New SHAZAM in Flashpoint World - Chapter 14
Chapter 14: The Girl in the Dark Cell
The chaotic symphony of alarms, explosions, and shouting that had marked Jack’s initial assault on the Siberian facility began to subside as he pushed deeper into its metallic guts. The outer layers, manned by human soldiers and conventional automated defenses, had crumpled surprisingly quickly under the sheer, overwhelming force of his Shazam-powered onslaught. Now, however, the architecture was changing, the corridors narrowing, the materials shifting from reinforced concrete to something denser, more metallic, that seemed to absorb sound and light, creating an oppressive, sterile silence. The air grew colder, not just with the ambient Siberian chill, but with a manufactured iciness that spoke of advanced, energy-intensive systems.
His progress was slower here. Fewer human soldiers dared to confront him directly; instead, he encountered more sophisticated automated defenses. Laser grids flickered into existence across hallways, forcing him to either find alternate routes or simply blast through them with bolts of Zeus’s lightning, the acrid smell of vaporized metal filling the air. Heavy security doors, seemingly forged from exotic alloys, required more focused applications of Hercules’ strength to buckle and tear apart. Occasionally, sleek, menacing robotic sentinels, armed with energy weapons that packed a surprising punch (though still not enough to truly harm him, merely to sting and annoy), would emerge from hidden alcoves, forcing him into brief, clumsy skirmishes where he relied more on brute force and invulnerability than any semblance of combat skill.
The Wisdom of Solomon was his unwavering guide, sifting through the facility’s layout as he perceived it, analyzing structural weak points, intuiting the flow of power conduits, and subtly nudging him towards what felt like the central core, the most heavily fortified section. It was here, his divine intuition insisted, that they would keep their most valuable, or most dangerous, prisoner. A knot of anticipation and dread tightened in Jack’s chest. He was getting close.
He found himself in a circular nexus, multiple reinforced corridors branching off. At the center of this nexus, however, was one passageway that was different. It was sealed not by a mere door, but by what looked like a bank vault hatch, a massive disc of polished, unknown black metal, at least three feet thick, its surface cold to the touch and utterly featureless save for a complex locking mechanism that hissed faintly with internal pneumatics. Warning symbols in Russian and, curiously, what looked like a stylized alien script, were stenciled around its perimeter. Energy readings, faint but undeniably potent, pulsed from within. This had to be it.
“Well, you don’t put up a door like that for the janitor’s closet,” Jack muttered, his voice echoing slightly in the sterile silence. He placed a hand on the cold, black metal. It felt… wrong. Dead. Like it was designed to dampen energy, perhaps even life force.
He considered his options. Picking the lock was out; he had no idea how, and the Wisdom of Solomon, while vast, apparently didn’t include a safecracking module for alien prison doors. He could try to rip it open, but the sheer thickness and unknown material gave him pause. This called for a more… direct approach.
He stepped back, bracing himself. He focused his will, drawing upon the thrumming wellspring of Zeus’s power. He pictured the lightning, not the wild, arcing bolts he’d used before, but a concentrated, searing lance of pure energy. He thrust both hands forward, palms open, and with a guttural roar that was part effort, part frustration, he unleashed the torrent.
A blindingly intense beam of white-hot lightning erupted from his hands, slamming into the center of the vault door. The air temperature spiked, the smell of superheated metal and ozone overwhelming. The black door glowed cherry red, then white, then, with a sound like a tortured scream of tearing steel, it began to melt, to buckle, to vaporize under the sustained assault. After what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten or fifteen seconds, the beam punched through, leaving a jagged, molten hole several feet in diameter.
Jack cut the power, his hands tingling, his breath coming in ragged gasps he didn’t strictly need. The edges of the hole smoked and sparked. He peered through.
Darkness. Absolute, impenetrable darkness. Not a flicker of light, not a hint of any internal illumination. The user’s prompt had been specific: “literally no light present.” This was that, in its most oppressive form. Even his enhanced Shazam vision, which could pierce the gloom of the Batcave and the Rock of Eternity, struggled here. It was as if the very photons were being swallowed. He could make out the faint outline of a room, perhaps ten feet square, but nothing more.
He widened the hole with a few well-placed Herculean tugs, tearing away jagged sections of superheated metal, then cautiously stepped through.
The air inside was cold, stale, and utterly still. The silence was absolute, a heavy, suffocating blanket. He took a hesitant step forward, his boots crunching softly on something unseen. Dust? Debris? As his eyes slowly, painstakingly adjusted, or perhaps as the Wisdom of Solomon began to process the near-total absence of visual data and compensate, a faint shape began to resolve itself in the far corner of the cell.
Curled up on the floor, small and frail, was a figure. A girl. Her hair, long and matted, was a pale, almost translucent blonde, fanned out around a face he couldn’t yet make out. She was skeletal, her limbs painfully thin, wrapped in what looked like coarse, grey rags. She was utterly still, so still that for a terrifying moment, Jack feared he was too late.
A wave of cold fury, followed by a profound, aching pity, washed over him. This was Kara Zor-El? Supergirl? This emaciated, broken creature lying in the suffocating blackness? What had they done to her? The comics, the movies, they always showed Supergirl bursting with life, with power, a radiant beacon of hope. This… this was a travesty.
He took another step closer, trying to move as quietly as possible, not wanting to startle her if she was indeed alive. He could hear her breathing now, shallow, faint, but definitely there. Relief, sharp and fierce, lanced through him.
He knelt, his own massive, powerful form feeling out of place, intrusive, in this tiny, desolate space. He needed to see her, properly. He hesitated to unleash any bright light, unsure how her eyes, accustomed to this absolute darkness for who knew how long, would react. Instead, he focused, willing a tiny, gentle nimbus of golden light to emanate from his hand, no brighter than a candle flame.
The soft glow illuminated her face. She was young, probably a teenager, though the starvation and hardship had aged her features, carving hollows beneath her cheekbones, dark circles under her closed eyelids. Her skin was an unhealthy, almost luminous pale, like a plant that had never seen the sun. But even in this wretched state, there was a delicate, almost ethereal beauty to her, a ghost of the Kryptonian princess she might have been. Her lips were cracked, her brow furrowed as if in a constant, troubled sleep.
He reached out a hand, then hesitated. He didn’t want to frighten her. He needed to get her out of this pit, into the light, into the sun. That was the priority. This cell, this absolute darkness, was a Kryptonian death trap.
He looked around the small, featureless cell. No windows. Just four bare walls, a floor, a ceiling, all constructed of the same energy-dampening black material as the door. There was only one way out now, and it wasn’t back through the labyrinthine corridors of the facility. He needed direct sunlight, and he needed it now.
He gently scooped the girl into his arms. She was terrifyingly light, little more than skin and bones, and she let out a faint, almost inaudible whimper as he moved her, but didn’t awaken. He cradled her protectively against his chest, her frail form a stark contrast to his own super-charged physique. He stood, turning towards the outer wall of the cell, the one that, if his internal GPS was correct, faced the Siberian wilderness.
“Okay, Kara,” he whispered, the name feeling strange and momentous on his tongue. “Time to see the sky.”
He positioned himself carefully, shielding her body with his own. He took a deep breath, focused his will, and then, with a controlled but immensely powerful blast of concussive force rather than lightning – less flash, more targeted demolition – he punched a hole straight through the reinforced outer wall of the facility.
The wall exploded outwards in a shower of dark metal, concrete, and permafrost. A sudden, shocking influx of frigid arctic air and weak, watery, but undeniably real sunlight flooded into the oppressive darkness of the cell. The light was pale, filtered through the overcast Siberian sky, but to Jack, and hopefully to Kara, it was the most beautiful light he had ever seen.
Kara stirred in his arms at the sudden rush of cold air and the unfamiliar sensation of light on her eyelids. She let out a small, frightened cry, burying her face deeper into his chest, her thin fingers weakly clutching at his suit.
The Wisdom of Solomon, ever present, ever helpful, supplied the words, the language, the correct intonation. He spoke softly, his voice, even in Kryptonian, now imbued with a gentle reassurance he hadn’t known he possessed.
“It’s alright,” he murmured in the flowing, melodic cadences of her native tongue. “You’re safe now. I’m here to help.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t look up, just trembled in his arms. He could feel the faint, desperate thrum of her heart against his own. He looked through the jagged hole he’d created, out at the desolate, snow-covered landscape under the pale Siberian sun. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.
He tightened his grip gently, protectively. “Okay, new plan,” he said, switching back to English for his own benefit, his voice a low rumble of newfound purpose. “Get you some actual sun.”
With Kara Zor-El cradled carefully in his arms, Super Jack stepped through the smoking, debris-strewn hole he’d blasted in the side of the Siberian fortress, out into the cold, harsh, but life-giving light of day. The first, most critical part of the rescue was complete.