White Shadows

Interlude 3 - These Are Iconic Film References I'm Making Here!

So many times in recent years, Mayor Frank Garza had seen Disney's hit film, Big Hero 6. At least half of these had been at official events, organized by Disney as thanks for the city's assistance in making its CGI San Fransokyo twin as realistic as possible. Another three tenths were at his children's insistence, his teenage son Michael, in particular, having been a fan since he was ten. And the last fifth were on his own time, because he himself enjoyed the film a lot more than he thought he should, and often needed a moment of childlike wonder with which to unwind.

Perhaps he would need such a moment after the long day he'd been having. Despite the strange, inexplicable situation involving the Alcatraz ferries, his secretary had insisted he continue with today's special tour. He would be leading five high-profile visitors from a Japanese consortium around the city, highlighting some of San Francisco's most famous attractions, as well as trying to sell the old Solyndra grounds on Treasure Island. As much as he wanted to keep the dream alive, he was up for reelection next year, and even in San Francisco, politicians were preferable to dreamers in terms of potential office-holders.

What he never saw coming, however, was the sudden and suspicious arrival of a bunch of young angels on Treasure Island almost at the same time as himself and his team. This group looked almost like their own angelic Big Hero 5.

But then there was that one young man with the dark power. Garza had long since lost his belief in archangels, but now here was proof that at least one existed. And where there was one archangel, there had to be others.

For that reason, as soon as the tour group was over, Garza decided to forego the meeting with the Director of Emergency Management, who had spent several days voicing his concerns about the impending possibility of Hurricane Ariel striking the city. Yes, the storm was unusually powerful. Yes, it was tracking far enough north to at least brush the Bay Area. But if archangels were involved, perhaps that could explain the impossibility of a hurricane devastating this part of the coast.

So Garza paid a visit to the rat-infested Hall of Justice to get some answers.

Answers seemed to be pretty hard to come by, however. For one simple reason - the fact that none of the young ones had any ID on them. With the strange exception of one, they had phones, of course - it was practically required by law for everyone under 30, even those who couldn't possibly afford it. These, however, would take time to be cracked by the forensic techs.

Was there even any need for forensic techs, though? The only crime these five could be linked to was a case of wrong place, wrong time, when not one, but several tower-clusters of old Solyndra tubes were spontaneously destroyed. Dark power didn't do that, but Garza had a shrewd idea of what did - a good old-fashioned bomb.

There had been a bomb in Phoenix.

There had been bombs on the ferries.

According to Ian Fleming, these would represent happenstance and coincidence, respectively. A third bombing, such as what appeared to have happened on Treasure Island, would be enemy action.

The enemy of my enemy is my friend.

With that reasoning in mind, Garza insisted that the kids - or, at least, their dark-powered leader-slash-spokesman - be brought out of the cells to speak with him.

"Could you remove his handcuffs?" he asked when the skinny, bespectacled youth was escorted into the interrogation room.

Once the officer did so, the young man rubbed his wrists. "I've always wanted to do that," he said brightly. "Now I know why it's done. Damn, those cuffs are irritating as shit."

Ignoring his language, Garza said, "You never answered my earlier question. Who are you?"

The young man chuckled to himself. "That would be telling, Mr. Mayor."

"I don't have time for games." Garza sighed through his nose, then decided to try a different tack. "What are you? And please don't say 'figment of your imagination' again. You're not the Men in Black, are you?"

"Ooh, uptalk. Seriously, though, is that a question?" asked the youth. "And good for you, catching my movie reference. I love it when people catch my references, that I do." He chuckled again, as if he were making another such reference. Whatever it was, though, it was lost on Garza. "Okay, if you really wanna know...my name is Russell Aspen, and I'm an alcoholic."

Even as Russell laughed his ass off and pounded the table with his fists, Garza tore his eyes away from the barely-sane display and looked at the two-way mirror to the side instead. He imagined a cop standing on the other side, running Russell's name through the system.

The laughter shut down instantly, however, when Russell turned serious. "I'm not from your world, Mr. Mayor. Neither are the people I'm trying to prevent from destroying your world."

"Oh, so you're an alien? Is that what you're trying to tell me?"

"In a manner of speaking." Russell cracked his knuckles. "But if you wanna know anything more, you'll have to let my friends go."

"I..." Garza stopped, cleared his throat, then said, "I don't have that power."

"Sure you do. You can vouch for them or something, can't you?" Russell turned his palm up on the Formica tabletop, then snapped his fingers. A small puff of dark energy appeared, then left a pile of what looked like fine graphite dust on the table as he pulled his hand back. "My friends will know what to do without me," he said. "But they don't have the information in their heads like I do." He tapped his temple for effect. "Face it, the others aren't useful to you. Not like I am. You need me."

Garza leaned forward, dropping the volume of his voice to a rough whisper. "Are you trying to tell me to let the kids go? And, what, just let them wreak more havoc on city property?"

"That's why you need to know what I know," Russell said, leaning forward himself. "I'm not making this all up as I go along. I'm not Verbal Kint or Keyser Söze - and I know who those guys are even without having seen that movie. Thank you, Cracked. But the point..." He looked off to one side for a split second. To his right - which was good, because Garza, if he remembered his one semester of psychology in college correctly, knew that looking to the left meant a lie. "The point is, would you rather have the kids wreak their havoc, or my enemies wreak total apocalyptic destruction?"

Unsure why he felt like he should trust this unheavenly specimen, Garza stood up and left the room long enough to negotiate the release of the rest of Russell's coterie. When he returned to the interrogation room, he took a seat once again and said, "I'm listening."

"Before you do that," Russell said, pointing to the door, "I suggest you fetch a pen and paper. You'll wanna take some notes. Copious notes. It's worse than you know."

"It usually is," Garza said, pulling out his phone so he could record the conversation.

Russell's eyebrows bounced up and down a couple of times. "More references for the list. Glad to see we're on the same page, Mr. Mayor."