Clara goes after her son:

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Bound and gagged with a filthy sock that, for some strange reason, made Terry think of Donald Trump, he peeled his fatigued eyes open as the fluttering of cloth vied for his attention – kicking him out of the mental sanctuary he had sought in his head after being pestered for hours with words that demanded things he did not know.

Before Terry laid eyes on his floating mother, he already knew it was her. The swooshing stop of her flying body in midair was a phenomenon he had seen and heard innumerable times before.

"Quite the punctual type, aren't you?" A male voice spoke.

Sitting tied in a chair on the World Trade Center's roof, Terry turned his head and looked at Pedro, one of his captors, greeting his mom while checking his watch. The slick-looking besuited Mexican with a freshly shaved buzz cut sounded impressed by his mom's achievement of arriving right on cue. "One second later, and you could count the pieces of your son's brains scattered all over the roof."

Pedro gave a curt nod at his associate standing on the other side of Terry with the barrel of a gun pointed at his temple. The latter – a silent, nerdy type with a grim expression in his gaze that made one ponder about the length of his rap sheet – tucked his gun away.

Faced away from them, Clara's boots landed gently on the roof. She placed her hands on her hips and looked out over the sprawling city, scrutinizing its grand splendor. "Ever since I was a child, I have been enthralled by breathtaking views like this. The higher, the better. It gave me a sense of freedom to know that there is so much more to explore than that meaningless whistle-stop I was tied to during my youth. Until I could fly, that is. Now, everything just looks puny to me."

"You agree with our offer?" Pedro said.

Clara turned around and aimed her gaze at her son, whose expression was a mixture of fear and anger, but mostly anger. "Ungag him," Clara said.

Pedro seemed reluctant to heed Clara's request. Nonetheless, he nodded at his associate, who took the trouble of removing the sock out of her son's mouth.

"Aaaarg!*couch*fuckin*couch*Donald freakin Trump!*cough, cough, cough*" Terry gurgled intensely, scraped his throat empty, and spat out a large glob of saliva on the ground. "And where the hell were you?" He stared daggers at his mother. "I warned you, didn't I?! These gentlemen were exceedingly mean to me! What kind of mother are you?!"

Pedro gave Clara an askance look. "Will this last?" he asked as Terry threw an unending stream of insults and accusations at his mother.

"You have no idea…" Clara sighed. "Gag him."

Pedro nodded at his associate.

"What?! Are you in collusion or something? I swear, if you stuff that thing in my mouth again, I will, grmbl, grmbl," Terry mumbled as the Donald Trump sock was stuffed in his mouth.

"You did scare him, right?" Clara asked.

"He peed his pants," Pedro replied dryly.

Clara raised an eyebrow and gave her son – who was tied up, fidgeting, and grumbling in his seat – a quizzical glance.

"He wears Juan's pants now," Pedro added. "We had to break into the thrift shop across the street to give him a new one."

"Couldn't you just give my son a new one instead?"

Pedro sighed while glaring at Terry. "The incessant complaining was really grating on our ears. We couldn't bear it anymore. I'm sorry."

Clara shook her head in disbelief, granting her son a look of revulsion.

"His underwear is still soaked, though," Pedro said. "I refuse to touch a boy's butt sheets, especially when drenched with urine."

Clara swiveled and glanced out over the horizon. "Did your boss make the necessary preparations?"

Pedro affirmed. "Lopez will formally confer Mexico's sovereignty to you at 11 pm on national television, ma'am. From there on, it will inevitably leak to the rest of the world."

"You do realize that a move like that will provoke the wrath of all major powerhouses, right?" Clara looked over her shoulder.

Pedro gave a slight shrug. "We benefit from your protection by then."

"Only if your country agrees toeveryterm," Clara said. "I don't recall you mentioning Lopez declaring a rechristening of the Capitol. Or did he have the vague hope that I would forget that detail?"

Pedro gulped. "We merely wanted to give you the time to come up with one, miss."

"I already have! From this moment on, Mexico City will be baptized into Clara's Place, the Capitol of the world."

"A-are you serious, miss?"

"What? You do not like it?" Clara asked, looking over her shoulder.

"Mexico City is, well… a city, not some... place."

Clara waved her hand dismissively. "Grammatical nonsense. I like the sound of Clara's place. Something like Clara's City sounds too flashy to me. I'm a simple woman with simple needs."

"… A simple woman who craves the world," Pedro added mouthy.

Clara rapidly spun and fixed an angry look on Pedro. Her eyes narrowed to tiny slits. "I almost forgot to point out another significant term that your impertinent behavior brings to mind."

"W-what are you doing, miss?" Pedro said as he saw Clara raising her hand and pointing her index finger to the sky.

"Call your boss," Clara said.

"I-I can't. He's–"

"Do it!" Clara snapped. "Or I'll castrate you with my eyes." Struggling to keep his composure, Pedro quickly pulled out his mobile as he saw Clara's eyes turning to burning embers of rage.

"Is there a problem?" Clara asked as she heard Pedro babbling on the phone in his native language.

Pedro pulled the phone from his ear. "There's a violent earthquake taking place at the moment in Mexico City, I-I mean Clara's Place. It's a fairly big one. The President isn't in a position to answer my phone right now. He's taking shelter as I speak."

Clara's stunning face granted him a sardonic grin. "There are also earthquakes in two other cities in that region, am I right?"

"I…" Pedro caught off his sentence when the one on the other end of the line spoke something in his ear. "H-how do you know?" he said, looking at Clara with a face punctuated with disbelief.

"Because I'm the one inducing it, twit!" Clara said.

Intense fear surged through Pedro as he gaped out Clara's outstretched index finger. Was such a simple gesture all that Clara needed to cause earthquakes several thousands of kilometers away from here? If that was the case, then her powers were more fearsome than he could ever imagine.

"M-my family! Please, miss. Stop it!" Pedro begged.

Clara whipped her head in her neck while bursting out a peal of evil laughter that echoed off the building. "You and the rest of the world think you know power? Let me inform you on a secret. I'm not even at the zenith of my powers. They are still evolving. I can feel it in my veins. It is my expectation that I will become omnipotent one day. And when that day comes, my abilities will know no limits. I will be virtually able to do anything! I'm a Goddess, in the making, Pedro and demand to be worshipped accordingly."

Clara's words were like a blast of freezing air, tearing through Pedro's chest and paralyzing him with terror. He looked to the side at Juan, signaling him with a solemn nod to bow before the woman. "I submit myself to your cause, my Goddess. I lick the very ground where you walk." Pedro bowed down, landing his forehead on the ground in reverence.

Clara snorted. "If you convince your leaders to do the same, then perhaps no calamity will ever hit your country. Stand up."

"N-now what, my Goddess?" Pedro asked, barely daring to look Clara in the eyes.

"Simple, you and that other fool will notify your superiors about how things will be from now on while I will deal with my son."

"B-but what is going to happen at midnight, my Goddess? Your designated deadline?" Pedro asked.

"All hell will break lose, no doubt about that. Those in power will send their armies against me. Most will not lie down so easily as you. The world has to be tamed. It will be messy, for all intents and purposes. But I'll enjoy it nonetheless."

"Y-you will protect us, right? We stand behind you." Pedro said.

"Get out of my sight!" Clara whipped. Tails clenched between their legs, Pedro and Juan, scurried off.

"Get up!" she commanded her son and used her telekinetic powers to remove the ropes wrapped around his body and the sock in his mouth.

Terry coughed and spat. “You megalomaniac wench!” He pierced his finger in his mother's face. "Do you really think that–"

SMACK!

Baffled like a baboon who was being asked if he could ride a bike, Terry's mouth dangled wide open as he gaped at his mother with his hand glued on the cheek she'd just slapped. He knew his mother would withhold her strength, for if she didn't, she would most likely behead him or pop his skull like a balloon. It still hurt, nonetheless. "You, you hit me?!"

"And I will do so again if you do not listen!" Clara placed her hands on her waist. "You're going to prepare yourself for your role in the new world, son."

"What role?" Terry fumed; a bit less brazen than before the slap.

"You, my son, will help me establish a new religion revolving around me. You will be taking up the role of top clergy – somewhat like what the Pope is for the Roman Catholic Church. As the expression of my dominion, you will serve as the preeminent power on Earth after me."