Following the battle with Plutonia, Bob returned to his office and tried to resume work. His unsettled stomach plagued him, however, and by the time lunch break came along, the mere thought of food almost made him retch. He reluctantly approached Lori, Mr. Pei's administrative assistant, and informed her that he wanted to take off the second half of the day.
"Not a problem," the curly-haired young woman responded. "A lot of people were shaken up by the attack of the big green woman. It's not easy living in Metroville, what with the crime, and supervillains, and rude drivers, but still, I wouldn't want to live anywhere else."
As he drove back to the suburbs in his little economy car, Bob formulated a plan for recuperation that involved lying on his back for two straight days with no meals. Bald Eagle had warned him of the danger from Plutonia's radioactive body. Why hadn't he listened, and tried to bring her down with a distance attack?
After stopping in the driveway, he sat motionlessly and groaned for a few seconds before opening the door. He gripped the door frame to support himself while struggling to his feet. A fresh wave of nausea suddenly hit him. He grimaced in pain and squeezed mightily with his fingers. When it passed, he realized that he had probably left finger-shaped dents in the car body. Prepared for the worst, he relaxed his grasp on the door frame.
It was intact. The door closed normally, without any resistance.
He felt relief first, then concern. He had once crushed a diamond in his hand with the same amount of pressure he had just applied to the car--yet there it was, undamaged. Was his strength failing him?
No neighborhood kids on tricycles were nearby, so he bent over and tried to tilt up the car, being careful to lift with his knees instead of his back. It hardly moved.
Helen was pasting some new digital photos of Jack-Jack in an album when her husband entered the house. "You're back early," she observed. "Is everything okay?"
Bob didn't reply, but headed directly for the living room. Reaching down, he placed his bulky arms underneath the couch and tried to raise it above his head. He had done so hundreds of times while rearranging the furniture to satisfy Helen's need for proper "feng shui", but this time he couldn't lift it even an inch.
His wife came into the room, extending her arms and wrapping them around his shoulders. "You don't look well," she said sympathetically. "I heard about your fight with the radioactive woman. Maybe you should see Dr. Fitz."
"I've lost my powers," Bob lamented, shaking his head.
"I'm sure it's temporary," Helen encouraged him. "Now go get some rest, and I'll call the doctor."
Bob mumbled skeptically to himself while trudging toward the bedroom. "I've been sick before, but I've never lost my powers before."
He fell backwards onto the mattress, and was out like a light. Worried for his health, Helen stretched her arm toward the telephone--which rang just as she was picking up the receiver.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Mrs. P. This is Edgar."
Helen gasped. First Bob had come home ill, and now the mysterious Bald Eagle was calling her. Coincidence? She thought not.
"How's your husband?" Edgar inquired politely.
"Um, he's a little under the weather," Helen replied.
"He's sick? What are his symptoms?"
She deliberated briefly whether Edgar could be trusted with the information, then went ahead, supposing he might know a secret or two. "He looks like he has the flu. Not only that, but...well, his super strength is gone."
Edgar let out an exasperated sigh. "I was afraid of this."
"Afraid of what?"
Edgar spoke calmly and seriously. "Mrs. P, have you ever read The Art of War by Sun Tzu?"
"No."
"The Solon subscribes to Sun Tzu's philosophy," the son of Lucius and Honey continued. "He never underestimates his enemies, and he never reveals his true strength to them. I believe he has a Philosopher's Stone, but he wants to keep it hidden so that no one will try to devise a strategy against it. I believe he used the Stone to create a new batch of bolonium just to throw the scientists off guard. I believe he sent Plutonia to pick a fight with your husband, then secretly used the Stone to destroy his powers, so it would look like a side effect of radiation exposure."
Helen paused momentarily to let Edgar's suggestions sink in. "That's an interesting theory, but do you have any proof?"
"I've got something," the man replied, "though it's too early to call it proof. I took pictures of the crowd that surrounded your husband after the fight. There was one fellow in a suit and top hat who came out of nowhere. I did a face search on the web, and guess what I came up with? Calvin Turnmire, billionaire philanthropist."
"Calvin Turnmire?" Helen marveled. "His foundation paid for the Metroville Stadium. He can't be The Solon."
"Yes, he can," Edgar insisted. "And I intend to prove that he is."
"Stop this, Edgar," demanded Helen, now indignant. "Turnmire is a generous man who cares about his community, and I won't let you persecute him because of a hunch."
"Don't get in my way, Mrs. P," Edgar warned. "The Solon won't stop with your husband. He'll take away the powers of every superhero, one by one--starting with you and your children. I'm your only hope."
----
Will Mr. Incredible get his powers back? Or will The Solon's evil plan succeed? Find out in the exciting sequel, Power Shortage!