The Storm of Elements

Gassy Conversation

Just great. 

It's been a few months since I've heard that voice in person, but I recognize it anywhere. It's the one that haunts my dreams and makes me want to punch the wall. The voice belonging to the person I hate most. 

Dr. Dylan Goodwin. Also my kind-of father-in-law. 

"Expecting us, huh?" I laugh dryly, but there's no humor in it. "Pray tell us what you mean by that, since you're going to at some point in this conversation." 

I can hear the amusement in his voice. "Ah, Miss Cooper," he sighs. "Always so rash and blunt with me. Is that a nice and respectful way to treat your elder?"

"Oh, you want to get cocky, do you, old man?" Alex holds up his fists. "No one can be more cocky than me. How about we step into the ring and work out our problems?" 

"Alexander Johnson. I've missed you. Please note the sarcasm in that comment. You see, two can play that game. And I always have an edge on you children. If you don't believe me, we can step into the ring right this moment and we'll see who wins. Assuming that I can bring a few friends." 

The guards at the end of the hallway seem to stand up straighter, their guns aimed at our chests. 

"Cut to the chase, Goodwin," I butt in. "What did you mean by 'I've been expecting you?'" 

"I meant exactly what the sentence says," Goodwin answers. "I foresaw your arrival long ago. As in, last week, to be more specific. I had all my best guards from all the closest Rave facilities stationed here because I could not risk the damage you kids would do to my company and its production." 

"Last week," Myria says slowly. "When you captured that agent." 

"Very good, Miss Nicole. My expert team of scientists and I were able to extract a good deal of information from that poor agent. I'm afraid he was so messed up in the end that we had to admit him to an insane asylum, the poor soul. But we got what we wanted - proof." 

"Proof of what?" Jake asks. 

"I now know all about your little secret organization that's been helping you these last few months," he replies, his voice dripping with malicious glee. "Shadow? I believe that's the name of it." 

They know now. 

We all look at each other, our eyes wide. Our worst fears have been realized. They could find us. How much do they know? Do they know where the ranch is? Are Crystal and Falcon safe? 

"I know what you're all thinking," he goes on, "and do not fear. At the moment, we do not yet know the whereabouts of Shadow's main headquarters. But trust me, we have our methods. We'll find out sooner or later." 

"Don't trust him," Jake whispers to us. "He could already know and is just trying to throw us off." 

"When have we ever trusted you?" I ask my dearest Dr. Shellhead. 

He laughs. "Very true. But trust me when I say that I have very persuasive methods to getting what I want. You've seen some of them, strapped down to a metal examination table and getting electrocuted for insubordination. Or perhaps when your body betrayed you and accepted our formula. We have our ways." 

I clench my fists. "Don't ever remind me of that again." 

"Oh, but I will. Science has proven that the more you think about a certain event and the more it means to you, it will make an even greater impression on your memory. I don't want you to ever forget what I am capable of. Soon, the whole world will see that and never forget it."