Wrapping up! I hope everyone enjoys this story. Please comment, review, provide criticism. I want to know what you think! And Thank You to everyone who's left a review so far. It is greatly appreciated. Read it, and tell me what you think!
After Wayne Scott received his gold star, Mrs. Jones gave her students a couple more minutes to settle down, then sent them back to their seats and began a history lesson: they were learning about the American Revolution.
"In April 1775, the Revolutionary forces were expecting an attack from the British, but they didn't know where the attack would come from. So Paul Revere told his friend to keep watch and light lanterns to signal if the British were attacking: 'One if by land, two if by sea'. Who can tell me where the attack came from?" Mrs. Jones looked around the room. "I'm wanting to hear from someone other than Sarah this time. Land or sea? One lantern, or two?" The students were quiet for a moment. One of the boys (Jason? Jeremy?) cautiously raised his hand, and the teacher nodded.
"Um, it was two lanterns? And the redcoats had a whole bunch of boats, to Paul Revere had to ride through town and wake everyone up?" Mrs. Jones smiled.
"That's right. Very good, young man. Now, if you could look at page 234 of your textboo-"
PHOOOOOMM!
The wooden schoolhouse shook with the force of the blast!
Blue.
Everything was blue.
The air was filled with a suffocating fog of blue smoke. Children coughed and choked as it entered their lungs, stinging the eyes and burning the throats. Somewhere in the back, they could hear laughter, an evil cackle amongst the coughs and panicked shouts. No one could see who it was. All they could see, wherever they looked, was a blue haze that covered everything, hid everything from sight. The students had never heard him laugh before, but they knew who it was.
Wayne went up, tried to fly above the smoke, but he bumped into the ceiling before he could escape the blue cloud. There were sounds of screams, of chairs and desks crashing to the floor, violent coughing, something- (a jar of pencils, a bag of marbles?) came crashing to the floor, clattering and rolling. And in blue haze, someone cackled.
The door opened, and two of the children came stumbling out, gasping for fresh air. Smoked poured out behind them. Inside the schoolhouse, the smoke began to clear, enough so that they could see shapes and movements amidst the blue. Mrs. Jones clapped her hands together loudly.
"Everybody outside! Head for the door and- and try to cover your mouth and nose with your shirt! I don't-" she coughed, and gasped a bit- "I don't want you inhaling to much of this smoke!"
With some stumbling- some running and tripping and a certain amount of panic- the children complied. Wayne was one of the last ones out. He made sure that everyone found their way to the door safely.
When the schoolhouse was cleared, he tried to breath in the blue smoke, the way he had with the Popcorn Incident. This was harder. There was so much more smoke this time, and it tasted- odd. Chalky and chemical, and not at all like the clean smoke from a barbecue or a cooking fire.
When the smoke was cleared away, they peered cautiously into the doorway. Everything was touched by blue. The windows were clouded with blue residue, causing the normally bright space to be cast in shadow. The ceiling and floors were dusted with the color. The walls, the shelves, maps and chalkboards, all were streaked and smudged blue. Half the desks were tipped over, and the chairs were shoved haphazardly throughout the room. They too were spattered. Not a single object, it seemed, had remained untouched by the blast.
At the center of the chaos stood a boy. The shadows in the room made it hard to see the orange of his jumpsuit (how had it remained so clean?) or the hue of his skin, but everyone recognized the strange, over-large shape of his head. His acid-green eyes almost glowed as he grinned crookedly at his teacher and classmates.
"I think you all were right," he remarked. "It's so much more fun to be on the winning team."
"Wha- Why would you do this?!" Mrs. Jones cried. "Why would you attack your classmates; why would you try to destroy my school?" Blue was still smiling, but his face hardened a bit.
"If I wanted to destroy this shool, there wouldn't be a single stick still standing, Teacher," he spat. "As for why I set off the bomb, well, I did it for the same reason I do anything. The same reason I brought a laser to school and set the pop-ed corn on fire, the same reason I built that gun, and the hoverboard that caused Karen to break her leg." He smirked, and stalked toward his audience. The people in the doorway (even Wayne) drew back. "I'm bad, and I am good at being bad. Evil devices like the Helmet have brought me victory against supposedly insurmountable odds in Dodgeball. But a game loses its luster for me, once I've figured out how to win guaranteed. I thought I'd propose a new game."
"What kind of 'game' are you talking about, Blue?" Wayne demanded, his (hovering) stance threatening. Blue stopped just inside the doorway and grinned.
"You'll find out soon enough, Wayne Scott. Now if you'll excuse me…" Blue brushed past the other boy and stepped down the walkway toward the prison bus that had just pulled up. "I believe my ride is here." A man with a dark grey suite and a bristling mustache stepped off the bus and strode towards the group.
"What happened?" he demanded. "I could see the smoke from across the street! Was anyone hurt?" He scanned the group, noting the blue- paint? Dust? That marked the skin, hair, and clothing of the assembly.
"No one appears to be hurt so far," Mrs. Jones replied. "But I want everyone who was in that schoolhouse to see a doctor to make sure the gas didn't have any… unpleasant side-effects. And we're going to need to hire a contractor to check the structural integrity of the building, and some cleaners to get rid of the residue." The man frowned deeply and glared at the boy in the orange jumpsuit, who was standing halfway between him and the class, grinning.
"John Doe. Do you have anything to say for yourself?" Blue shrugged.
"I've already said everything I have to say," he replied. "If you want a full report, I'm sure some of my classmates would be more than happy to play the snitch."
"Former classmates, I think you mean," said Mrs. Jones, her eyes hard. "If you think that I'm ever going to allow you back in my classroom young man, than you have got another think coming. As of right now, you are officially expelled." This, at last, seemed to break through Blue's attitude of calm.
"My- my academic record is imp-eh-cable! I got an A-plus in every single class except for Music, and I can participate more if you just start doing better songs, and-"
"You are not," Mrs. Jones said, "Helping your case. Warden, I want this miscreant off of school property. I have given him far too many chances, and I refuse to put myself and my students in any further danger. We can call and schedule a meeting with all the interested parties later," she said firmly. The Warden frowned at her, then at Blue.
"Mrs. Jones, I apologize for John's behavior. I hope something can be worked out at the meeting that will benefit everyone involved. You may not believe it right now, but he really is a good kid at heart."
"I doubt it," she replied. "Children, let's head back inside. Start opening the windows; we want to clear out those fumes! Wayne Scott, let me talk to you for a minute."
The children filed inside, into the messy, chaotic, blue-spattered space that had been their classroom. The windows were opened, and they watched as Blue was hauled into the prison bus by a pair of armed guards, grinning and waving all the way. As the bus drove away, they could see Blue staring out the back window, still grinning at them in wicked amusement. They frowned in return, arms crossed. Then Wayne turned from where he'd been floating outside the schoolhouse and flew under the building, lifting it up from it's wooden stilts. The children began to cheer as they felt the building lift into the air, tilting slightly. Mrs. Jones gave a cheery wave as the prison-bus receded from view. They waved and cheered, because they knew Blue wouldn't be coming back this time. They cheered, because they were all finally, finally getting a ride, chance to fly, even if they had to be inside a very trashed, blue-streaked schoolhouse to do so. The scenery flew by, and it was exciting, and they were safe because Wayne was taking them to visit his house, and Blue would never show up at school with a robot or a laser or a forcefield or any other strange and dangerous device, ever again. They cheered because Blue had been expelled, and the schoolhouse was moving, and they were getting a ride, the best ride ever, and they could have fun and be safe. uld never have to worry about another bomb, another laser or forcefield or ray gun, ever again. They were safe from the strange, unpredictable whims of their alien classmate. They were having fun, a lot of fun, on a whole new kind of ride. What could be better?
They arrived on the huge lawn in front Scott Manor at about 2:30 pm. There was only a slight jolt when Wayne set them down. Mrs. Jones herded the children outside, and they followed Wayne up the driveway.
"I brought home some friends from school," Wayne said, grinning at the doorman's baffled expression. "Can we have snacks?"
"Very interesting," the interviewer said, shuffling through his notes. "So you're saying the bomb left the school building largely intact, and young Metro Man moved it to his family's property?"
"That's right," the other man replied. "They had it cleaned and repainted and everything, but we never resumed class. There was some sort of investigation, I think, and Mrs. Jones ended up in a lot of trouble." The interviewer raised his eyebrows, and gestured for him to continue. "I never found out the exact details, but apparently there were some concerns about improper supervision and insufficient emphasis on academic versus artistic fields. Or some such."
"I see. And what happened to the school building?"
"I'm not sure, actually. Wayne talked about turning it into a clubhouse or something, but his dad- Lord Scott- said that he couldn't keep it on the lawn at Scott Manor. I assume it was torn down." The interviewer nodded, and made a note of that statement.
"The newspaper article on the subject claimed that the bomb had gone off during recess, and that it had completely destroyed the school building. You'll understand that I'll need to verify your version of events before I publish it."
"Of course. Naturally, you'll want to verify these things. If you talk to any of my old classmates, they'll tell you the same."
"Possibly, Mr. Farworth" The interviewer said. "You're the first one I've been able to track down for an interview. Did you know that, of the twelve students originally enrolled in the Lil' Gifted School for Lil' Gifted Children, only two are still living in Metro City? After hearing your account, I can understand why," he added. Mr. Farworth shifted uncomfortably.
"You have to understand, we were all put under a lot of pressure. That newspaper article you mentioned, 'Hometown Boy Makes Bad'- it talked a lot about the havoc Megamind- Blue- caused, but it skimmed over the fact that he was an alien. The only picture they had was a grainy black-and-white one of the bus driving away; it was too far away for anyone to get a good look at his features. Mrs. Jones and all our parents had apparently signed non-disclosure agreements, and nobody really believed us kids when we said our psycho former classmate was from outer space.
"When Megamind made his first major attack on Metro City ten years later, they looked up the old article, and suddenly we all had reporters beating a path to our doors. They wanted the inside scoop on the kid who became a monster; they wanted to know who was his friend in school, who was his rival, who was his crush. They wanted to know if he was a 'troublemaker' or one of 'the quiet ones'. Meanwhile, we were terrified, thinking that he might remember us. In his big speech, he talked about getting revenge on Metro Man, and we remembered that we were right there with Wayne for every Dodgeball game. We were afraid for our lives." The interviewer nodded.
"I understand completely," he said dryly. "So far there hasn't been any proof of Megamind being involved in murder, but he is one of the smartest being on the planet. We'd probably never find the bodies unless he wanted us to." Mr. Farworth laughed nervously. The interviewer did not.
"So anyway, my family left Metro City when I was in highschool, and I haven't been back in the Great Lakes area since. Metro Man and I kept in touch- phone calls now and then, and a letter at Christmas, but we're not really… close, these days. Next question?"
"Earlier, you said that Megamind called Wayne Scott an alien, but Scott denied the claim and adamantly insisted that he was human. Did he ever offer an alternate explanation for his powers? It's extremely rare for superhuman abilities to manifest at such a young age, and in most cases there's a clear cause- radiation or chemical exposure, for example, or inherited genetic factors. From what I've been able to find out so far, none of those explanations fit for young Wayne Scott."
"He never told me how he got his power. Wayne always said that they were a gift, and refused to elaborate on the subject. I do know that he tended to get a bit… uncomfortable, maybe, whenever Area 51 or the Roswell Incident conspiracy theories came up in conversation. And occasionally, when there was a UFO sighting, he would-"
Bernard paused the tape on the interview, and reviewed his notes again. His research into the early life of Megamind was going surprisingly well so far, but he needed more material. It was really a shame that he hadn't been able to find a copy of the Lil' Gifted class picture that included Megamind yet. Some people had no sense of historical significance in scrapbooking, but such was the way of the world. Bernard would do better. He wouldn't be another hack writing an unauthorized supervillain biography that was more speculation and rumor than fact, oh no. He was going to do this properly, with facts and evidence to support his thesis.
Now, if only he could get an interview with the Warden. He'd never given any interviews before, but if Bernard could just present the right angle, the right incentives…. The man could be a goldmine of insight and information, if he would just talk.
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