Stepping Into the Cellar

by Nick Piers

June 11th, 2003. 2:00 AM
Dear Mom,

Well, if I didn’t win the award for “Most Stupid” earlier today with the cow, then just now would be in the running for sure.

I crept across The Ranch after I stopped writing. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for. But there had to be something, anything that I could find about this guy. Someone just doesn’t up and leave society to live in isolation. And no one living in isolation would let visitors come for some kind of Chicken Soup for the Superhero Soul therapy!

I sneaked around to the right side of the farmhouse. I could see into the large back yard that had more, smaller fields of various vegetables. Between some of the fields were large windmills. I wondered if maybe The Farmer had wind power or something, but that wasn’t my top priority at the moment.

What I was most interested in was the cellar door by the house. I’d noticed it while I helped plant seeds in the field earlier today. I thought, well heck, all the good incriminating stuff is always found in the cellar! Now to find out if he was holding people hostage in a slave trade. Or maybe dozens of trapped women in a prostitution ring. Or maybe I’d find dozens of dead bodies. I figured that whatever I found, I’d be dead. I figured if he caught me, I could give a good, full laser blast and make like a bat out of hell before he grabbed me.

There was a padlock on cellar door. Figures. Sure, no one steals livestock anymore, but there’s always some form of blackmail and skeletons in the closet.

I pulled off the leather glove on my robotic hand and flicked my wrist back, exposing the palm. With a whizzing noise, a metal tube slid out of the wrist. I flipped open a panel cover on the forearm and adjusted the power of the laser to a minimum power usage. There was a hum near the elbow of the arm and a small blue laser shot out of the tubing. The locking ring on the padlock turned red, then melted. I caught the padlock in my left hand and tossed it onto the grass behind me. I was surprised breaking and entering into this place was so easy.

I quietly swung open one of the cellar doors and climbed down the stone steps.

The cellar had clean, pavement flooring. In fact, when I think of most cellars, I picture things just thrown about without any thought. The Farmer’s cellar was very well organized. On the opposite end of the room was another set of wooden stairs leading to the first floor of the farmhouse. The left cellar wall had a bookshelf of binders, folders and journals. In the right hand corner of the cellar was a large cylindrical object covered by a large cloth. It looked like the shape of some kind of display case. There were also several picture frames that adorned the walls, but like the display case, they were also covered up.

I stepped to my right and uncovered one of the frames on the wall. It was a newspaper clipping with a headline: THREE LIEUTENANTS OF LORD POWERHOUSE CAPTURED.

Never said he was Lord Powerhouse, huh? I stepped over to the next covered frame and pulled the cover off. Another newspaper headline: 50 DEAD IN US EMBASSY BOMBING IN TOKYO. The article went on to mention one of Lord Powerhouse’s minions as a top suspect.

As I pulled off each of the covers around the room, the headlines only drove home my theory:

POWERHOUSE SUSPECTED IN AFRICAN SLAUGHTER.

HUNDREDS DEAD IN SPEC-CAUSED EARTHQUAKE IN AUSTRALIA.

SHATTERPACK UNSURE OF POWERHOUSE’S WHEREABOUTS.

The more frames I uncovered, I realized I was getting closer and closer to the covered display case. The newspaper articles were all in order by date, each date following the previous. About the fourth frame away from the display case, I found one of the most famous SPEC-related articles in the world:

NEUTRON BOMB HITS ST. MIGNOLA. It was one of the biggest disasters in the world. A city full of millions and home to hundreds of heroes had seventy five percent of the population vaporized. Neutron bombs are what the government calls “nice bombs” because they vaporize people, not buildings. So St. Mignola has since become a veritable ghost town. So much in fact that people say that the spirits of the St. Mignolians still roam the city, going about their business as if they were still alive. No one even dares to live there anymore. The remaining thirty percent of the population packed up and moved across the river to St. Mignola’s sister city, Integrity City.

Don’t you sometimes still get a postcard covered in ectoplasm from Uncle Roger, Mom?

I removed the third frame away from the display case: LORD POWERHOUSE TOP SUSPECT IN ST. MIGNOLA BOMBING. The article read that the Shatterpack was in the middle of contacting every reserve member and every other super team to work together in taking him down. A second headline further down read: RADIATION-BASED SPEC’S INVOLVED IN FALLOUT CLEANUP. I remember even a couple of villains were said to have offered to help in the cleanup.

The second frame from the display case: SPEC WAR BREAKS OUT IN ESTONIA. The Shatterpack had discovered Powerhouse’s remote mountain base of operations. I was just a kid when this happened back in the 80’s, but it was all over the news. The Shatterpack had grouped hundreds of SPECs and invaded the base overnight. Casualties were in the hundreds.

Finally, I uncovered the frame closest to the display case. The front page of the newspaper had a large photo of a dead body lying in the middle of a high-tech base. Some of the scientific heroes were either standing around or crouching near it, doing various tests. The headline: LORD POWERHOUSE FOUND DEAD. SUICIDE SUSPECTED. People around the world celebrated on the streets.

I was almost afraid to uncover the display case. Hindsight being twenty-twenty, I think I already knew what it was. I held my breath as I removed the cloth covering. And what did I see inside the glass case?

I saw the armor of Lord Powerhouse.

With golden embroidery on dark bronze, the armor hugged around a clothing display mannequin. I remember seeing that kind of armor before in movies or pictures showing Ancient Greece. In fact, that explained the Greek literature on the bookshelf in the barn loft. I’ve seen old videos of Lord Powerhouse striding onto his throne and telling the world that they worshipped false idols. He said that the superhero community was nothing but false gods when we have lost our way in worshipping the true gods. He said he fought in the name of the Greek war god, Ares. That was why St. Mignola was bombed and thousands of people were killed. Because St. Mignola, like its sister city, Integrity City, was one of the key areas of superhero activity. It had been for years with guys like Humanity Man and Dark Steel.

On the head of the mannequin was a three-tiered crown or hat similar to what the Pope wears. Unlike the Pope’s crown, which was made of cloth, this made of what looked like full bronze. Around the neck of the mannequin were the infamous Powerhouse beads that many of his followers carried with them. Followers believed they would be granted power vicariously through him.

None of this shocked me, honestly. The guy was hiding something and this was it. He was Lord Powerhouse from back in the day. What made me wonder now was what kind of dirty secrets were on the bookshelf behind me. I slipped the cloth covering back over the display case and made my way over to the shelves of secrets.

I ran my normal left hand across the binding of each of the books. They were all labeled and in order according to date. There was no indication of what volume held what, but that mystery would soon be solved, if I had anything to say about it. I scoffed and grabbed a random binder off the shelf that was dated “December 1999”. I leaned against the bookshelf and leafed through it.

Each series of pages, long and short, contained diary or journal entries just like mine. I skimmed some of the December entries. I wasn’t really looking for anything in particular. I had enough information to collect the biggest bounty ever. Hell, even Shiro, the top ranking bounty hunter in the world, would be jealous. Finding the whereabouts of the thought-dead Lord Powerhouse? This was bigger than Jimmy Hoffa. This was maybe even bigger than the Kennedy assassination.

I found the guy that was responsible for turning St. Mignola into a ghost town.

“Looks like I’ll have to do something about that lock,” a resounding voice spoke from the top of the stairs leading to the first floor of the farmhouse.

I turned my head to see The Farmer’s large bare feet starring at me from the top of the stairs. I felt a lump in my throat grow. He slowly trounced down the stairs, probably to take in the whole scene.

“Yeah?!” I shouted back to him, pointing with the December 1999 binder in my hand. “I think you have more things to worry about!”

“Is that so?” he calmly stated once reaching the bottom of the stairs. He surveyed the room with a raised eyebrow and crossed arms.

“You think you can just walk away from all of it, is that it?! Kill millions of people and…”

“It’s more than that,” he said, firmly.

“Screw you!”

I threw the December 1999 binder at him. It slapped against his hairy bare chest and fell to the floor in front of him.

“What, you’re rebuilding your empire by finding all sorts of little tidbits to blackmail whoever’s necessary!?” My voice broke as I screamed at him. I grabbed another volume at random without looking at the month or year.

“Ooh, let’s just have a look, shall we?!” I flipped open the book and read a random passage out loud to him. He just about ignored me and began covering the frame closest to the glass display.

“’March twenty fifth, nineteen ninety eight! I’ve now spent a total of two weeks on The Ranch with The Farmer. I have a craving to stick a needle in my arm right now. I’m still waking up in the middle of the night with bouts of a cold chill or a hot flash. There are times when I still crave just one more hit. Fortunately, when I have a case of the shakes, even in the middle of the field, The Farmer stops everything and just sits with me. He doesn’t hold me. Or try to talk to me. He just sits there, looking up at the sun and waiting.’”

I stopped reading and looked up at him again. He was slipping the second cover over another frame. I threw the volume at him, which clunked against the wall in front of him. He didn’t even flinch.

“Whoop-dee-doo! So not only are you a SPEC sanctuary, but a detox center, too!”

“I never said I was either,” he replied without looking over his shoulder.

He adjusted the cloth covering the second frame.

“Look at me, damn you!”

I reached behind me and grabbed another random volume and violently pitched it at him. It clunked against his bare back and flopped to the floor. Unmoved, I grabbed another volume and whipped it open to a random journal page.

“’September third, two thousand.’” I looked at the journal, confused. The style of writing looked more like a computer printout. But it was hand-written computer printout. “What the hell is this?”

“Keep reading,” The Farmer said calmly.

“’Situation unchanged. Self’s situation still mechanical. No evidence stating humanistic presence. Subject: Farmer still uncooperative in helping. Subject: Farmer states work is self’s and only self’s.’”

I blinked. I wasn’t sure what to say to that. The Farmer still didn’t turn around as he answered the question that boggled my mind at that moment.

“He called himself the Robotic Rabbit. Some humanoid robot with rabbit features. Probably the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard of, honestly.” The Farmer explained, though the explanation didn’t help that much.

I’d heard of the Robotic Rabbit before. It ran around with other mutant rabbit guys and girls. I think they called themselves Hare-Izon. Or Horizon for Hares or something, I don’t know. The Farmer was right; it was the most ridiculous name I’d ever heard. Though I heard they were great infiltration artists. Don’t ask me, I’m just going by what I’ve heard.

By this point, The Farmer had covered up half of the frames I had uncovered. He was meticulously doing so with or without me. I closed the volume in my hands and reached behind me to put it back on the shelf somewhere.

“So what now?” I asked him

“Now? I finish covering these up and we go back to bed. You can either leave in the morning or stick around.” He still had his back turned to me the whole time.

“So you’re just gonna let me go?! After I found all of this?!”

“Think you’re the first? Go or stay, I don’t really care.”

His gruff, unwavering voice was starting to really piss me off.

I flipped open the panel cover on my arm and adjusted the settings on the arm’s laser. The robotic wrist flipped back and the laser hummed as it whizzed out of its housing. I pointed the laser directly at The Farmer. Lord Powerhouse or not, a full power shot to the head would do in anyone.

“Maybe no one steals farm stock anymore, but there’s still money to be made in secret identities!” I said with a sly smirk on my face. I was starting to feel like the old XSF-44 again!

Yeah, like that lasted long.

“Out,” The Farmer spoke. He didn’t speak it as an order or a threat. It was just a statement.

He whirled around in a single motion, grabbing my by the robotic arm with one bare hand. I thought maybe I was in the right stance to prevent a throw, but his strength was more than I expected.

In an instant, he flung me towards the open cellar doors. I spit out of the cellar like a watermelon seed and was sent flying ten, twenty, maybe thirty feet into the air. I was so completely caught off guard by how casual The Farmer was about flinging me like a rag doll.

I slammed back first onto the ground. I was in a daze for a few moments but I refused to pass out twice in the same day. By instinct, I checked my robotic arm first. I flipped open the panel cover and the diagnostics read that everything was a-okay. It was then that I lifted my head to see The Farmer climbing out of the cellar and stomping towards me.

“Thought the rules were pretty clear. Maybe you don’t get the idea of ’no violence’?”

“Screw you!”

The laser was still powered and ready to go. I pointed it at him again. My entire body was shaking beyond belief. He was going to kill me. I discovered the long-thought dead Lord Powerhouse and he was going to kill me to keep that secret buried!

But he crouched down directly in front of me. He placed his face directly in front of the laser, in fact. The laser’s red glow shined against his face as he stared me in the face. The power of the laser hummed softly.

“Unless you want that to be scrap, you’d best put it back in the housing.” He stated. Again, it wasn’t an order or a threat. It was just a statement.

I flexed my right shoulder muscle and the laser retracted. I flipped my robotic wrist back to normal and locked it into place.

At that, The Farmer stretched up to a standing position and offered me his hand.

I took it. He helped me to my feet.

“It’s late. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you at sunrise.” He said to me and turned his back to me. He began walking back to the cellar.

“But…”

“I’ll tell you everything.”

He climbed down the cellar doors and turned back to me.

“Really? But I could sell you out!”

“You could, but won’t.”

He reached and grabbed for each of the cellar doors.

“What makes you think that I won’t in the end?” I asked him.

“I don’t,” he replied and closed the cellar doors.

I made my way back to the barn’s loft and began writing this entry. So…he really was Lord Powerhouse. He wasn’t exactly dead, either. I have absolutely no idea how that’s even possible but I’d be damned if I wasn’t curious.