE! ONE MORE!” He exerted so much effort veins bulged out of his forehead, and he was red as a tomato, and it seemed as if his eyes were about to pop out of his head!
“Now,” explained Doublestash, holding his camera, “now that he is pooped, the elder brother, Stronger, has been energized. Now he will use that power bestowed on him to break his PR on the bench press!” The shadow siblings and Serverboy (helping out Berry) loaded the barbell on each side with 45 lbs plates. “His personal best is 650 pounds! But now he’s about make that 740! With the power of a brotherhood well-nourished!” “And protein!” added Serverboy. Now Berry, Plum, and Serverboy all went to one side, and Strong went to the other. They were to be the spotters!
Stronger slapped his face a few times, exhaled, then got into position. The others held their hands under their side of the barbell. Stronger adjusted his palms a few times over the barbell, then took a big breath. “Come on, son!” yelled Doublestash. He gripped the barbell and with a huge grunt lifted it off the holders, and then lowered it to his chest. He was very unsteady, shaking all over. “Come on, come on!” Then he began pressing it over his chest, and his forehead was bulging out veins, and he was red as ketchup, and everyone yelled for him to lock out, and the barbell was bending like a macaroni, and finally, with the hugest of grunts, he locked out, his hands straight as an arrow—he had done it. New record: 740 pounds, no equipment.
This had been a number of years ago. Now Stronger was in the gym, locking out a large amount of weight on his own. He blew out air like a land porcupine, then with the momentum of raising his legs in the air, he sprung up on the bench, his face sweaty. He assuredly gave a side-eye to his brother, who had been doing push-ups. They nodded at each other. Now outside, they were headed for the location where the others were, running down a broad urban street. But they were not without possessions. Stronger was pulling a trolley behind himself, holding it by its handle. On the trolley was a strange anvil-contraption, with a hole at the bottom of it like an arch or a rainbow. Strong, on the other hand, was holding a hunk of steel under an armpit. They were running like that, each powering the other.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The crowd noticed them. They were approaching the dome not from the west like Berry and Plum had, but from the east. “What are they doing?!” “Don’t tell me...” “They’re going to Trojan Horse it!” They’re not getting through it, thought Jonas, no matter how strong they are. That didn’t seem to occur to them. They charged it head on, ready to make contact using their shelled bodies of muscle and grit. They ran, almost as if catching fire, straight into the wall—and broke it clean.
The noise inside was very loud, but they didn’t seem to mind. They flashed a smile, with their square jaws, at Berry. Serverboy had busted out of the vehicle, and ran over to Berry and the brothers. But their celebration was precocious, for the holes the brothers had left in the dome were being consumed. “HEY!” Serverboy pointed. “Oh, shit!” They ran over to the holes which were being morphed back into a solid wall of screens. Stronger shoved his hand through a shrinking gap, but quickly drew it back before the wall would have snapped it off. “Not again!” yelled Serverboy. “Square one, huh?” said Berry. “Well,” said Strong, “at least we brought Serge’s stuff.” He looked at the trolley with the anvil and the hunk of steel laid beside it. Stronger walked over to Doublestash, who was mumbling in his sleep, listening to dreamy music from the cassette. “7 sheep, 8 sheep, 9—” Stronger gripped Doublestash by the mouth and shook him up and down until he awoke. He trashed about and gave out muffled complaints until Stronger put him down.
“Guys! It’s you!” he yelled.
“Hey, serge. Sleep well?”
“What?!”
“SLEEP WELL?”
“WHAT?!”
Serverboy ran back to the van. “I know who’s next...” There was an old lady in a convenience store, digging into her small red purse with magnetic locks, and excavated a handful of change. “Here, she said,” smiling. The clerk giggled uncomfortably, and held out her palms to receive the handful of change. The old lady took the purse and emptied the contents into her palms. It was all change. She took the handful of change and put it back into her purse. The other customers in line vented their frustration and terror in various ways, such as burying a palm in their face, or exhaling. But they were lucky, for the old lady’s earpiece rang. Someone muttered into it, and she made a serious face. “Cancel that,” she said. The clerk exhaled.
In the next moment she was outside, with a plastic bag in her hand. Then, she began to sprint. “This old lady right here doesn’t receive a pension, because she was a career criminal,” said Doublestash, recording her in the test-unit. “But she is no ordinary criminal ... for she possesses the curious skill of hyper-speedy travel!” “You mean she runs fast?” said Serverboy. “Psst! We can’t get funding if it sounds lame!” “Right...” Meanwhile the old lady was speeding around in circles. “But that’s only one of her skills ... she was also a champion batter at the city-wide baseball league!” It was true: at 17 she was batting curveballs out of the arena. Now she was tossing the ball up and down in the test-unit, and getting into position to bat. All the other charges were watching, while Doublestash recorded. “Make sure you don’t hit—” She struck the ball with crazy intensity, and it was nearly coming apart as it hit the electricity box. All the lights went down. “The electricity box...” “Sorry, hon.”
She also had come from the west side, and was getting ready. She was tossing the ball in the air, and swinging the bat around. “No way that old bag will do any damage to my precious Panoptidome,” thought Jonas. “It’s the Bat Granny!” yelled a bystander in the crowd. “Bat Granny!” echoed a woman enthusiastically. They started chanting her name. Bat Granny lowered the ball to the ground, holding it in her palm, and then sprung her arm up with light speed, sending the ball flying in a straight line. The crowd followed the flight of the ball with keen eyes, but it went so high nobody but Bat Granny could see it. “Shit. Where is it?” said Jonas. Bat Granny flung the baseball bat over her shoulder, and put one foot forward, twisting and bending her torso. “Huh? She knows where it is?! How?!” yelled Jonas. Bat Granny squinted. “There!” one bystander yelled. The ball was coming down like a rocket, and Jonas panted. Bat Granny adjusted her grip, and when the ball was exactly level with the bat, struck it!
The ball flew like an even comet across the air. Everyone followed it with intense eyes. “Get down! Get down if you don’t want a ball-shaped hole in your head!” yelled Doublestash. The ball spun in the air, moving at least 200 miles per hour, hardly visible to the naked eye. It finally struck the wall, and left a ball-shaped hole in it. It then bounced on the floor inside, until the flapping bits of leather stopped it from rolling.
“Hah!” said Jonas. “Impressive... But of what use was it anyway? Nobody’s slim enough to squeeze through a gap that tiny...” He groaned. “But it’s a shame I can’t regrow the parts she destroyed the way I did when the brothers had punctured the wall... Because unlike those knuckleheads, the old windpipe punctured a critical part of the wiring system... Tch...”
“Are you guys available right now?” asked Serverboy, talking on his earpiece in the van. “Mmmhm, no problem. We’ll just talk to this family here and be there at once!” He scratched his chin. “Not that we can fight or anything.”
“I know, but there are some Korean families here, and we could use a translator.”
“Right-o!”
“Perfect City has seen an influx of foreigners in recent years, and the city leadership has made efforts to try and unify everyone in the nation,” explained Doublestash, now in the classroom. “To make strides in this area, the ADM has sought out translators to elicit effective and fruitful communication between immigrants and the rest of the populace... Therefore, our squad will be joined by two cousins, who can speak both English and Korean: Bora and Min Jee! Two people who appeared ethnically Korean walked in, a guy and a girl. “Hi,” said the guy, “I’m Bora.” “Min Jee,” said the girl.
“Cool!” said Strong. “What’s ‘sexy muscle’ in Korean?”
The girl groaned, and the boy giggled nervously, and scratched his head. “Huh?” went Strong.
“The thing is ... we can’t speak Korean very well... We sort of needed this job, and lied on our application.” Everyone went silent.
“That’s messed up, man,” said Serverboy, finally.