The Nebulous Meaning of 'Hero'

Chapter 12: Not Another Willie Nelson Hit

a/n: GUYS! new chap yay! sorry again for wait. I'm slow-writing trash pls forgive. hopefully this chap will make it up to u bc it includes a (sorta) revelation which a few of u may have guessed at already..........

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In the most high-control cell at Quantis Fort prison, the Lightning Bolt was sat in the lotus position, eyes closed and a relaxed expression on his face. There was glass between him and the guard on duty- not just any old glass, but the latest high-tech invention that had been proclaimed as not only the strongest material out there, but also capable of absorbing any energy waves the villains could think to throw at it. It even prevented teleportation, or permeation by those villains who could morph into gas. So far, it had resisted all villains' attempts to get out. There was another lightning thrower down the stairs, and he'd been kept in for years now, despite aiming bolts and screams at it almost constantly.

Bel, on the other hand, hadn't made a single attempt at getting out. The guards who'd originally spent their shifts staring at him in morbid fascination and fear had now returned their attention to their own thoughts. The one on shift now had the radio on, some country music station on a Willie Nelson bender. He was mumbling along under his breath, eyes on a magazine he'd managed to smuggle in.

The corners of the Lightning Bolt's mouth curled slightly. The cells were equipped with microphones so that every sound the prisoner made could be heard from speakers outside the cell- but the Lightning Bolt hadn't said anything since his capture, so of course it came as quite a shock to hear a bored voice complain,

"Not another Willie Nelson hit."

The guard's head snapped up. Bel smiled at him, throwing a fluttery wave from where he sat.

"I mean, come on. I don't mind a bit of 'On the Road Again' but what is this, the 8th track of his in a row? Change the station, would you, if you don't mind."

The guard rose from his slouched position on the wall, eyes fixed to the Lightning Bolt's smiling face.

"I- er, sure. What to?"

Bel waved a hand.

"I don't care. Anything but this."

The guard bent to twist the knob. Bel nodded, unfolding his limbs with the grace of a panther and standing up to walk to the glass.

"Calvin Harris. Good choice; I like this song. Some volume, please. And a bit more- as far as it can go. That's great." He shot the guard a gracious smile, then raised his eyebrows. "Well come on then," – he peered at the guard's name label – "Carlos. Open the door."

Carlos did so, eyes still wide and set in fear to Bel's face. The glass slid open, and Bel stepped out. He clasped his hands together and stretched them out in front of him, sighing in satisfaction.

"Fabulous. Now, Carlos," – the other inmates on the corridor had noticed what was going on by now and were pressed up against glass, mouths agape – "you're going to open the door to that teleporter's cell."

"I- okay," said Carlos, doing so. The teleporter froze for a few seconds at the new gap, eyes wide.

"What did I tell you," Bel addressed the teleporter sweetly, spreading his delicate hands as she stared at him, speechless. "I always repay my favours." His face hardened. "Now get out."

Two more seconds, two steps out and – bang – there was only empty air where the teleporter had been.

Bel looked round, smiling.