Over these two years, he’d taught John a great deal: history, philosophy, literature.
But it was as if the kid’s brain ran on some incredibly stubborn piece of base code.
No matter how advanced the theory, he could always loop it back to the same dead end: “how to maintain order so as to keep Leon safe.”
Just then, the apartment’s intercom buzzed.
“Leon, Soundstage One is ready.
The PR people are waiting for you both.”
It was Madelyn’s voice.
“Got it.
We’ll be there in ten minutes.”
Leon switched off the intercom and looked at John.
“All right, little champ, go put on your ‘rules.’ Today’s the first time you’ll be doing the real thing in front of the cameras.”
John scrambled up off the carpet and ran into the bedroom.
Ten minutes later, the two of them arrived at Soundstage One down on the first basement level.
The space had been dressed, with painstaking realism, into the interior of a New York street-corner bank.
All the lighting rigs and camera tracks were already set up.
The Legend, VP of Vought’s Publishing and PR divisions, stood in the middle of the set with a cigar clamped in his teeth, loudly directing the crew.
The moment he saw Leon walk in with John in the Homelander suit, the Legend snuffed out his cigar and came over with an ingratiating smile.
“Oh!
Look at our little savior!
No matter how many times I see this suit, it gets the blood pumping every time!”
The Legend laid on the praise, then lowered his voice and said to Leon, “Today’s shoot is very important.
This internal promo film is going to the Pentagon and Capitol Hill, to demonstrate the ‘controllability’ and ‘combat potential’ of our newest generation of super-assets.”
“Are the extras all set?” Leon glanced toward the center of the set.
“Of course.
For realism, we pulled a few retired veterans from Security to play the hostages.
As for the robber…” The Legend waved a hand.
A lean, wiry man with something sullen in his eyes walked over.
“This is Rubber Band, a second-string hero rated C-class internally.
His power is that his body can stretch like rubber, and he’s got extremely high physical impact resistance.” The Legend made the introduction.
“He’s the best fit for the villain.
No worrying about the little terror punching him dead in one shot.”
Rubber Band shot John a glance and curled his lip, clearly none too pleased about playing sparring partner to an eight-year-old. This chapter is updated first at novelping.com.
“Boss, the script says this kid’s gonna fly over and grind my face into the floor.
Let me say this up front, my rubber body still feels pain.
If the kid doesn’t watch his strength, whose workplace injury is that gonna be?” Rubber Band complained.
Before Leon could say anything, John had already taken a step forward.
He looked up at Rubber Band with those deep blue eyes, and a bright, sunny smile slowly spread across his face.
“Sir, please don’t worry.
Leon taught me that making a movie is a game, and all the harm in a game is fake.
I’ll control my strength precisely.
I guarantee I’ll only put visual pressure on you.
I won’t break a single one of your bones.”
John’s voice was crisp and polite, and paired with that innocent smile, it made Rubber Band freeze for a second.
“Uh…
okay.
You’re a pretty well-behaved kid, I’ll give you that.” Rubber Band muttered, then turned to go get ready.
Leon watched John’s retreating back, the corner of his eye twitching slightly.
For some reason, every time he saw John flash that flawless, textbook smile now, it gave him the creeps.
This child’s command over his own emotions had reached the point where even Leon couldn’t see through to what he was thinking.
“Places, everyone!
Live-action run, scene one, ready!
Action!”
At the director’s shout, the set went quiet.
An alarm began to wail inside the simulated bank.
Rubber Band, wearing a black ski mask and holding an unloaded prop gun, had a female extra by the throat and was roughly choking her as he bellowed his lines, “Nobody move!
Anybody calls the cops and I kill her!”
The female extra let out a terrified scream, fully committed to the part.
But no wire rig descended from above the soundstage.
A faint sonic boom sounded, and John’s feet left the ground.
The deep-blue suit gleamed under the lights, the Stars and Stripes cape rippling in the wind behind him.
He hovered half a meter off the floor, hands on his hips, that signature smile on his face, pitying and full of authority all at once.
In that instant, the whole crew stared, dumbstruck.
Even knowing it was an act, that natural pressure radiating off a higher form of life still left them feeling as if the air had been squeezed from their lungs.
“Let the lady go.
Your crimes end here.”
John’s crisp voice rang through the bank, every word clearly enunciated, his delivery full of feeling.
According to the script, this was the point where Rubber Band was supposed to fire in terror and then be easily subdued by John.
But Rubber Band, watching that seemingly luminous boy up in the air, felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of irritation and jealousy.
He was a hero who’d clawed his way through the bottom rungs for years.
What gave some kid who hadn’t even sprouted all his body hair the right to this kind of treatment the moment he debuted?
To pad out his own screen time, and to test this fabled “ultimate weapon,” Rubber Band changed the script on his own.
Instead of releasing the female extra, his wrist gave an eerie writhe, and his whole arm shot out like rubber, stretching ten-odd meters, the prop gun in his grip swinging hard at John’s face.
“Look out!” the director cried in alarm.
This was not in the script!
Standing behind the monitor, Leon’s brow snapped into a frown.
Faced with the sudden attack, the smile on John’s face didn’t pause for even half a second.
He merely tilted his head a fraction, and the prop gun sailed past, grazing his blond hair.
Then John’s figure vanished from midair.
There was a bang, and Rubber Band’s vision blurred.
His chest felt as if it had been rammed by a charging bull, and his whole body flew backward out of control, slamming hard into the bank’s prop counter.
The female extra screamed and fell to the floor, but was helped up by a pair of gentle little hands.
“Ma’am, you’re safe now.”
John gave the female extra a smile that could melt ice and snow, and even thoughtfully brushed the dust off her clothes for her.
Then John turned and walked slowly toward Rubber Band, who lay in the splintered wood.
His steps were slow, and with each one, the smile on his face grew a degree brighter.
Rubber Band clutched his dully aching chest and climbed up.
John’s hit just now had been calibrated to a hair, exactly enough to send him flying yet just short of what his rubber body could withstand.
But the skill behind it was lost on Rubber Band; all he took from it was that the blow had done no real damage.
“Tch, that’s all?
And here I thought you were something special.”