Chapter 90: Old Age Rock and Roll, Weather Maker
Chicago. Midday. The sun beat down mercilessly on the sprawling grounds of the Rock and Roll Carnival.
Grandpa Max, fully decked out in vintage rock musician attire—complete with a questionable bandana and a faded tour shirt—strutted ahead. Klein, Ben, and Gwen trailed behind him, dragging their feet through the sweltering heat.
Ben glanced around, his expression the picture of absolute boredom. To him, this entire old-fashioned music festival was nothing short of agonizing torture.
He had originally planned to hit up the massive comic convention across town to catch the exclusive Sumo Slammers panel. Unfortunately, fate had played a cruel joke, scheduling the Rock and Roll Carnival on the exact same weekend.
Ben had been ready to throw a massive tantrum to get his way, but Klein had pulled him aside and laid out the cold, hard facts. Shag Carpeting was playing at this carnival, and they were Grandpa Max's all-time favorite band. If Max missed this reunion tour, he'd probably have to wait another twenty years for the next one.
And considering the members of Shag Carpeting were roughly the same vintage as Grandpa Max, there was a very real, very grim possibility that some of them might not even be breathing in twenty years.
Faced with that morbid but pragmatic logic, Ben reluctantly swallowed his complaints. He agreed to endure the carnival, accepting that this might literally be his grandfather's final chance to see Shag Carpeting live.
"Ugh... but still! I really wanted to go to the Sumo Slammers convention!" Ben finally cracked, throwing his head back and groaning at the unforgiving sky.
Watching his cousin suffer, Klein decided it was time to impart another crucial life lesson: when life gives you boring situations, you have to learn how to manufacture your own entertainment.
Catching Ben's eye, Klein jerked his chin toward the edge of the crowd. They slipped away from the main stage, agreeing to meet back up with Grandpa Max at three o'clock sharp.
Gwen had initially tried to tag along, suspicious of their sudden departure. However, Klein firmly shut her down. He had no intention of leading his studious Dork of a cousin astray—or dealing with her constant nagging.
After a few smooth words and a promise to bring back snacks, Gwen huffed and stayed behind to keep an eye on Max.
As they strolled through the chaotic festival grounds, Klein began to share his deep insights on surviving sheer monotony. "Listen, Ben. When you're stuck in a boring situation, you have to learn how to find your own fun."
Ben kicked a stray soda cup, looking up with a skeptical frown. "What if there isn't any fun to find?"
Klein stopped and looked at Ben as if he had just asked the dumbest question in the universe. "Then you create the fun."
A sudden chill ran down Ben's spine. He knew that tone. "Uh... Cousin? You're not planning on doing something illegal, are you?"
Klein offered a bright, entirely unconvincing smile. "Relax! It's absolutely legal!"
'After all,'Klein thought to himself,'the Tetramand Trial by Combat laws are technically still laws, right?'
...
The two cousins wandered aimlessly through the sea of leather jackets and food stalls until they reached the main entrance of the carnival.
There, they spotted a local TV reporter wrapping up a live broadcast about the sweltering weather conditions. Klein and Ben strolled up just as the cameraman lowered his rig, signaling they were off the air.
Standing right next to the reporter was a bizarre, clunky contraption. It looked like an unholy fusion of a rusted trash can and a street sweeper, topped off with a massive, oversized light bulb for a head.
"Ben, check that out." Klein nudged his cousin, discreetly pointing a finger toward the pompous-looking reporter.
"What? What's wrong with him? I don't see anything." Ben squinted, scratching the back of his head in genuine confusion.
"Look closer. Doesn't his hairline look a little... unnatural to you?" Klein sighed, giving Ben a look of deep disappointment. "With observational skills like that, how do you ever expect to find your own fun?"
Taking the hint, Ben shuffled a few steps closer, narrowing his eyes at the man's perfectly stiff, oddly textured hair. A slow grin spread across his face as he nodded in realization.
Klein casually strolled up beside him, his voice carrying just enough volume to be heard. "That is definitely a toupee. The guy is probably balding terribly underneath. You can tell because only the very edges near his ears look like actual human hair."
The reporter, who had been busy tinkering with the trash-can robot, froze. His face flushed a deep, angry crimson as he spun around. "You little brats! I heard that!"
Klein merely shrugged, his expression a mask of perfect, infuriating innocence. "I'm just stating the objective truth."
Klein considered himself a merciful person. If he were a true menace, he would have "accidentally" tripped and snatched the man's wig clean off in front of the entire crowd. Now that would have been premium entertainment.
But as it stood, he was simply making a factual observation. He hadn't shouted it through a megaphone, the man's fragile ego was only slightly bruised, and Klein got a mild dose of amusement out of the reaction. It was a flawless win-win scenario!
At least, that was how Klein's twisted logic justified it.
Completely ignoring the reporter's sputtering, impotent rage, Klein shifted his attention to the bizarre machine. "So, what exactly is this thing?"
The man immediately puffed out his chest, his anger instantly replaced by overwhelming arrogance. "This is my latest invention! A advanced, super-precision weather manipulation and monitoring device. I call it S.A.M. And for the record, my name is Vance Vetteroy. I'm sure you've seen my brilliant meteorological segments on television."
Vance straightened his slightly wrinkled suit jacket, flashing a blindingly white, practiced smile. He stood there, clearly waiting for the two kids to gasp in awe and ask for his autograph.
Klein stared at him blankly for three agonizingly long seconds. "Uh... literally never heard of you. What about you, Ben?"
Ben didn't even hesitate. He just shook his head, looking completely unimpressed.
"What?!" Vance shrieked, his proud smile shattering into pieces. "Don't you kids watch the daily weather forecast?!"
The two cousins exchanged a dry glance before turning back to the outraged meteorologist and shaking their heads in unison.
Between the Rustbucket's advanced Plumber scanners and their own chaotic lifestyle, checking the local news for a chance of rain was pretty low on their priority list.
"Forget it! It doesn't matter!" Vance snapped, waving his hands frantically. "Because after today, I will be famous across the entire globe! Soon, no matter where you go, you will hear the legendary name of the Weather Maker! Vance Vetteroy!"
With a dramatic flourish, Vance slammed his hand onto a large red button on the machine's console.
With a mechanical clunk, S.A.M. activated. The massive light bulb head suddenly detached from the main body, rocketing straight up into the blazing afternoon sky with a sharp hiss of compressed air.
Once it reached a high altitude, S.A.M.'s floating head began to vent thick, swirling plumes of brownish gas. The chemical mixture rapidly seeded the atmosphere, drawing in moisture at an unnatural rate. Wisps of white mist materialized out of thin air, violently churning and expanding around the floating device.
Within seconds, the scattered mist condensed into a massive, swirling vortex of heavy, pitch-black storm clouds, completely blotting out the sun over the carnival.
BOOM!
A deafening crack of thunder shook the festival grounds. Jagged forks of electricity danced through the unnatural darkness, the sudden drop in temperature signaling an imminent, torrential downpour.
"I did it?! I actually did it!" Vance screamed, throwing his arms up in ecstatic triumph. He looked absolutely unhinged, his eyes wide with manic glee. "I control the weather!"
"Hahahahaha—!"
His villainous cackle was abruptly cut short.
High above, a massive, unnatural bolt of crackling purple lightning tore through the sky, striking S.A.M.'s floating head dead center.
The machine sparked violently, overloaded by the bizarre energy. S.A.M. began to pulse with a sinister, erratic purple glow. Instead of dispersing, the storm clouds collapsed inward, drawn by a powerful magnetic pull. Thousands of gallons of condensed rainwater swirled around the glowing core, rapidly taking shape.
In a matter of seconds, a towering, thirty-meter-tall monstrosity materialized above the carnival. Composed entirely of churning, electrified water, the creature resembled a colossal, nightmarish jellyfish. Deep within its translucent, liquid body, the sparking remains of S.A.M. pulsed rhythmically, acting as a glowing, malevolent eye.
Letting out a deep, watery roar that sounded like a crashing tsunami, the monster lashed out. Massive, high-pressure tentacles of water whipped down, obliterating food stands, shattering stage equipment, and sending terrified concertgoers fleeing in absolute panic.
"No! No, no, no!" Vance fell to his knees, clutching his perfectly styled wig as he stared up at the rampaging water beast in sheer horror. "This is going to ruin my career!"
Klein looked down at the weeping man, crossing his arms thoughtfully. "Well... look on the bright side. Your reputation might be completely destroyed, and you'll probably go to federal prison, but hey—at least you'll be famous across the entire globe, right?"
Empathy had never really been Klein's strong suit.
Hearing that brutal assessment, Vance finally broke, burying his face in his hands and sobbing uncontrollably.
Klein shook his head, letting out a heavy, dramatic sigh at the sheer absurdity of the situation. He turned to his cousin, cracking his knuckles.
"Come on, Ben. Let's go mop up this overgrown puddle."
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